Chicago Lesbian 3

And it was. My toes curled and my hand spasmed around her arm as the first shuddering waves of tight hot sweetness came. She inserted more of her fingers’ length, more warm flesh for my pussy to hold onto as it lost control. I was soaking wet, spilling more than enough juice onto her fingers to let her slide against my G-spot. She combined this with alternately rubbing the shaft of my clitoris and the exposed tip. I squeezed her forearm between my thighs, gasping, trying not to make a sound as my body betrayed me… As the orgasm finally began to subside, she finally turned from the meal. She looked at me with the amused expression of a cat owner seeing her pussy chase its tail.

“You see what I can do to you? Imagine if I’d had both hands free. Now I think you’ve been finished with your meal for some time, and I’ve finished mine. So…I think you should put yourself back together, wipe your juice from your thighs, and I’ll take you home so you can see what happens when I’m really imaginative.”

I hadn’t been to her place in some time, probably a few weeks. She had been telling me off and on about some remodeling she’d done to her apartment. Nothing major, just new furniture and things. Not that her apartment really needed improvements. The Lake Point Towers in downtown Chicago were already pristine. For eight grand a month, hers certainly had better be. But I was still interested in the changes. These thoughts were not absent from my mind as I collected myself.

I had no idea silk napkins were so absorbent. Or at least they felt like silk as they cleaned my inner thighs off. She had stepped out of the booth to pay our bill at the maitre’d’s desk, while I cleaned my vulva and pulled up my panties. Finally she parted the curtains and stuck her head back in.

“Ready to go?”

I replied in the affirmative, slowly finding the composure to stand and smooth my skirt. As I stepped out of the booth, I felt as if my forehead had “slut” written across it. I held onto Michelle and she held onto me as I half-stumbled to the car. I guess it doesn’t take alcohol to get me drunk. Fortunately there were no excessively odd stares from the patrons, although God knows what the waiter found when he got back to our booth.