We are two recently discovered gay females that enjoy each other. "Enjoy" is such a sterile word for it. It's like saying the sun is warm or the ocean is big. What we have is a chemical reaction, a volatile, explosive discovery that set both our worlds on fire. We were just best friends for years, sharing secrets and clothes, our hands brushing innocently enough. But then, one night during a sleepover, the air changed. The innocence burned away, replaced by a thick, charged silence. Her eyes found mine in the dark, and the question between us was so profound we didn't need words to ask it.
The first kiss was clumsy, all teeth and nervous laughter, but it was a lit match. Now, every touch is a jolt of electricity. I'm obsessed with the specific way her breath hitches when I trace the curve of her hip. I memorize the taste of her skin, salty and sweet, the way she arches her back when I use my teeth just so. We've spent entire weekends lost in my bed, a tangle of limbs and sweat-slicked sheets, learning each other's bodies with a feverish curiosity.
Our favorite secret is doing it when our parents are home, the risk of being caught only adding fuel to the fire. I'll have her pinned against my bedroom door, my hand over her mouth to swallow her moans while my fingers work inside her, feeling her clench around me. The thrill is almost as intoxicating as the orgasm that follows. We leave bite marks in hidden places, little purple secrets on our thighs and collarbones, claims we can't display but know are there. We're not just experimenting; we're consuming each other, learning that our hunger wasn't for men at all, but for the sharp, intoxicating thrill of the woman right in front of us.
The first kiss was clumsy, all teeth and nervous laughter, but it was a lit match. Now, every touch is a jolt of electricity. I'm obsessed with the specific way her breath hitches when I trace the curve of her hip. I memorize the taste of her skin, salty and sweet, the way she arches her back when I use my teeth just so. We've spent entire weekends lost in my bed, a tangle of limbs and sweat-slicked sheets, learning each other's bodies with a feverish curiosity.
Our favorite secret is doing it when our parents are home, the risk of being caught only adding fuel to the fire. I'll have her pinned against my bedroom door, my hand over her mouth to swallow her moans while my fingers work inside her, feeling her clench around me. The thrill is almost as intoxicating as the orgasm that follows. We leave bite marks in hidden places, little purple secrets on our thighs and collarbones, claims we can't display but know are there. We're not just experimenting; we're consuming each other, learning that our hunger wasn't for men at all, but for the sharp, intoxicating thrill of the woman right in front of us.
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SinParty
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