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Chapter Fifteen: A Second Helping With Home Delivery (part 2)

"So, what are you thinking then?" I talk to her huskily as my index found its way to the button fly of my jeans and then between the top and middle buttons. "How much you want to use a 'conference' in the ladies' room to push my skirt up? How you've lost one more hurdle to seduce me?" I'm breathing deeply myself, watching carefully. I know I'm getting to Paris, watching her left hand twitch, sliding along the outer side of her leg, scraping her pajama bottoms.

Watching her warm up.

"My mind...it was taken up by inappropriate thoughts not meant for an educational setting." Her cultured accent betrayed the sexual banter of the moment. "It was one of the few times that I felt so hot in school that I immediately took a restroom pass for the class after lunch, which I misappropriated into a session in the closed ticket booth in the athletic wing." Those fingers, moving up, up, up her thigh. "Your words got to me from our talk-and-walk outside of RN, where I noticed your heightened skirt hem. My shock that you, of all people, would take advantage of the new policy."

My eyes staying on her, I started to slide the first button out. "You asked me if Lorelai did it as a joke." Her numbness went on as my fingers undid the snap. "Do you remember what I said, Par?"

A nod, then a re-wetting of her lips with her tongue, quick, yet still, a torture. Then, a reminder of my words on that early September afternoon. "That you thought your butt looked too big with the original length and the blue hose."

"Then?" I still remember that moment, the first unguarded moment where I knew she may have had an interest in me.

"I responded...that you had a perfect butt already."

"Uh-uh." I shook my head. "What you really said." The middle button was ready to go. "Then you did." I was firm with my voice, comparable to a moment where I was fully serious about something.

Her hand was showing me all the signs of what she wanted done, the fingertips now right at the waistband of the bottoms. There was going to be no stopping after it was out in the open what happened that day and would eventually lead a week later to the start of the pro/con notebook.

"I...I...." her eyes closed and her face flushed, most likely from guilt. "I said you already had a very nice ass, and...since I was behind you, gave it a pat."

"Paris." My gaze firmed up as I started to move the hand away...

"Fine, not a pat...more of me copping a feel!" She was in total shock and about ready to explode, embarrassed that I caught onto that first slip of her feelings. "A two second squeeze that no one in the hallways would notice but distracted you for the rest of the day!" Her other hand, moving towards her breasts, body tight with desire.

"If I was a betting woman, I would say you approved that idea not for all of the students to slut up, but to give each of us that extra half inch of thigh to get all driven crazy about." I undid the second button and started to push back down. My panties were now almost fully visible and her eyesight was trailing down earlier. "Lesbianism and legislation make for a great mix, don't they?"

"That they do." Her hand was starting to dip in through her waistband and she was getting close to wanting relief from the hot foreplay between us. "Stop staring at me like that, Gilmore."

Neither Lorelai or Dean's puritan hormones were going to stand in the way of me this time, and that's exactly how I wanted it.

"Why?" I said, pressing my lips together as my hand grasped at hers at her side.

"Because," she moaned out breathlessly, "I can't stand it. What you're doing to me."

"How bad do you want this, sweetie?" I sidled up to her, kissing along her throat. "I know what you've been thinking about since I got rid of the hose...how much you eye them up. Frankly, I envy your legs." I peck along her jawline. "But I'd rather you fulfill number 74 in the notebook if you so desire." Pushing her hand along, I brought it between her pants and underwear, my fingers caressing along the waistband of the thin crème article. "You remember 74, right? The one your fingerprint made a heavy pencil lead mark near?"

Her voice wass heightened, unbelievable as she read from her memory the pro noted on that line. "Her deep and sexual moans during sleep talking dreams get me so damned wet; I want to hear them caused by my own doing." I kiss her, lip to lip after she says it, pushing her hand with mine deepier within the article of clothing.

"You've been thinking about that all weekend, have you?" I nip at her lip, shuddering as the tips of my nails brush along the top edge of her waistband. "My getting you off, not from sex, but from something you usually do yourself. Rubbing yourself off, what you do when you get home, in your room, or in the Jag just after you get out of town." She whimpered in affirmation, her breathing getting to me so bad. "Ever since Monday night, so close to the both of us grinding into each other, the space between us almost suffocating, how we both left the night with naughty situations that led us right to taking off all of our clothes, thinking of each other, fingering, opening up our lips, wetting our fingertips to simulate clit-to-clit."

"Ohhhhh! Uhhhhhh!" Paris cried out through gritted teeth. I started to move my other hand into her pants as I continued to push things along further and further.

"My room has your scent in it now, the pillows much more of a comfort. Stroking myself, calling out your name, rolling the 'R' within for a long, tortuous syllable." Yet another kiss, my hands have moved to each side of the pajama pants, index in, middle out on each side. "Thinking of you and I, leg to leg, my sheet, or a pillow, a very poor substitute for those velvet legs of yours...smooth, sexy...long. Thinking about me, freshly shaved, out of the shower, pushing into you, something only exacerbated further by the skirt."

"Rory..."

"And then, that morning three weeks to this day, you're pressing against the back of me and I wanted you to go ahead and press yourself against me. Use me as a toy. Not to be afraid to expend the built up sexual energy from the day before to fuck yourself." I start to work down the pants slowly, taking a cue from The Itsy Bitsy Spider to wander down her legs with my walking fingers. "I knew you wanted me that morning; you've been anticipating this for weeks."

Watching her look, she was white, not with fear, but with an understanding between us. I felt so warm and wanting of her to have her pleasure, to feel my body against hers for the first time since Wednesday morning.

"That spoon," she says, speaking softly, "I thought you found it uncomfortable." My hands smoothed down her silk-like thighs, trailing down along her knees as I brought the pants down.

I laughed, flashing my teeth as I described my real feelings for the embrace. "No, but it did make me wish I went for shorts." I took her in, her small body ever more enticing as I pushed her pants all the way down, and then went back up. I was breathless looking at her, amazed at how beautiful she was. She kicked the pants to the side of the bed, finishing her undressing, her arms at her sides, fingers fisted in, something to hold back from using her hands to shield her breasts from my view.

"Oh my goodness." I had to keep myself in control, staring at the woman below me in nothing but a pair of panties, residually damp from the shower, clinging to her. I tried to stop myself from staring at her, but I couldn't help it, as the remaining water created another sheer effect in certain places.

Including 'down there'. I was hyperventilating, shocked that I could make out the outline of her mound. It was far from what I expected. Picture me flared up, my hands at the sides of my waist as I look her over, a thin inch-long line of hair on each side. The only thing I had to go on was the outline, but my mouth watered at the future ideas of pleasure to be done.

She lay there, stark and still, trying not to move a muscle as I appraised her. It was then I realized there was one different thing about Paris that hadn't been apparent on first glance before then. The right side of her panties was pulled down a bit, baring a bit of skin that would usually be covered by the string of a bikini.

Her skin had a slight tint that wasn't there on Wednesday. Naturally, being in Florida, she would have had a suntan coming back north a few days later.

Usually though, you find some white and untanned spots from certain places you don't usually exposed to anyone else...the 'bathing suit area' where strangers need not be, as every lecturing police officer tells you during a second grade assembly.

My mouth was wide open as I took in my tanned girlfriend, and my inner vixen was just licking her lips at the new thing I've discovered about her. I'm gasping as a smile starts to inch across Paris's mouth and I start to feel her arms wrap around me at the waist, pushing me up towards her.

"I see you've just discovered how I spent my 'sick day' Saturday afternoon." Her voice belies her nervousness, seductive and low. "There's only one great thing about spending Thanksgiving weekend down there, and that's this one place off Atlantic that's close to the condo. It's a small tanning salon, thankfully an all-woman operation that isn't frequented by the idiotic. $14 gets you an hour in a private room, a comfortable tanning bed, and the staff looking the other way at the 'modesty required' ordinances of Ormond Beach, freeing me of the required tanning suit I hate so much. Trust me when I say..." I'm shocked by her suddenly found wanting as she slid her hands into my jeans and palmed my ass. "I felt much better once my entire body took on the same shade I expected you to leak over."

She's gotta be psychic, I thought to myself, tightening up at her words and feeling so turned on.

She tans nude. Even that shocked me. Here she alluded to her beauty regimen of leg waxing, pedicures, and the occasional haircut to keep her length mid-back. But a thin pubic hairline and full-body tanning? So much for Paris, plain and petite!

Paris started to work my jeans down while explaining the reasoning for bronzing everything. "You know how much I hate having to spend time in the locker rooms, both in school and at the country club, watching women all tanned up, but with these ugly white triangles across their nipples and crotches?! It's one of my worst pet peeves; why tan everything but those? I've watched a couple of bad movies too where the actresses don't get everything done and it's like 'would it kill you to wear a damned pasty if you want to keep your virtue intact?' I really don't have any qualms myself, but it's more about taking advantage of the full service I'm paying for rather than my usual shyness." She sighed, and my eyes scrape their view across her breasts. "I'm not like Louise or Madeline though, it's not a weekly thing. I just find it nice after having a waxing to go into a tanning bed, spending an hour in my own skin, meditating about my life while recharging my literal batteries, and I'm lucky to have part of my ancestry be Mediterranean Spanish so I can hold a tan longer than usual."

"What part?" I ask, ever curious, even in foreplay.

"Valencia province, that's from my mother's side, with some Italian buried in there from her own father. My paternal side goes back to a Jewish enclave near the French border; they relocated into the southeastern part of that country after the Alhambra Decree." I knew the details of that from my reading so she didn't have to retell the story of what happened with that. "I have to consider myself very lucky, since Madeline's heritage is Hamburg, Louise, a dismal northeast town in England, they aren't as genetically blessed."

"I have relatives known going back to the Mayflower, my grandpa has pure English blood," I mention, knowing others would be awed by that, but Paris would be non-plussed. "I know my great-great-great maternal grandmother was Argentine, and from there after a couple of those generations, I have Italian and Spanish descendants on Emily's side."

She smiled, her eyes on my arms. "I had a feeling; your freckling seemed to not have come from the true Gilmore side of your legacy." She pulled me down and then kissed me along my right side of my shoulder, then up my neck slowly, until our lips met as she pushed down my jeans until they were below my underwear.

"Look at the both of us," I said, my voice deep and rushed between kisses. "Usually foreplay is finding the sensitive spots and random bon mots, but here, we're talking about how our bloodlines are such turn-ons. God, I love this." I started to scoot my legs to work the tight jeans down, with my hands along Paris's torso, trying to find the sensitive spots hidden by her clothing. I listened carefully for rushed breathing and shrieks as I trace my fingers along the skin, continuing to melt her heart with my words. "I never expected that you'd be so beautiful up against me. Looking sometimes, I had this idea that you might not be receptive."

"I am..." Paris tries to say something, but I've managed to find a sensitive spot, just above her stomach, my hands doing a bit of a tickle. "Oh my...oh God! Rorrrrry, please, not there! I didn't even know!"

I shook my head, continuing to play with her. "Did I mention yet that you look so delicious with that skin tone?"

"No, but thank you." Her words are broken up by bits of laughter between, as her hands grip tightly at my back and a bra straps. "I wasn't expecting to feel this way so soon, but you're turning me on, Gilmore."

"Really, lil' ol' me?" I was being modest, but I wanted to hear exactly what was getting her into heat. "Do tell." I shimmy against her, my thigh meeting her juncture as I let gravity take my pants down to the knees.

Suddenly, as I push the bare flesh against her silk panties, she grits her teeth and her eyes tighten shut. "Oh dear!" I did that to test the waters with her, how sensitive she might be feeling.

"THAT!" Her body tightens up, strength pushing me down a little as her hand grips at my shoulder. "That...is really helping me out."

At this point, my usual shyness is all but gone, replaced by my flirting. I push in against her again, finding her give to be loose. "By helping, you mean making you even wetter?" I nip her lip as she gasps deeply again.

"You bent down when I was trying to catch you...I contracted." I lifted the free leg to get at the jeans, and started pulling them off, leg by leg. I wanted to be as physically close to Par as I possibly could. "There are certain things you do that get me aroused, usually subtle. When you bite your knuckle, it kills me."

"What else?" Enough give on the other leg to let the pants fall off as I take in the moment, the look on Par's face as she describes what gives her sexual anticipation. "You must hate it when the tuck of my blouse falls out, you always notice it and bitch that I need to tuck it back in right away."

"Totally, that's my own self-preservation kicking in. Your hands get there, right near where the skirt snaps in...I think about you accidentally releasing it, the skirt falling to the ground in an unexpected heap." She goes on as the jeans hit the floor with Paris's two articles and the sweater. "I absolutely hate you on days when we go past 4:30, taking off the jacket, undoing the tie, your bra visible through the blouse." Her dominant left hand started moving towards her thigh. "And sometimes you drop something on the ground, a pen, eraser, something. You bend down...I can't help but stare."

"Come on," I implore, "go on. You're so wet, I can see it...you must be pulsing down there."

"You put on your headphones to tune out the world, pushing some hair aside and in the back, rubbing the inner side of your ear. I think about those fingers, soft, smooth, sliding against my clit, drawing me out." I find her grasp tightening, so much that other hand grasping the bra strap is starting to drag the article down. "And then during the summer, there was that heat wave through Washington. You got that nutty idea to take me to a McDonalds and order us both milkshakes to take back to the dorm. You didn't draw it out with a straw though, you let it melt for an hour so you could drink from a cup. Some of it fell from your mouth as you drank it, and down your neck...and then you took your fingers, lapped the contents onto it, and then...licked it off." She shuddered in my grasp and I hear a small snap at the meeting of bra cup and strap as she starts to convulse in my arms. "Another thing you do, in the car. You sit in your seat, legs open wide, and I can't help but notice you usually take your air/heat mix 10% console vent, 90% from the floor. Your skirt blows a little at the hem and I have to keep a stone cold gaze on the road, all the while thinking that you're getting wound up inches from me."

"You'll never know," I whispered, getting my socks off my tugging at them with each foot against the footboard. She moved to rest her head on my right shoulder, tightening against me. "That's a good girl, let it all out for me. Just let yourself go, it's you and me, only."

"Rory," she has a deep, throaty voice as we become more frenzied, "when I first saw you tonight, I was white as a sheet; I'm not used to being seduced in any way at all." She shifts herself into a receptive position, going on. "I don't even know how to really think about you anymore, there's something going on with my mind where that separation between school and non-school is blurring. I mean, I try to think how I used to about you, neutrally, friendly, looking for advice about your writing or WPM's. Frankly, I can no longer do that." I ask her why not, as her hand lightly wanders my thigh. "This isn't just a crush throwing me off from my game, like with Tristan, where I'd get tongue-tied and silent around him. You see me as I am and you respect that. You give me all this wanted attention, surprise me with everything that you do, stick to what you want no matter the consequences." She looks up at me, her free arm wrapping around to bring me close. "To put me in my place, like you're doing right now. It's such a turn-on for me."

We stare at each other and I'm enchanted with how beautiful she looks, so raw, her words so touching and encouraging. She shifts her positioning to meet my thigh against herself, right hand on my waist, the other on that thigh, as if to be a guide to her clit. She's been anticipating this since I suggested my reason for being in that bed.

I had fathomed her words all night, but when she finally said it, a charge went down my spine, as if aroused by the way she stated it.

"What do you want me to do?" I asked, and then I gave her a deep kiss as I started the rhythmic shifting.

"Let me get off."

"Are you aching?" She nods, her hand atop the crotch of her panties as she started herself off with a few strokes of her lips through the soaking silk.

"God, yess..." From there, her words become almost incomprehensible as I start to bring her off. First, I watch her fingers, getting an idea of her stroking style. She's a down and up girl, getting more pleasure from the up-stroke than going down. At first, she does it slowly, the outline of her lips unapparent as her index and middle warm her up. I'm not idle at all, kissing her, my hands across the top of her body and along her neck. I stroke her scalp, backing her in so that her pillows rest right against the headboard.

I feel so hot myself, but for tonight it's not about my pleasure. This is an even exchange, trying to show her how wound up I got taking off everything to the sound of her voice Thursday night. We tangle together, my hands tracing along her nipples as I look down at her stroking herself above her panties. Her stomach rises and falls with each breath, a sight that awes me as I finally start to know intimately the girl who presented herself with the strictest introduction I've ever known. Her eyes are shut, her body damp with a mixture of sweat and post-shower moisture that would turn out to be pointless due to my ministrations.

She holds back moans as I trace my fingers around each large nipple, both sticking up at least just under an inch. They harden under my contact, still and unyielding, and I think to myself that I'm finally drawing out her long-held womanhood, stuck under Sharon's influence. Paris's breaths become rushed as I encourage her on to stroke herself a little more, enough to make the material up against her mound perfectly slick when I go in.

I kiss at her neck, begging her to let herself go a little more. "Come on," I implore, moving towards an ear, "I want to watch you warm yourself up, just like you do, every time you lay down to have a fantasy about me." I take that hand by the wrist and hold it still, pushing it above the waistband. "I know you have it in you, I've seen you do it at least twice and it gets me all hot and bothered." I lick my lips as her eyes widen a little at the realization of my allusion.

"You--you've seen me?" she squeaked out, softly.

"I have, and both times, when you least expected it. I would have caught you off-guard if you didn't think normally. Once in your dreams, and the other time..." I finger along her wrist, encouraging her to dip in. "You were enjoying yourself just mere minutes after a certain boy you were disinterested in dropped you off from a date at a certain event this summer."

"After Jamie?" Her voice is unsure. "But I thought that you were writing a letter to Dean, in the closet."

"One I abandoned, because I heard this." I purposely slid my thigh against her pussy through her panties, and there it was, that beautiful noise she makes when she begins to stroke. She gasped out loud, grasping at my side tightly, and then cursing out my name with some spiritual profanity in front of it. "After you came, there was no way I could leave that room without releasing any stress."

"Fuck!" she cursed strongly. "I thought you couldn't hear me."

"I did. You brushed him off, I made the connection, and from there, after a horrible attempt to pawn off my want of you towards Dean, that was it, you were mine." I touch my nose to hers, and she pulls me in as close as both of our bodies will allow, my thigh digging right against her clit, her whole hand buried within the panties.

This was it; there was no more time for foreplay. Without but only a few more passionate words between us, she stared me down from below, bared her teeth, and I was given the carte blanche to be grinded into for her release.

"I will bruise you, Gilmore," she said with a animalistic tone. "There's no doubt about it, I can get pretty rough when I try to cum, I've ruined sheets before, stretched out my own pleasure for hours on end. Fuck, I've even fainted after getting to my peek."

"But how do you feel now?" I ask, challenging her to take advantage of my thigh all she needed.

"You really don't want to know!" With that, we both shut up, as I pushed down on her and let her control my movements, down and up, in the front seat as I watched her give into her desires, both of us sharing a deep, wanton kiss that was unlike our usual love busses or the friendly pecks. There was no doubt about how much our separation did to us; I was shocked myself as teeth gnashed together, lips were bitten down on, breaks in oxygen very few. I concentrated on both the kiss and the grinding, wanting her to feel what I wanted her to have.

Her legs started loose to separate and memorize the wideness of the leg, but as things went on, touching became less planned, chaotic. Starting with her hand, eventually she pulled it away and closed each of her thighs in around mine, looking down a depression in the silk formed with the outline of her clit apparent through the material. I was shocked at how large it was swelled up and aroused, that it would be apparent through her panties. She moved her hands up my body, keeping her grip tight as I free reigned to palm my hands all over hers, the swell of her breasts, that spot along her neck, her back and beautiful ass. Her pleasure turned her from her usually reserved guise into a new woman I had only imagined would come from her. Her voice was high as she 'Yes'ed and 'Oh Lord'ed each push in and out, with all of the Carlin Seven mixed in for good measure (she's right, she has no qualms about them!).

Nor was she idle, with anything she could use to make a mark on me utilized to kill any ideas of wearing a tank top outside of my house for the next two weeks. When she had to shift her panties back down when they rode up, she scratched deeply into my back with a scream, pulling at the bra when she tried to work them back up. It took all that I had to not want it off, but I kept it on, no matter what transpired.

My original thought that her short fingernails couldn't leave marks was proven untrue by the hard scratching I felt during a thrust that caused me to shriek aloud. Still, I kept a strong front, showing her that she was jumbling me inside, but I was still confident outside. No matter what she did, Paris couldn't get to me, and my focus remained on her. My hands wrapped around her, breast-to-breast, my body overheated from the change in our attitudes compared to a half-hour before.

As she was nearing her peak, we were close together, and her kisses were down to one of my shoulders and she ended up biting on the blade as a hard tremor went thorough her. I listened to her frenzied want, her voice filling with other things besides sexual desire, and the feelings overwhelming her small and unaccustomed body. My panties were hitched up higher, and she was getting off against the highest part of my thigh.

"Oh shit...shit...God!!" Voice higher, I picked up the pace, shifting my own self up and down to meet her contractions. Her body bounced up and down with each thrust, now second to second, her words becoming more incomprehensible, both of our bodies dampened with a mixture of our fluids, sweat, her arousal, saliva, the salt of some of her cried tears. Her grip tightened even more, my bra falling from the cups to expose a quarter of each nipple as I stretched the strap adjustments as far as they could go to push them off from my arms.

"Rory...oh Rory...yess! Yess! Ahhhh!" I encouraged her on, giving her dirty talk and begging her to come in my arms. I felt such a burden off from me, relieving her stress without threatening our virginity. One day would find ourselves there, but for now, rubbing, stroking, and dry humping was enough to suffice. If you could call it dry though, really, that has to be the very definition of a misnomer.

Her arms were again near my waist as she helped with the grinding, her moans closer and closer together. The high tone of them, such a surprise after the phone session where she seemed calm and collected. That wasn't her state now, her nails hard into my back, sexual obscenities thrown my way exalting my abilities as her partner.

"Come on, you're almost there! Baby, please, just another minute...I can feel it!" I felt each contraction, close and personal as her pussy against my leg pounded, the expensive lingerie she wore undoubtedly ruined forever from my doing.

"I'm getting there! Getting there! Yeah..." I had my own little engine that could, she kept going and going as her thrusting went down to 3/4 of a second between up and down, in and out cycles, my leg coated with her fluids. She was getting there, body tightening, convulsing, she was getting so far gone, any interruption or urge to use the bathroom would have me thrown hard against the wall. She was going to come, hell or high water.

"How is it?"

"Almost, oh God, oh God, oh God!! Yes...yes...yes...." She released from me temporarily to extract herself from my shoulder, intent on letting me see her face when she orgasmed. Her eyes were barely open, her mouth wide open, all of her teeth displayed, nose wrinkled up, her face showed all the effects of what I was doing to her. I pushed into her several more times, her eyes taking on a dark, dark shade of brown, retreating into her pupils. That long hair, without the appropriate brushing tangled and stuck together, it was out for the night. Both cheeks, deep red, flush, trails of tears down each of them.

"PLEASE, RORY!!" she yelled, my focus for a moment only on her face, but on command, back on making her come. I pushed into her hard, thrusts coming in together as her breaths became so close, one breath bled right into the others, she hyperventilated, gasping for air.

A few more quick thrusts. She choked back, trying to hold her larynx in to keep the screams within and as quiet as she could.

Nope, wasn't going to happen. Delirious and taken with her sexual beauty in that moment, I tugged the crotch of her panties aside, exposing her mound.

"WHAT THE FUC--YUHHHHHHH!!! AHHHHHH!!" At first not expected, but it didn't take long for her to want herself released as I pressed my flesh to her clit.

The last grinds were bare leg-to-cunt, her cries loud and reverberating, my ears rang and I had to kiss her to keep her quiet; they were the kind of screams that usually suggested something criminal.

"RORRRRRRRRYYYYYYYY!!!" Her mouth was muffled as I kissed her deeply, the first thrusts of her come. More curses and vainness from her end and I couldn't believe that a girl so wound up could have such a vocal orgasm. I knew she would probably have a loud one, but to be more...reserved.

So much for that. She was loud, vocal, and her face, it showed the full effect of what I was doing as she began to summit. Her mouth was fully wide, eyes opened as far as they could go, her throat lumpling as each cry went through her. She breathed through her nose, her mouth sore from screaming, her neck tipped back as I kept the pace going, stroke after stroke. I didn't know how wound up she was since it seemed that she would never slow down. I could feel her contractions below, the rolling of her pelvis continuing, and eventually it was too much to bear for her. Paris bit into my shoulder, hard, and I had more bruises from her to contend with.

It was worth it though. A night which originally was going to be solitary for the both of us, in forced separation, another night in her bed imagining a facsimile of myself bringing her off as I sat at home counting the hours on my alarm clock, that was all gone. We were both in that bed, together, with her convulsing and twisted body up against mine, having something that just weeks ago I didn't think I'd ever experience. Her hand moved to her pussy as she started to wind down and I helped her start to calm down her passion-wracked form as her screams softened, she started settling down, her deep kiss along my shoulder blade going from deep with teeth to a soft buss slowly.

What started as a shoulder kiss slid up the shoulder, then towards my neck, and then to the bottom of my chin until her reddened gaze was upon mine, her eyes shining with the want she feels for me. Even if I was on top, she tipped open my mouth until we kissed deeply again, her words nil, mine gone. Our breaths, the rustling of sheets, our lips and tongues touching, were the only things to be heard, she kissed me as if it was VE Day in Times Square. The moisture against my leg and her raw scent guided me on, how much she was devoted to me present in the way she went from apprehensive about a sexual situation with me, to fully accepting.

In that moment, I had to note that my seemingly shy nature had been overwhelmed by the power I am just learning to use when it comes to our relationship. Her lips softly nipping at mine, slowly retreating from her positioning; it's unbelievable to me how little it takes to turn Paris from the stern taskmaster that she usually is into someone so welcoming and wanting of my sexual advances towards her. I could have never thought to myself in the time pondering my crush that I would end up brazenly seducing her like I did. Or that she would reciprocate, refusing to yield her control my way. Sure, I'm just barely more experienced (Ha! If you can call it that!) than her and I'm the one who went after her, but once I got her, I thought she was going to be the type to want to control almost everything.

I had to throw her off, keep her on her toes all the time. Suddenly, I've realized how much in two years of being subservient, that sparks were meant to be sudden, not planned. Paris and I can love, for sure, but we both thought of love as 'an event revolving around dates, events, movie nights, balls, and anniversaries.' Both of us had to prove that romance was not to be another checkmark within an Outlook window.

She always has to expect me, I thought as she wrapped herself around me, her body relaxing as the end of the orgasm slid from her grasp. She was a total mess, the shower of an hour before nothing but an excuse to get wet before I walked in the door, her unkempt hair wild, the fragrance she had walking in the room long gone, replaced with our own scents. I looked down from her abdomen, rising up and down, panties hurriedly adjusted back on, but not in the intended wearing position by any means.

If you think I was any better off, boy, you'd be wrong! My body was red and hot, hair ruffled from her tendency to grasp at it when she wasn't occupied with my ass or my face. The newly bought lingerie set on me would be tattered for sure if Paris had wanted me to go further, the bra far out of the fitting position I had it comfortably in before, the cups drooping down to barely shield my nipples from view. The bottoms were still intact, but the fine cotton of the article chafed against my dampened mound though not enough to take them off. I saw bruising all up and down between my shoulder and waist, and for sure there were some skin-deep scratches on my back I would need a flexible or 360° mirror to examine.

My thigh felt a bit of burning from her friction, but when I saw her calming down from the effects of what we just did, I knew a few scratches on my end were nothing compared to how revered she felt in this time between us. She had gone from her usual short fuse, using the 'Sharon voice' to push me out of her bedroom, to now, relaxed, against my arms, her chest rising up and down, as her heart slowed down to normal beats, her body limp, head against her pillow, looking at me with those chocolate eyes with such want and desire, respect for the way I pushed myself to invade her space for the evening.

"Rory..." She tried to get out something but her voice strained, whisper quiet to express anything, her intelligence temporarily blocked by overwhelming pleasure. I looked her over, starting to rise from the bed, much more calm than her. Her sweat-drenched body shone in the dimmed light of the bedroom and I felt an obligation to help my girlfriend calm from the feelings that have just coursed through her. I slid off from the mattress gracefully, my eyes staying on her as she tried to voice an objection to my going away.

But I wasn't at all. Noticing how damp she was, her panties were obviously due for the laundry. "Where is your underwear drawer, hon?" Her mouth opened a twinge. I kept my stare fully on her as I made a reassurance that my personal probing was for her. "I just want to get you a clean pair."

She pointed towards an antique dresser sitting on the other side of the room, nodding that it would be alright for me to do it. She was wordless, undoubtedly exhausted from our session of making out.

OK, maybe the Good Samaritan in me was a little corrupted. As I made my way to the dresser, I put a little swagger in my walk, smiling at her, my mind filling in the blank that she was staring at my ass and the way I strutted around her bedroom. My innocent aura was still there, but it wasn't wrapped up in the usual blue and plaid package, so I worked that to my advantage, adjusting my panties so that the top of my thighs were visible along the sides. All the way over, I smiled as if to make it known to Paris that my intelligence was a turn-on, but she should feel free to enjoy my body that she wanted to.

I opened the dresser, looking for just a bit, and pulled out a pair of panties which matched up to her skin tone almost perfectly. I closed it, then turned back around, seeing the nervous girl laying on the bed almost nude with her stare rooted deep against my chest, the bra beginning to fail to stay on. That's when I decided to play with her a little more.

Keeping a sly smile, I handed the underwear from my left hand to the right, and then with my fingers spread them across the crotch of the article, and then down the elastic at each leg hole. I stroked the material slowly, walking towards the bed in a measured pace. A more relaxed version, of course, as I was basking in the feel of my exposed body in front of her, the satin material of my panties constricting against my opening in a way that was distracting and pleasurable. Watching me walk towards her, my hands massaging where her clit would rest moments later, it made Par flush hot as I came closer to her, my nimble fingers sliding against the material of her underwear. She moaned softly, the recall of what she went through keeping her wound up as I approached the foot of her bed.

"Paris," I said to her softly, letting the panties fall onto the tip of my finger. "I don't know if we went over this, and I'm sure we didn't." I teased her a little more, moving my free left hand to run against my sensitive neck. "I can leave right now if you'd like me to."

"Why would you?" She stayed still, not moving as I inched closer to where the small heap of our clothing was. "I mean, you have free will to go if you'd like."

"I could do that." With a last slow feel of the garment, I tossed the panties softly towards her, where they landed against her stomach. My voice stayed seductive, soft. Dare I say...sort of like Lorelai's when she was driving Max wild, except mine had a coquettish tone. "But then again, I sort of have a problem, what with no ride back to Stars Hollow, and I doubt that Henrico would want to bring me back so late. Oh, and I promised my mom that I wouldn't interrupt her; she had a busy weekend at the Inn." She kept staring at me as I then used my now freed hands to run them along the profiles of my breasts.

As she pushed up the comforter to hide her nudity as she changed out of her underwear, I tossed my hair back and then I scaled my fingers up from my belly button, bending down a little and then working my arms free of both straps of the bra. I worked them out with as much of a smooth swagger as I could, and I continued to move closer to her. I picked up her nightshirt from the pile, her heated stare weighed down my tall form, and I was so turned on by this first night of passion that we've shared.

The straps fell down to below the bra line as I rose up and when I was able to bring my attention up, I knew where those dark, smoky eyes of one Paris Gellar were focusing.

"You want this off?" I crouched down so that my cleavage was at her eye level. She was struggling to keep her bare thread of modesty, the small inch-long hook between each cup holding me back drawing in her vision. She licked at her lips, her breathing becoming rushed once again.

"I don't know...I've--I have never gotten to this point before." Her usually firm voice was but a childish whimper, the teenager in front of me so nervous and wound up tight. Coming off her first real orgasm with me, she was struggling to overcome her usual drilled-in mores to not be romantic. "You have beautiful breasts, so small, quaint...pale." Her hands moved out from under the blanket, one of them holding the soiled panties, carelessly tossed to the carpet below at bedside. "You have so many more freckles...various dark spots." Holding up the blanket to shield her breasts.

"Yours are nothing to sneeze at either," I noted, a constellation of small moles on each breast, three or four, including a very cute one on the right lower side of her left one. "You know what this bra is doing to me right now? God, my nipples are so tight, I just want to take this off, crawl into bed with you, and fall asleep." I held up the wrinkled shirt, still a bit soaked from the shower. "I do want to be modest this first night, however." I smiled, watching as Paris took the comforter and sheet and opened it up a little.

"So, you intend to spend the night?"

I nodded at her, and then laid a soft kiss upon her lips. "I'd rather be nowhere else right now than with you."

"I suppose I should be truthful then." Ashamed, she admits that she's a panty sleeper, wearing nothing but them, and saying she would often wish she could've done the same back in Washington, that the nightgowns were only for outer modesty, not actual sleepwear. "But, if you'd rather I wear pajamas, I can, because I know that you're always fully dressed in bed."

"Until recently," I corrected. "I can't even put on bottoms now anymore; it's that bad when it comes to you. I wake up dreaming about you touching me in different ways, every single night, my mind just going everywhere and nowhere at the same time." I took her hand into mine, and then slid it along the front of my chest, my pulse picking up with each word and movement towards the center clasp. "You don't have to change for me hon, in any way, I like you how you are, knowing you more intimately with each passing day, finding out these new things I never knew about you before. Like how you're touching me..." I'm able to release as her fingers slide along the front of my breasts, moving across the embellished cups barely them back. "...like that. Yessss...." I closed my eyes. "So hot..." I hold back a cold shudder, an index finger probing around my areole through the lace. "I get so damp, thinking of you touching me like this. And remembering the moment I saw that this bra was perfect for me, in that mirror. I saw you behind me, helping me fit into it, dreaming that your hands were pushing against each side of the cups. Your voice...complimenting me in how fucking well-matched this outfit makes me," I started to hyperventilate. "How your hands are so cool when you touch, the anticipation and shock I feel when your fingers meet my skin."

"Ror...you're really enjoying this, aren't you?" I nodded, her voice still in that soft, wanting whisper. "You're so stiff..." her fingers round each of my nipples, the 4/5" height of each one fully erect. Then, she slides them in, pushing each cup aside, and then pushing in each one. "Hey, you think I can try something?"

"Wha?"

Before I can even think or hypothesize that question, she unsnaps the bra, slowly taking it off to let both of my nipples breathe. I don't even see the undressing, focusing on the desk on the other side of the room, the chill of the newly exposed skin startling, along with my heart rate rising.

"Tell me how wet you are," she commands, her voice still soft, but hitting a firm note.

"Very," I admitted, my own pair of panties soaked within a small triangle, and realizing then I hadn't even thought of how stimulated I was myself.

"Let's test that one tidbit of information you gave me on Thanksgiving night." Paris rose up in her bed to slide on the clean pair of panties, before she beckoned me to sit against her. I could only wonder her plan and what 'tidbit' she was going to experiment with.

"Lay against my front, lengthwise, legs straight out. I have something that I want to try." I couldn't see her, so I had to assume that whatever she might be doing, I would have to trust her. I pushed back against her, her breasts against my back, her back propped against the pillows and the headboard. She was still damp with sweat, and her scent surrounded me all over. The wonder of why were in bed like this, it screwed with my hormones, my mind blank as to what exactly she wanted to do.

Before I could share a guess with only myself, she brought herself close so that her mouth met with the back of one of my earlobes, running her lower lip against the top of the back of the sensitive cartilage. OK, I remember mentioning my ear thing in that call, this must be it, just a test...

"Now," she whispered softly. "Keep your hands off, to your sides." Whoa, what?! I was confused to her intentions. "You do remember what you said, don't you?"

From the following twenty seconds of silence as my brain tried to reboot, apparently not! I was at a loss for words. A guess about the earlobe thing would most likely be seen as dumb in her view. "Uhh--I can't recall."

Her lips continued to play at me, moving down the earlobe and down towards my neck. My attention was elsewhere, however. Both of her hands, at each side of my bared back to start out with, right in the center. The skin they were touching began to radiate outward in an east-west line from there. She rubbed, massaging me to start me into relaxation.

"You've said you've done it before, probably multiple times." A beat of silence. "If I didn't know better, you may even attempt it in my car from time to time."

"What are you talking about?"

"You don't think I notice, do you?" She said, her fingers kneading my skin. "That extra shaking in your seat, your left foot in fourth hour, it bounces up and down nervously when you get really bored. I can't see you very often, but when I look back to hand back corrected papers or worksheets, there you are, legs tightly crossed in, that foot connected to that leg, bouncing up and down." A soft smile. "You're usually the calmest girl in that class, nothing getting to you, the massages you do for me expunging spare stress from your mind."

Her hands begin to push to beneath my underarms, closer towards my front with each knead. "You get around me, suddenly you're not just the smartest girl in the Hollow any longer, you're my vice girl at Chilton, the one I share everything with. I can tell when you get all out of sorts, so it was nice to know that most of your lost attention is headed towards me, rather than some brainless jock." I started to flush up with each touch, her lips against the back of my scalp. "After going back through the last year and all the times I'd just observe you, doing nothing else, and I know what you're doing as you cross your legs together, tightly, like you do in those situations." Hands move closer towards my front. "You're thankful for the three, four layers of tops that you wear, bra, tank top, blouse, sweater or blazer. If you were just wearing one of those tight belly shirts, you would be too obvious. The way you dress normally however, it's all hidden."

My neck hair stiffens up, each of her fingers spidering towards each of my breasts. I stiffen in her embrace, my body knowing exactly what's happening to get me all wound up. My mouth is open on the bottom, I can barely take what she's doing to me. My hands remain stilled on each of my sides, afraid one move will kill the foreplay.

"Oh, baby." Another kiss, along the upper portion of my jawline. "I can just imagine how wound up you get during the day, stuck in those starched articles, your usual cotton lingerie scratching roughly against the regulation fabrics. I can see it when you rid yourself of the blouse at the end of the day in the car, tossing it in the backseat. You're all wound up, eight hours on hard work chairs and communal stools, two spent on a stiff office chair. At least five hours a day we sit in the same class, and your eyes stay on me when nothing is happening within the lecture. It's then you feel your mind wander to a situation you might want the two of us in, a place in your subconscious inappropriate for most everyone else. Panties digging against that tight slit of yours, your bra..."

Almost all comprehension beyond her words and actions are lost beyond this point. Her plan from this point on, like every other Paris Gellar template in her short history, intended to get her way. I can't even think one more thought when I feel her slender fingers cup against the bottom of each of my breasts. Despite her distraction, her sexual monologue continues on furthermore.

"You've probably not had a proper bra fitting, ever, because I can tell from tonight that finally, you have articles that flatter your goods the right way, not just reining you in with a modicum of support, you buy not for looks, but for comfort. You love comfort, it's like your upbringing in the sticks, the thing you're used to. But you're also learning that sometimes you must tease..."

I have to keep my mouth bitten shut, her fingers begin to probe the sensitive tissue of my mounds.

"Since the realization you liked me, you've been doing it your way, not the expected where you're out there begging for a look, just in your own natural way. You used your body to draw me in, noticing where my glances went in weak moments. you kept a good track of most of them. Every RN massage, each accidental brush and touch we shared at the table during lunch, when I'd hand you work at The Franklin or the gov meetings. I would look, you would note, be it mentally, or within the list. Then, you'd start to try to think about what you did to expend that energy, be it in sports or within the classroom." Paris's soft lips showered kisses down my neck as she kept her hands on my breasts. "It takes one day in class, one I probably wouldn't even know about, to come to a conclusion."

So cold, chilly. My skin has that temperature as her words flow through me, each and every one meant to arouse me further, the intended effect. Previously hands-off, relaxed, I was still hands-off from myself.

However, I was in my usual daydreaming position, thinking about erotic dream situations between Paris and I.

Usually though, the girl in those dreams wasn't right next to me, helping to push me over the edge, lubricating me with only her deep, sexual voice.

"You love getting yourself off in class, right behind me." The nape of my neck, usually hidden by hair, was exposed from an earlier push of my mane to the side. "One lip against the other, getting yourself all wet and wanting, using the cotton to your advantage. You don't need to adjust anything but your seating in order to find yourself fully satisfied. That's all it takes for you, something very few women could ever wish to perfect."

Her fingers, now at my nipples, pushing them in, her fingers getting to know the texture of the buds already familiar to her when only within a tank top. Meanwhile, her teeth, scraping against the back of my neck.

Fuck! I was totally in a daze, my inner vixen even shocked by her seduction. My only audible sounds were grunts and deep whinnies with each mention, I couldn’t even get out one regular word to express one bit of feeling about what she was causing. So wound up...tight...my pelvic muscles tightening up in anticipation....

"Show me how you cum without stroking yourself at all, Ror. I want to know what I do to you in class, when you're bored, or here, minutes after bringing me to my peak as you imagine how I would to yours." Her hands rake across my pale breasts, the small handfuls encompassing each of her hands. I can't help but react, crying her name out softly in a whimper. "These are beautiful; I always wanted to touch you this way, see how you'd react, that I can drive you crazy with lust, my touch intoxicating to you."

She gets blatant after that, her hands all over me, across my breasts, while her fingers work across each of my nipples. "Get off for me, let me see what exactly I did to you Thursday night." She pinches each of them softly as she starts to kiss the back of my neck, the tightness I felt before beginning to be released.

"Don't touch yourself, at all," she demanded, as I worked my legs into that position I know so well after two months behind her in RN. I know what I have to do, manipulate my lips open within my panties so that my clit dehoods, get my legs crossed into a steady position, and then just let myself go. It takes a little longer than usual since this is my first time trying it in a laying position, but eventually I'm in that position that I know I'm in as I get the friction started, my legs rubbing into each other, panties loose just that bit I need to start to stroking against the nub.

I'm encouraged on, Paris proving that she knows massaging as well as I do. Her hands have such a tune that they know my body, even if this is the first experience she's had with them. I find that one of her favorite moves is to roll my nipples within the grasp of her fingers, back and forth, not enough to be considered a twist, but certainly a much hotter feeling than a hard pinch. I back my ass into her to give myself even more friction, beginning to feel my pussy slicken more. Just what I needed to happen.

She continues to speak, trying to get weekend details out of me. Thankfully, not the mundane times. "So...I have to say you're matching skills, much more improved. You must have spent so much time in that shop, trying to find things that would catch my eye. Thinking about me as the sales lady, rather than some bimbo from Bristol."

I answer she certainly wasn't brainless, she was aware enough to realize that my picks were hardly of the male-based fantasy variety. "Ohh...she knew I was more into girlfriend wear when I rejected on sight a slutty teddy, along with a overly lacy garter belt set."

"I would've gone for that," she said, her palm raking the underside of a breast. "But you're right, overtly complicated, it kills the action quickly. The front clasp was a great idea." I can sense she's looking in my backpack in the corner. "You better not have Hello Kitty undies in that bag."

I shake my head, almost wordless as I shift into the lovely position I know so well, the paydirt one where my clit is dead-center against the crotch of my panties. "When I tell you the amount I spent at that store, you'll kill me."

"You said you budgeted $100," she remembered from estimation. "What could you get for that?"

"Actually," I gasped out as her middle and ring fingers pinched my nipples hard. "$268.47!!" I started rubbing my legs together, faster and faster, anticipating her response. She was silent for a moment, trying to comprehend that I went over-budget. Me, the girl who can be found in thrift shops almost weekly, content with my own simple style.

"How the hell did you get that much?!"

"My purse...I have a checking account I keep $500 in to build interest...before I knew it...I kept keeping things I couldn't afford on the budget I had!" The breast play was even more furious as I built up her fire. "After I got the bra fitting, I found a couple strapless numbers that looked so sexy on me, and the matching high-cut bottoms I couldn't turn down. Ohhh...ahhhhh...and some boyshorts too, I tried them on and I loved the way they felt against me, and my butt." Which was now bouncing up and down on her lap as I quickened my stoking pace, recalling how I looked in that mirror. "I couldn't help it, I've been plain for so long, but now you're blatantly eyefucking me, it got to me."

Ahh, there's the hard pinch!! Thumb and index, right on the nipple, very hard! God, she's strong! "FUCCCK!!!"

"How bad, exactly?" She asked, her voice tight with desire, teeth clenched. "Tell me, Lorelai, I get this idea that one of those purchases was of the 'you break it in, you buy it' variety. You're all alone in that dressing room, dressing yourself in and out of various articles. I don't think even you, of all girls, would be immune to the charms of taking advantage of that."

I was becoming unglued as the recall of that Friday afternoon at the Secret, thinking of her as I tried on all kinds of lingerie. "Sweetie, I couldn't help it, I just saw you there, watching me try on things, my mind going back to how you'd regard each of my choices. A few times, I almost start rubbing my cleft, but I remind myself where I am, in a public store, in front of a mirror." I lift my ass up, trying to slow down the sensitivity in my core. "I would never, ever do that, ever. But then, I come back out, and I notice this display mannequin wearing a thin cut panty, the waistband almost a non-existent string, paired up with a semi-sheer bra. I'm looking it over, and suddenly, I know I have to try it on. I ask the sales lady to get them in my size, and in a certain color."

"A favorite of mine?" she asks, her mouth upon the back of my shoulder.

"The one I most associate with you...it wasn't called it exactly...but the shade was Harvard crimson red."

"The exact shade?"

I nod. "I didn't tell the lady anything, except that you were a Harvard candidate, and she was pushing me towards the dressing room immediately, dollar signs in her eyes."

"You had to try it on." Hands at the sides of my breasts...

"I was out of my clothes so fast...pretty easy when I was just wearing a dress, pantyhose being a hindrance of course. Putting it on slowly, imagining your stare against me, that voice of yours hmm'ing in pleasure. First the bra, which had but a simple snap holding me within, the straps so thin...God, just describing it..." I felt a tremor go through me. "Just imagine how they would feel to you under a bare covering of lace, the fabric so thin and gauzy that if it fell the right way, my nipple would end up through a hole in the decoration. It covered just enough, but at the same time, not enough. It wasn't a bra that you'd ever picture me seeing me in, outside of your deep fantasy world."

"You've got me going..." The nimble fingers continued to journey, going with each of my words. By then, I was so hard that I could probably draw milk out. "Go on."

"The underwear...oh my God...even Louise would have second thoughts about putting them on, especially over the basic, boring pink Blue Light Special briefs I had on." I shook my head, hating that I had to remind her of the reality of the situation for the sake of cleanliness. She didn't bat an eye, and I continued.  "When I was sliding them on, they felt so fragile; I thought I'd break them once I lifted the band up to meet my waistline. Just enough in the ass, enough in the front. I mean damn, these made my skinny jean undies look like bloomers, really! I'm not usually so vain and self-centered, but they had this little keyhole on the top of the crotch that went down to just where my lips started, a small little bit of the top of my triangle exposed." I was working myself into the stroking once again. "Then I had this thought about both of us in the library, doing research for a class. I closed my eyes, the words that you do look up my skirt haunting me since the night before. I imagine myself coming down from that ladder with some old, old book, going all the way back to the Hiram Chilton Trust and the school's founding. You meet me down there, this...this heated look on your face. Like the one you had when I was getting you onto the bed earlier."

Her hands are all over my upper body, freely roaming along my stomach and breasts, she's getting me all warmed up as I continue on. "I looked myself over in them in the mirror, shoes off, concentrating on how they felt against me, and then your reaction, how I looked in your personal color...and there I am, thinking of you in my daydream, attacking me the moment I'm off that last step of the ladder. I try to stop you, very lamely, but before I can protest, my skirt is unsnapped, you're on my lips, and your hands are unbuttoning my blouse, fast..."

"So I was aggressive in this thought?"

"Considering the soundtrack in my mind was that Tweet song where she sung about masturbation...yeah, I was getting wound up looking at myself and thinking about you." Oh God, I can't believe I admitted listening to that song! She's going to think so much less of me for that choice!

"Good song choice." O-kay, color me surprised. "Better than the usual ceding to Divinyls when it comes to self-gratification. I mean an Australian trollop delivering a come-on like that? Those blokes always love you and leave you! At least Tweet, she's with Missy," she stops, "definitely a lesbian, she screams it out in every song she doesn't do with Usher."

"Anyways," I diverge back on-topic, noting her breast massage never let up, "I'm in that dressing room, thinking of you getting behind me...stroking me through my panties to start out with...they were so perfect." My pelvic muscles start to reflex in and out. "I stand in front of that mirror, my hands all over, my body so tight from trying on so much stuff, I ended up with ten sets in all. But that one...it was truly the best; I can't wait to wear it. I kept running my hands all over, not even focused on the fact I was in a mall dressing room."

She picked up her stroking as I went on, fingers rounding around my nipples. "How soon was it until you started stroking underneath?"

"I don't even remember," I answered honestly, "I just fell into that image of you against me, hand on my cleft, getting me off...off like that...ohhhh." I had to shut my eyes once again as she used that opportunity to push me back down into her lap. "I was looking at myself, taking off the bra to put on my dress, and then I was in the mirror, staring at myself, wearing those panties. I end up doing some pinching, touching, rubbing...event...ev...eventually, I dipped my hand in, and I was gone. Thinking of you, sliding your hand in." I felt convulsions within my pussy, the dream material and her soft touching mixing in the right way. "Par...oh my God." I start to lose my focus on the fantasy as she decides to help me out.

Still not touching me down there, but rocking me up and down her thigh to simulate a push in and pull out. Slowly she begins, her hands stuck to each side of my breasts, her fingers on my nipples, tugging and fondling them. Her mouth, meanwhile, moving to the side of my neck, she sucks on my flesh in little nips, enough not to leave a mark. All the while, continuing to dirty talk me with my created situation.

Her leg against my cleft, it's doing the right thing, along with her voice. "Ror, come on, you've wanted this all weekend. I still hear your voice in my mind as we came, together. I want you to be satisfied, to fall asleep in my arms, fully sated." I clinch my muscles together, clit still in that right place for the self-fuck. "What happens when you cum in class?"

"Not much...it's quick, I don't usually end up this slick, and my body wash usually hides the scent. Sometimes...I...I go in the bathroom. A couple of times, I stretched it out to lunchtime."

That gets her even hotter, knowing I'm working myself into a tizzy right next to her. "But you...I don't know how I would have noticed. You're always still when we talk, your voice never vibrates."

I have to let her in on another secret I have. "What do you think I do when I listen to my Walkman?" I smiled towards her, ravenous, as she kissed me on the lips softly. "I enjoy the deepness of the Chilton skirts."

"Rory..." her voice is rushed. "Please, don't make it so easy for me to kill the no kissing at Chilton rule, because I am this close to rescinding it!"

"I'm so close too...oh God. Get me off, that bouncing is working...ohhh....ahhh..."

She pushed her thigh closer against the back, and I backed into it, my clit pulsing harder with each stroke. She continued to kiss, continued to play, time became a blur as I shut my eyes, lost in the sensations sent my way. My mouth, wide open, breath shallow, body wracked all tight. My gasps were close together and I closed my legs tighter to push myself out. I held onto one side of the mattress tightly, while my right hand fisted the sheet. She encouraged me on, with words, actions, everything that she could.

I was lost, looking like a wreck, my neutral scent had disappeared. The scent of my arousal and the remnants of hers were within my nose as she went on about how she wants me to cum, she slides her hand teasing my stomach, flirting with my waistband. I was almost ready to spill over, getting there, getting there...

"Aahhhhh...uggghhhh!" The tightness was building up, I hissed, willing myself to finish.

"Come on baby, come on, you can do it. For me, do it for me."

"Only...only for you..." She kept it touchless, a spare touch along my stomach the only sensation sent closest to my pussy. "Paris...Paris..."

"You can get there!"

"Oh damn...fuck!" I felt the beginnings of the orgasm, that familiar tingle down from my stomach. She stopped playing with my breasts, wrapping her arms around me at my abdomen. "I'm getting there...almost, almost." She pushed me up and down faster and faster, the feeling being pushed down.

"Ror...baby, come on."

"I...I..." My words were losing as the release inched out. "Par...please...faster...faster." The clit to fabric rub was faster, at a pace I never went with before. Everything being done was helping out, and my body took a higher temperature. Her pushes became deeper, blatant, wanting.

I wasn't reaching the peak quite yet though. But one thing she did brought it all out.

Begging and pleading, her eyes focused down, she did something that for anyone else would have earned them a one-way ticket out of a relationship. But for me, a fucking turn-on that I would feel the effects of for the next seven days.

Without any permission or the idea that it got me over the edge, she suckled against the back of my shoulder. Not only that, but got a little bit of a bite in too. Before I could fathom, the tingles of that possessive mark were going down my body.

They took me over and then they ruined me, violently and without any rhyme or reason. With that love bite, that first ever sign that I was hers, the signal was sent to my brain.

I was her pleasure, and she was my pleasure, in turn. That's the message that was sent.

After that, the inevitable happened. I could try to describe it here, go into details longer than what I've told you so far. But all I can say was her marking me, which will take tank tops out of my usual clothing selection for the week? It brought me off.

It wasn't an orgasm like the one that made her spill over, but it was enough to numb me, I came in screams and gasps, the slickness between my legs bringing me off how I wanted to. Shouting her name, she muffled my mouth with her hand and freed me to go through the entire thing without being held back or stuck in my usual 'good girl' template.

I was the bad girl tonight, coming over to make her remember that she was my girlfriend. With a simple command to see if I could actually cum without any touch beyond my breasts and other erogenous zones, she got to me.

Paris got to me...she got to me, nice and hard. I rode through it, my form stiff and beyond stimulated, face aflame, going through such sweet desire as I finally fulfilled my first goal, to be brought to orgasm right next to her.

Somehow, I held off the urge to say 'I love you' to her. But I did...for letting me come into here and let her be herself, and to be able to bring her off. And then, after her recovery, having the ability to prove my life, my future...it's building around her. That I'll do anything to keep her, even if it takes putting aside long held shyness, along with my bank balance, to keep her in my arms.

The foam over continued, my legs breaking apart as the tension in my clit became too much and I was over stimulated. I panted as I went through, Paris slowing her effects with her thigh, helping me calm down, continuing to kiss me near my ears and neck. The bite still hurt, but it wasn't a deep one, that, and the romantic reasons for it went beyond any pain that I felt. I continued to feel the effects for at least a minute or so, before the comedown started to take in.

When it did...I was relieved, but more than that, I was spent out. Both of us were. From our weary voices, the hour spent together took so much out of us. I let the residual effects flow through me, still, while Paris continued to hold me, giving me all the time that I needed to relax. I was hot and flushed, my panties wet, but I wasn't up for changing them; they would dry, I didn't have as damp of a release as she had. Eventually, my body retreated to its normal state, and after five minutes I went limp and then fell to the right side of Paris as she released me and helped me roll my head onto the nearest pillow.

The hyperventilating continued, and then her eyes met mine as she took a look at her damage, and I gave myself a status report on what I had done to Par since she walked out of that shower.

Her voluptuous body, head to toe, looked luminescent, beautiful, well-done, her eyes drooping, tired from the sudden influx of activity she wasn't expecting. Both of us felt deep scratches in the middle of our backs, scrapes that thankfully were surface-only and didn't induce scars. Her breasts, lumping together as she laid next to me, both still tightened from arousal and being around me so long.

Then, between her thighs. Hidden between her panties, I couldn't help but examine the work I did, bringing her off against my leg. The first few inches of them, between her opening, all red and deep, the material failing to hide the outward radius of the stroking. She had them closed, most likely afraid that she'd arouse herself further. She was wrapped into herself, positioned on the bed as if she was about to wrap around me. It was one of those moments where I wished I could have a psychic connection with her, in order to find out how she felt about everything that had just happened between us.

I went through it all. This was still unbelievable to my psyche, that in such a small period of time, we had gone from the cute type of lesbian couple, having only minimum affection for each other, to this point, where we're both almost nude and coming off from our first uninterrupted session of clothed third-basing.

I can't understand it. Before I found my courage and went through with admitting my affection to her, the idea of anything sexual was such a verboten topic in my relationship with Dean, I couldn't even make a crack about some hot big-screen actress being the thing Dean jacked off to in his dreams because he'd get all flustered and denied that he had a male mind. No admitting on my end either, he'd turn off the movie or remind me I could never score with whoever I was lusting for, becoming a total buzzkill. Any sexual expression gave him such a conservative pause that it was boring.

With Paris however, it's a totally different story. She's willing to push at me, I want to push at her, and we're going thorough a complete transformation of our relationship together. The past animosity is still there, never to be forgotten. I won't do that, however, because it shows that both of us have come such a long way. That first day with her, she wouldn't even let me touch her castle project, agoraphobic to having somebody compete and get along with her. She always was used to going it alone, finding not one soul who wanted to know her how she was, not an artificial guise of aggravation and hate.

In the space of only three weeks, that has all changed. No longer can we be without each other. The intimacy we shared tonight is sure to lead to so much more, a change in our lives, shuffling that will take a while to work itself out.

As I think about this, I feel a tap on my shoulder and hear my name whispered.

"Ror." I turn around on the bed, facing the woman who has turned my world completely around, smiling at me, worn eyes dark still with the dissipating desire of minutes before. She calls for my attention as I face her, to make sure I'm not in a dream fog.

"I know that the question is moot at this point, but, will you sleep with me tonight?"

Stinging and goosebumps spread throughout my body from the question. Even the way she phrases a rote question is something that gets to me. Her intelligence also is such a turn-on, since she has no need to disclaim the key words within that sentence. One of the major things about being with her I definitely love, 'talking smart' isn't being flippant; it's a normal function of our everyday life.

I nod, moving closer to her, and applying a soft buss against her lips. "You have yourself a bed buddy for the night, hon." She smiles, and kisses me back, as she reaches back down to pick up the pajama shirt, long forgotten. She hands it over and, despite my objections, I know that if I don't wear it we might never get to sleep because of the temptation. Still, as I speak, I put it on with the least effort possible, with only the lower three buttons keeping me in the garment.

Except I'm not the one to put it on...she is, doing every button. Which just adds to the dizzying sensations that are now a permanent part of my being, along with the constant butterflies and sudden need to impress Paris at every opportunity. I really enjoy how much she spoils me, along with her wanting me to sleep in something she usually does.

Things are more complicated, I know that now though. We've gone past the point where anything that used to be taken as silly experimentation is new serious between us; giving each other orgasms tends to do that. I've also done far more to give Paris insight into my life in these few days than I have in the last four years with Lane. People will be disappointed, angry, wishing they found a place to stop me before I decided 'hey, Paris, kind of cute, pretty sexy, should I go after her...why not?'.

But I have to decide on my own. I'm no longer the naïve girl who walked into Chilton that day, the only experience with love I had being a bad date to the 8th grade dance. I'm an 18 year-old woman, finding my way in the world, romancing another girl who has gone beyond that point as far as her emotional maturity. Inside however, she's a lost little girl, on the fringe of the earth, with the smarts and looks to challenge all, but always a wallflower in all other departments.

We're both together in that regard and both of us have to take that journey, united, the both of us. It can't happen any other way and I know I won't let it. As she falls asleep after we say our goodnights, I look at her, thinking of what we had just done.

I can't let her go, this weekend proved that. That's the last thought in my mind as I rested in the crook of her neck and let sleep overtake me, her breath quickly wooing me hypnotically into slumber.

* * * * *

That leads me back to now, midnight in Gellar Manor, darkness, the bright moon shining through the darkened curtains of the room. As I said, I'm sleeping on Paris's breast, her spoon such a welcoming and beautiful position that lulls me back into my deep sleep, interrupted only by my bladder and my thirst. I still remember her habit of having a bottle of Fiji water next to her bedside glass and I take a couple out from her mini-fridge below the computer after a trip to the bathroom. She prefers water from the glass, while I don't mind bottle-sipping, which I do to empty out a quarter of the bottle. I climb back into the bed, almost falling asleep, when she starts to have one of those moments I'm now getting used to.

She's talking in her sleep, voice rough, her mind not focused on anything but building up her strength again and living out her fantasies within that wide open space that is her brain. I try to focus myself out of it, the scent of her pajama top on me and her below helping me try to fall asleep. Yet, I still look at her in the darkness and think she's the most beautiful woman I've ever known. Her 'talking' is more like random strings of words rather than anything coherent forming a sentence, like the political quotes she was using in the deep days of the leadership conference.

I think I can relax, she hasn't mentioned my name in any one of her outbursts, she's probably having a happy dream, playing with her computer or having a dream about helping crack the human genome. Whatever it is, her voice is soothing music to my ears and her warm bosom is an amazing place to rest my head upon...

"Gilmore!"

Uhh, alright. Mentioning my last name, nothing odd about that. Probably just having a Franklin dream where she's ordering around, something about as dull as you can get with her dream state. I'm going to try to get back to sleep again...

"I mean it dear, I'm not one for chocolate, yellow is better. Comes out of the dress faster too."

Dress? Yellow or chocolate? I don't know what she's going on about, but it has me interested. I spoon within her as I try to get my weary mind back to sleep.

OK, good. I think she's calming down; one minute's passed, probably just hungry altogether since airline trail mix doesn't fill you up that well, as my pathetic meal of sour cream and onion Pringles with frozen tuna casserole before I left with Henrico can attest.

"I'll say it one more time, I want it five-tiered, and your mom can't order it from Carvel, I mean it! Cookie Pusses® aren't meant for weddings!!"

Uhhh....wow. Picture my face turning white. Ice cream cakes and weddings?! What is she dreaming about?

"Don't give me the face...don't...oh, stop it! It's going to melt in an hour, really." I can't believe what I'm hearing, oh my God. "Rory, what are you doing? Uh-huh...if I give in, you'll promise to do that, really? For as long as I want?" Suddenly, she shrieks. "You will make it up to me after the ceremony? You better!!"

Well...talk about giving me a window into her soul! Already dreaming about tying the knot with me, am I that good? I don't know, I feel like I should have some kind of reward...or...something...uh, er--

What is she doing sliding a hand beneath the hem of the pajama top? Whoa, whoa, whoa, what did my dream guise exactly agree to in exchange for my favorite cake?!

"I've always wanted to do it right here with you, in the bakery. No, really, I don't care who's watching, you want to give in and let me fuck--"

DAMN IT!! Right in Westin's? Is she trying to test Taylor's indecency ordinances to their limits? Uh, well, I'm...flattered at all, but wedding bells and public sex, maybe we should get through the first month before we get to that step.

Maybe she also should save trying to give me a multiple night for when I'm coherent too. Uhh, I have to wake her up, no matter how much the idea of ice cream wedding cake takes me to sinful and indecent places not exactly conducive to a full night's sleep!

I softly shake her to wake her up, pushing her hand away from me before she can notice. Maybe a little bit of a kiss on her breast will make her eyes open for a bit too.

"Wake up, wake up," I say softly, as she stirs out of the dream in a fog. Thankfully, she doesn't even remember what she is dreaming about as she struggles to open her eyes. "Wha...huh?"

"You were having a dream, it was getting a bit loud, hon. I just had to wake you and quiet you down; I can't sleep," I say, trying to soothe her and keep her calm. "I'm sorry."

"Oh..." she feels a little guilty through her sleepy condition. "I...it wasn't something, I was fine, right?"

"Just lecture stuff." I smile up at her. "Very boring, dry. Nothing to be concerned about."

"Good." Paris takes me into her arms and slides herself closer into me. "Thank you. I know it bothers you, my dreams."

"Not really, just forgot my earplugs," I joke. "Keep some extra in your drawer next time?"

She weakly laughs. "I can live with that." A kiss on the top of my head, small, but enough to take me through the rest of the night. "I'll see you tomorrow then, goodnight darling."

"Night. Sweet dreams." She's going back to sleep without remembering her dream, and I'm so thankful that for once she forgot something! Oh, if she remembered, I think I'd overheat as she tried to live it out in real life.

Though it's still a possibility, it hasn't happened yet. But do I want it to happen? So short a time, and our closeness is suggesting marriage in our future, at least in the eye of the mind? Too soon to think about it, really.

But really, it's there. The link is building between us. We covered so much ground this evening. More than I ever expected. We're both so worn out, sleep is an immediate thing for the both of us...sleep...sleep...

OK, that I can handle, her hand against my belly beneath the shirt, that's fine. It's soothing, her hands against it...a nice warm body...beautiful curves...eating a Cookie Puss® in a lascivious way often parodied on bad New York public access shows, the 1am kinds, where the Cookie Puss® is in the shape of a...

Well, there it goes. The last ever uncorrupted and non-dirty childhood thought ever in my brain, ohhhh man!! I don't have time for this, I need sleep! Maybe I could dream about something boring with her, reading product recalls from the CPSC web site? That could work, help me get to sleep.

Oh, but her soft body is so much better. Might as well give it up, the next five hours in dreamland are going to be interesting. Somehow, I think an arctic cold shower will be involved once I wake up in the morning too...

To be continued...