Sarah's Girlfriend

Chapter 3

That evening Sarah and Nikki drove over to meet Denise and her girlfriend at the bar. Biting her lip, Sarah sneaked another peek at herself in the rearview mirror.

"Yes, you look just darling," Nikki said dryly. Sarah gave her a quick look through slitted eyes, but the other just continued imperturbably, "Nope, no way you could ever hope to improve."

"Hmm," said Sarah, thinking about it. "You know, that tone doesn't exactly give the most ringing endorsement."

"Aw, come on, lighten up." Nikki grinned. "Seriously, though, you look great. Just stop fussing about it—you're making me nervous, too."

Sarah sighed. "Okay, okay." She glanced over at her roommate, eyeing the slender little brunette's makeup and the way her lustrous sable hair swayed about her pale neck and shoulders. The girl's lips were naturally full and dark, but she had glossed them with a little lipstick anyway, and now they were bright plums that veritably begged for a kiss. Her eyelids were brushed with shadow, as if they already were flushed with the pleasure of physical excitement. A hint of rouge on those impish cheeks plus a fine application of eyeliner and mascara made her look absolutely irresistible. The sly-eyed thing wore it all so well.

In lovely contrast to her youthful flush and that heavy raven mane, Nikki's dress was a clinging sheath of glossy, sliding cream. And beneath that creamy dress lay flesh creamier still, supple and youthful and bare, scarcely concealed! She was small enough that when she wore the right outfit she needed no bra, and Sarah could not help but notice that under that single layer of shimmering fabric Nikki's soft little breasts were jiggly and unrestrained. The scooped front of the garment revealed a generous view of the tops of those springy mounds, and the outer sides of the tender handfuls were gleamingly visible in the armholes of the dress whenever she raised her elbows. The back of the dress was cut low, far past the girl's shoulder blades, down to the narrowing small of her back, almost to the top of her resilient buttocks. She was so cool and soft and supple.

Why, that dress was so slinky that even the elastic of a pair of panties would have shown beneath it…and yet Sarah was almost certain that she discerned no panty lines. It was shocking—and yet somehow pleasantly so—to realize precisely how much on display her pretty little roommate was. The sculpted handfuls of her petite bosom and the points of her n*****s, the rolling flesh of her long hips and her youthful buttocks, even the dark curls between her soft upper thighs—all were naked and smooth beneath just one thin, teasing layer of sliding cream. The girl would be hard for any man to resist, Sarah knew. Yet then she remembered again where they were going, and she blushed.

"You look great, too," Sarah said quickly. "Let's neither of us obsess about it, huh?"

"Precisely," said Nikki. "It doesn't really matter anyway, though, does it? It's not like we're trying to pick somebody up."

"N-no, no, of course not," Sarah stammered. Suddenly she was self-conscious of the big breasts pushed up and out before her, and of the deep swath of cleavage that her blouse revealed. She glanced down, surprised to see a thick thimble-like disturbance in the silk covering each breast… The evening must have been cooler than she thought, she reflected uncertainly.

"Just relax." Nikki smiled sideways at her and gave her a friendly, very unhurried pat on the trembling flesh of her nyloned knee. "We'll have fun."

"Of course," whispered Sarah.

The gay bar was in a part of town with which Sarah was not very familiar, but they found it soon enough. The bouncer at the door—a man, and apparently straight, Sarah was a little surprised to see—smiled easily at the older girl and scarcely even glanced at her ID, but he scrutinized Sarah's driver's license closely before nodding and then stamping their wrists with different colored ink. "Just remember, though, ladies," he added, wagging a finger not unkindly, "getting in doesn't mean drinking. Twenty is not close enough," he told Sarah, "and if you're caught sharing, you're out."

"Thanks," Nikki smiled back on the younger girl's behalf. "We'll remember."

"Our liquor license depends on that kind of thing," he said apologetically, and let them in. Cigarette smoke wafted around them, stale and acrid.

"Gee," Sarah murmured, gagging a little at the smell as she leaned close in the smoky darkness, "do you suppose he gives that spiel to everyone underage? I already knew how old I was."

"Oh, he's harmless," shrugged Nikki. "Well, looks like it, anyway," she added hastily as Sarah glanced at her in curiosity. "Probably tells that to anyone he doesn't recognize as a regular," she guessed.

They looked around, letting their eyes adjust to the sudden drop in brightness. The place was smallish but fairly busy, with waitresses weaving between tables and booths that were mostly filled already. Beside the mirrored bar was a stage where a local rock band worked an old Bob Seger song, their effort made palatable by their enthusiasm. Those who swayed and gyrated on the crowded dance floor, Sarah saw, were almost exclusively same-s*x couples, with only a few men and women paired off together. It was no surprise, of course, but still for a moment she could not take her eyes from the unaccustomed sight of girls dancing with each other, their eyes smiling and sly, their hands gliding easily across rounded feminine hips and smooth shoulders. Some were mannish and to Sarah's eyes not particularly attractive, yet a fair many were really rather cute…

"There they are," said Nikki, nudging her. "Over there." She nodded toward a booth along a side wall.

Sarah peered, saw two halfway familiar faces there. "Okay, I see 'em." The two looked up and waved, and Sarah and Nikki started to head over. "What's her name again—Denise's girlfriend?" Sarah asked quickly.

"It's, uh… Oh, hell," Nikki frowned, suddenly drawing a blank. "I don't really know her like I know Denise." She snapped her fingers impatiently. "It's…Joan—no, Jane. Yeah, Jane, that's it."

"Thanks," Sarah nodded.

"I'm glad you made me remember," Nikki replied gratefully as they threaded their way to the table. "Maybe you didn't need to know right offhand, but it would have been tacky for me to have forgotten her name."

"To have shown you'd forgotten it," Sarah smirked, leaning close.

"Hmph."

They weaved with apologetic smiles and nods through patrons heading to and from the dance floor, milling around with drinks, and chatting in impromptu clumps between the close tables. Most looked ordinary enough to Sarah, with nothing to distinguish them from the customers in any other bar. A fair minority here and there, however, sported unusual costumes—both males and females dressed in all varieties of studded black leather or shiny body-hugging red latex, androgynous men with makeup and feathered boas, tough-faced women in plaid shirts, jeans, and work boots. She tried to look around without being rude.

This bar was a meat market just like any other, she knew, yet she could not help finding it wickedly thrilling. The spike-heeled goddess in crimson rubber who towered over a petite consort wearing an artfully ripped prom dress and a leather collar was a case in point, as was the California muscle boy in a motorcycle cap and leather chaps who cruised a group of languid young men in halfopen silk shirts. The patrons of this establishment needed their s****l relief perhaps no more or no less than the denizens of any straight bar. Here, however, so much of it was out in the open that she found it hard not to be excited by the atmosphere of knowing decadence.

Sarah looked again at a pair that could not help but catch her eye, the imperious black-haired babe with her pretty debutante-slut. She saw now not only that the little redheaded slave of the rubber-clad brunette wore a collar but that the collar sported a gleaming chain that ran to the end of a leash held in her mistress's long-gloved hand… Even more inflaming than the mere openness here, Sarah realized uneasily, was the very difference. She knew, after all, what heterosexuality entailed, though she herself had not yet found a man with whom she could do more than the most preliminary experimentation. She knew what fit where, and there was no secret, no mystery. About what these people did, however, Sarah could not help being secretly intrigued.

A submissive wench like that sly-eyed little redhead with her jiggly boobies peeking through her rent crinoline obviously enjoyed the role she played. Yet to what extent would she play her slave's part? Was she really at her mistress's beck and call constantly, subject to whatever were the commanding woman's dirty whims? Would her mistress just reach in and pinch those alluring little n*****s whenever she felt like it, even here on the dance floor? If that red-clad beauty got the whim to watch someone else touch her property—some innocent straight girl, say—would the slave protest? Or would she just angle her shoulders to push one of her long pink n*****s through a tear in her garment and simply smirk as the poor curious straight girl sucked it into her guilty, desperate mouth? The thought made Sarah shiver.

And if the self-possessed rubber-goddess enjoyed this level of worship in public, with what wild abandon might she demand that her statuesque form be adored in private? Did her pretty slave like to be tied up sometimes? the flushing Sarah wondered. Her taut young body aflutter, stripped and untouched and yet lashed spread eagled in display, did she crave to have her gasping face smothered with the comforting wet velvet of her lover's demanding black-furred cunt? Lying there trembling in her bonds, her own n*****s achingly hard and her own soft p***y dripping unheeded between her forced-open thighs, how she might crave the sight and smell and touch and taste of her lover's excited womanhood! Oh, with what abandon might she cavort in that squashed-open mess of flesh and hair and juices, slobbering, sucking, and moaning!

Nikki caught her by the arm, and Sarah jumped guiltily. "This way," Nikki nodded. Her eyes followed Sarah's for a moment, and her wicked lips pursed impudently. "How the other half lives," she whispered, leaning her mouth close to Sarah's blood-warmed ear.

"They don't sleep in bunk beds, eh, roomie?" Sarah said quietly, trying to quip like Nikki.

Her roommate smirked. "No need for an extra blanket when you have something like that to wrap around you, huh?"

Flushing, Sarah knew she was outdone, and she smiled wanly. Her face warm, she tried not to visualize the picture that Nikki's easy words suggested.

Nikki turned to shrug mischievously with her pretty eyebrows, and then she led the blushing Sarah toward the table of Denise and Jane. The blonde followed closely, directly behind the older girl rather than beside her because of the crush of bodies. With the fingertips of one hand kept lightly on her roommate's bare bicep to avoid getting separated, Sarah kept glancing in secret curiosity back and forth about the room. Now and then from some stranger's face or another she almost thought she read a look of recognition or a familiar nod—but that couldn't have been, she told herself, for she knew no one here. Most likely the shapely little form of Nikki was attracting those eyes. Yes, that must have been it.

When they got to the booth, Denise greeted them with a smile, and Sarah and Jane introduced themselves. They all sat down.

Denise was rather plain and a little mannish, with lifeless brown hair and sparse eyebrows that made her pale eyes seem almost lost somehow. Her girlfriend was in Sarah's view prettier, however. Jane's curly strawberry-blonde hair was short and tousled, but she wore lipstick and eye makeup. She had three or four silver earrings in each lobe and a small ring in one nostril. Whereas Denise was fairly flat-chested, Jane's breasts were large—not as big as Sarah's, perhaps, but quite noticeable anyhow. Sarah could not help but see that the buttons of the woman's shirt strained upon the fabric across her bust. Did her own bosom look like that? Sarah wondered uneasily. Suddenly she was aware of Nikki regarding her blandly, and she busied herself smoothing her skirt and tucking her purse away.

"Do you want to split a pitcher of beer?" Denise asked them. "Jane is old enough to buy."

"Ah, none for me, thanks," replied Nikki, glancing at Sarah. "I feel like some Coke."

"You sure?" said Jane amiably. "It's no big deal. They never mind here," she assured them.

"I guess I'll just have pop, too," said Sarah. "Thanks anyway." She smiled politely. She was guided less by the admonition of the bouncer than by her own growing lack of interest in alcohol. When she was a freshman in the dorm, of course, she had gone with the more experienced Nikki to parties and had done a little drinking. They had never really gotten into the habit, however, and Sarah just couldn't see the point. Truly getting drunk wasn't really much fun—especially the next morning—and the idea of mere "social drinking" had come to seem silly, just a needless dulling of the senses. In fact, neither had drunk in months and months. Nikki on her twenty-first birthday had not gone out on one of the celebratory drinking binges so common to college towns, and Sarah suspected that when she turned twenty-one, neither would she. It simply didn't seem the important milestone she had imagined back when she was eighteen or nineteen.

Denise signaled a waiter, and they all ordered. As they waited for the pitcher and the soft drinks, they chatted. Sarah was a little uncomfortable, both because she didn't know the other girls and because of her uncertainty about how to act in this place, but at Nikki's subtle urging she let herself be drawn out.

A big basket of pretzels came, then the drinks. They talked about their jobs and classes and the people they know at school, and as Sarah began to realize that these girls were not specimens in a zoo but people little different from herself, she found herself relaxing. They were fun and likable, and the smirking Jane had a good sense of humor.

As the evening wore on and Denise and Jane drained their pitcher of beer, they grew more boisterous. By the time they finished that second pitcher, Sarah estimated ruefully, their company probably would grow a little tiresome to anyone who was not halfway drunk, too. For the present, however, it was still enjoyable.

Sarah was relaxed and comfortable, except—well, except that she could not help but notice that Jane was looking at her…like a boy would. Sarah tried to dispel her suspicions—but she could not. The more they chatted, the more convinced Sarah became that Jane was eying her body. It was a look she recognized from men, and though intellectually she knew she should not be surprised at the fact that in a gay bar a lesbian indeed might enjoy her shape, she still could not help being somewhat disconcerted.

As the other girl sipped her beer, Sarah watched her dark eyes slide secretly back to Sarah's bosom. Sarah's blouse was cut a little differently from Jane's, and whereas that woman's breasts drew her fabric tight, Sarah's opened button revealed a generous double-handful of soft cleavage. From where Jane sat she could look easily into Sarah's open blouse, and whenever Sarah happened to lean forward, the girl got an even better view of Sarah's beckoning flesh, rounded and soft and warm. The more she drank, the more obvious her attentions became.

Sarah looked quickly at Nikki to see if she noticed, but the brunette's expression was unreadable. The muscles of Nikki's jaw tightened faintly, though, as she happened to glance over at Sarah, and when she looked back to answer something Jane had said, the lids over Nikki's fathomless eyes slitted unpleasantly for a moment before she replied.

Was she disgusted, Sarah wondered, even after the way she had ribbed Sarah about her uncertainty about going out with these girls? That wasn't like the open-minded Nikki—but maybe it made her uncomfortable to think that Denise's girlfriend would look at either of them like that. Maybe she suddenly felt protective of Sarah.

It was flattering, Sarah thought, that her roommate would look out for her like that. And yet…perhaps it was also flattering—perversely so—that the woman across the table would take such notice of her body. Nikki had said to dress as she would when going out with boys, after all. Could Sarah blame Jane if she looked?

She sat up a little more and drew her shoulders back in a casual stretch, and her big breasts rose full and tempting. They felt comfortable, somehow. Perhaps Jane took notice of it, perhaps not— Sarah happened to look the other way…though out of the corner of her eye she did chance to see the woman shift restlessly on her seat. When Sarah brought her gaze back to the table she glanced down at herself, and her eyes widened in sudden surprise. Her n*****s pushed out fat and bold, just as if she were freezing cold rather than having to wipe the sweat from her warm brow. She thought about it uncomprehendingly for a moment, and then the flow of conversation drew her attention back, and she could puzzle about it no more.

After awhile she leaned forward again, farther now because of her new changed posture, putting her elbows comfortably on the table and resting her chin on her folded hands. Her heavy mounds hung slightly apart, she could feel, so that anyone sitting across from her perhaps could look deep into her cleavage, could with appreciative eyes measure the swell in mental handfuls. That, of course, Sarah imagined, was how a boy—or a lesbian—thought about it, not in inches or cup sizes but in the cradling reach of palms and fingers about resilient flesh.

Did Jane long sometimes to play with a set of big breasts like Sarah's? Denise's breasts, after all, were small—much smaller than Nikki's, even. Whereas Sarah's roommate had pleasant little mounds—handfuls, really, just made for the right palms and digits to appreciate, Sarah always secretly believed—Jane's girlfriend was basically flat-chested. If men liked a good pair of boobs, Sarah wondered, did a lesbian, too? Could a woman lust after such simple physical features like a man might?

Did Jane sometimes wish her girlfriend had big ones like she herself did, heavy mounds to be cupped and caressed and squeezed and joggled? Maybe now and then Jane could not help wondering what it would be like to treat a girl so, slavering over her big t**s with as much relish as any man. Perhaps in secret fantasies the curly-haired wench longed to seduce some stacked straight girl and just rip her blouse open so that buttons popped and scattered everywhere, and the woman's full mammaries bulged out in the lesbian's flushed face. Jane might imagine that as the quiet Denise watched indulgently, she could just grab some big-busted gal's boobs and squeeze her fat n*****s up between feverish clenching fingers and thumbs and devour them!

Yes, maybe Jane craved some really big n*****s, the kind with great wide areolas that puckered up so thick. Sarah knew what veritable fistfuls her own pink-brown paps became when excited, and to what delicious lengths the naughty things could be stretched. Maybe the curious Jane wondered what it would be like to suck on a pair like that. She could fill her hungry mouth with such n*****s, sucking, chewing, making the poor straight girl writhe beneath her, m**********g fiercely. No matter how secure Jane and Denise's relationship, it would be hard, Sarah suspected, not to have such naughty thoughts now and then.

Sarah let out her breath raggedly. Inexplicably, her own n*****s were agonizingly stiff. Reaching her warm hand for the condensation-beaded glass of her iced drink, Sarah glanced back up…and found Jane gazing with scarcely disguised excitement into the full mounds gleaming soft and round and touchable in her blouse. The other girl looked up, and their eyes met. Sarah's hand trembled as it wrapped about her Coke, but she could not break the gaze.

"Does anybody feel like dancing?" Jane wondered quietly, unblinking. She took a long drink of her beer, eyeing Sarah speculatively over the top of her glass. After a moment she turned to Denise. "How about it?"

"Oh, I don't know," the other replied. "I'm having such a nice chat…"

"Me, too," said Nikki flatly, not looking at Jane.

"But if you really feel like it, Jane…" Denise shrugged obligingly. The beer and her interest in the conversation had kept her from noticing her girlfriend's wandering eye. "Well, Nikki, if you and I don't want to, maybe Sarah would." She smiled easily at Sarah, oblivious. "Go ahead if you like, Sarah. The band's pretty good tonight, better than usual."

"Well…" Sarah bit her lip. She glanced at Nikki, but the other was studying the pretzels, her jaw set.

"Hey, that's a good idea," Jane said slowly, her thin lips curling. She took another drink.

"If you're sure…" Sarah said hesitantly. She teetered between shamefaced curiosity and almost reflexive aversion. She couldn't really dance with another girl…could she? And yet, really, there would be no harm in it, she tried to convince herself. She was just being friendly, and it was all perfectly innocent.

"Oh, go ahead," Denise laughed, gesturing toward the dance floor with her half-empty glass. "She won't bite—not too hard, anyway."

Frowning, Nikki spent a long moment comparing her watch to the pulsing neon clock behind the bar. Sarah tried to catch her eye for advice, but Nikki seemed intent on adjusting the hands of her wristwatch just right. The hands moved forward and back beneath Nikki's restless adjustments, tightly, but they would not settle. The girl did not look Sarah's way.

"Well, okay," Sarah said at last, "it sounds fun." She smiled with more assurance than she felt.

"All right," smiled Jane wolfishly. "Let's cut the rug." She rose and held out her hand.

Sarah stood and, surprised, let the girl take her hesitant hand. No other girl had ever touched her in quite that way before. It was a comparatively innocent contact, but Sarah sensed a strange mixture of deference and eagerness in the woman's easy grip. Jane was comfortable and confident—yet somehow sly, almost seductive—as she led Sarah out onto the crowded dance floor.

They found a space, and as Jane released Sarah's hand, her fingertips chanced to glide lightly across the blonde's hip. Facing Sarah—and standing a little closer than Sarah thought she would— Jane began to sway to the music. "Never done it before, have you?" she said crookedly, her voice just audible over the music.

"Huh?" said Sarah, startled. She found the beat and began to dance, moving her hips, her arms.

"Danced like this," the short-haired girl amplified smilingly. She moved a step closer so they could talk without yelling. "In a bar like this…with another woman."

"Well…no," Sarah admitted. She gave a quick, nervous smile.

They were so close now that their breasts touched whenever Jane swayed forward, and Jane's hands happened to slide over Sarah's hips and waist as the girl shook them rhythmically back and forth. "Don't worry," Jane murmured, staring directly into Sarah's eyes. "There's always a first time."

Sarah nodded jerkily. The other girl's big bosom bobbled into her again and again, and Jane's hands were teasingly light on the sides of Sarah's body. She glanced down and saw that Jane's n*****s, like her own, were erect beneath her shirt. She didn't know what to think.

The music flowed over them, around them, through them, good rock and roll that was heavy and loud. Flushed and sweaty, Sarah just moved with the hypnotizing rhythms. Despite the strangeness of the situation, she was comfortable, unthinking. On the crowded dance floor, where everyone could see and where no one could, she danced unconcernedly as Jane smiled almost challengingly back at her.

Whenever Sarah reached up to brush a wisp of gold from her warm forehead, Denise's girlfriend watched her full breasts rise within her silky blouse. The girl kept touching her, light and teasing, about her hips and her sides. Sometimes she herself reached out to brush back Sarah's hair, and whenever she did, her fingertips ran softly down Sarah's blood-warmed ear and the side of her neck before sliding down her collarbone and off her rounded shoulder. That touch was so sly, so insinuating…almost possessive somehow. Yet the confused Sarah did not know whether she wanted

it stopped, or not. She could scarcely think.

Then the band wound down one song and started another. The one was an old Melissa Etheridge tune, slow and sensuous, with a strong undercurrent of commanding guitar. Sarah slowed herself and caught the new beat. She felt it in all her limbs, felt the long guitar strum spread from her belly outward like a sweet, sighing ache. All around her couples swayed closer together in the smoky darkness.

Her confident dark eyes gazing into Sarah's uncertain green ones, Jane stepped closer still. Her breasts rubbed restlessly against Sarah's, and her hands glided teasingly up and down Sarah's slowly gyrating hips, her trembling hands, her arms and shoulders. Her supple lips pursed impudently as she looked from Sarah's flushed face, down to the lush curves of her body, and back again.

The singer pushed out the lyrics, haunting and hungry. Yes, Sarah realized vaguely, this woman so close before her knew all too well how to treat another girl's body. Sarah recoiled at the stale beer on her breath, yet she was mesmerized by the look in those half-lidded eyes, by the secret caresses of those experienced fingers. Those hands would know just what to do to another girl's throbbing n*****s, would know all the tricks that could make fluttering feminine flesh ring with pleasure. This short-haired girl with whom she danced had no fear that made her run, Sarah realized as she swayed to the richly evocative voice of the singer up on stage who caressed that microphone as if it were her lover's supple bare body. She had no demons she was hiding from—no, that self-confident, spunkyhaired strawberry blonde simply obeyed her demons, happily! Sarah writhed drowsily.

And those wicked lips—oh, surely they hungered as well! From lipsticked mouth to flushed neck, from rounded shoulder to upstanding n****e, from fluttering belly to watering cunt, those lips knew it all. They were no strangers to the worship of womanhood. Why, Jane had put her mouth in secret places that Sarah had never really even seen. Willingly she had breathed deep of the salty aroma of wet cunt and had abandoned herself to the dirtiest of joys, wallowing between splayed white thighs, licking, sucking, smacking her appreciative lips. Husky with the sweet agony of devotion, the singer crooned about walking in fire, about drowning in desire…

Sarah moved slowly, teasingly. She rolled her shoulders, feeling her n*****s slide beneath the silk of her blouse. She swayed her hips, feeling her thighs grind pleasantly together beneath her short red skirt. How warm she was, and how moist, all over! Her heavy eyelids had slid closed. She knew the other girl was watching, but she didn't care—or she did. She could not decide, and it did not matter. Right then all that mattered was the dance, the comfortable feeling within her body, the soft touches which tantalized her.

She pushed her breasts out, daring those fingers further. Hands glided up and down her sides, her hips, her arms. It felt so good, good to tease herself and the other, good to be admired in return, and soon the fingers which danced across her grew bolder. Now when those fingertips came up beneath her arms, they might chance to brush the sides of her bosom, or the bottom. Sarah writhed unconcernedly, feeling a hand now and then squeeze softly at her resilient flesh. Her n*****s burned, untouched.

Her mind drifted in the music, in the sensuous dance. She was alone with her voiceless feelings, with her slow-building yet unacknowledged arousal. She could have floated there forever.

The engorged pink-brown crinkles that tipped her overflowing bosoms felt so big, so excited! Eyes contentedly closed, Sarah swayed to the music, making her breasts rub against the other girl who danced so close before her, warm and soft and smiling and silent. She shuddered as the hands upon her bosom grew more assertive, as knowing fingernails raked slowly over the electric points of flesh that protruded so boldly through the thin silk, visible even through her brassiere. It felt so good.

Sarah smiled to herself in the darkness as sensuous fingertips finally settled all about those turgid n*****s and began playing with them in earnest. Unthinkingly she pushed herself deeper into that possessive grasp, sighing as she let her heavy breasts nestle in cradling palms.

Her big breasts ablaze, her flushed eyelids heavy, Sarah writhed comfortably to the music. Frank fingers and thumbs had caught her hungry n*****s, and now they squeezed rhythmically. She moaned as soft fingertips rolled the hard tips of her breasts, tugging the sensitive pink-brown erections relentlessly. The sensations ran straight down to her watering crotch, and absently she found herself pressing her thighs together restlessly as she danced.

Sarah breathed heavily, swaying upon her distant feet. She groaned faintly deep within her throat as she reeled slowly toward some ultimate pleasure she pretended not to notice. Her n*****s burned comfortably, sending a secret tremor down her jangling nerves to glow hot and electric blue in the hairy pink flesh between her moist thighs. The music seemed to go on forever. A promising tingle pulsed within her. Sarah reeled closer and closer—

Finally, however, the song was done, and Sarah blinked her sleepy eyes open to find Jane gazing intently into her flushed face. The band took a break, and in the sudden quiet the dancers began to disperse. Jane's fingertips fell lightly upon Sarah's wrist and remained there. "I think I need to visit the restroom," the girl said softly, her quiet voice full of meaning. "How about you?"

Sarah blinked. Why, did Jane really mean…? Sarah blushed fiercely. She was so confused that she could hardly think. Her helpless young body was aflame with wild desires that she could not name, and her mind was awhirl.

Suddenly she did not know why she had come tonight, and she did not know what had happened. She had aroused another girl, she told herself uncomprehendingly. She had teased the girl all night long and had watched as the thought of her own body had made Jane's n*****s perk up bold and erect. She had danced with Jane, closer and closer, and had let the girl flirt with her, and touch her, while everyone watched. And now Jane wanted—she wanted… It was unthinkable. Good girls weren't supposed to do that.

Yet despite her nagging conscience, Sarah's betraying n*****s ached with their terrible erectness. If she herself had not initiated the situation, she wondered vaguely, did that mean it was not as bad? Her flesh was so fiercely excited! How she craved her release! Agitated, she tried to weigh the terrible violation of perhaps-arbitrary norms against the forbidden pleasures she needed so desperately.

Sarah's heart thudded beneath her heavy breasts. She licked her lips, but for a moment no speech came. Jane's eyes beckoned her silently, and she tried to steady herself. She did not know what to say.

And even if she did convince herself to go through with it, Sarah wondered, could they really get away with it? If they did go to the restroom, could they slip into a stall together without anyone noticing? Did that kind of thing really happen? Her mind raced in crazy, desperate circles. Why, Jane was even hungrier than she was—if given the slightest opportunity, she would deny Sarah nothing, nothing! The thought was perversely arousing.

Maybe if Sarah got up on the seat, she could crouch there and take off her poor soaked panties. Oh, how wet and smelly they must be! And then, and then— But what would she say? Why, she could never bring herself to ask… Yet perhaps the knowing Jane would need no invitation. Wouldn't it be enough if Sarah just lifted her skirt and opened herself up, all hairy and wet and excited? Wasn't that invitation enough for someone like Jane? Sarah wouldn't even have to say a word. She would just dig her fingers into the smelly damp flesh of her p***y and pull her squelching lips wide open. And then—

She looked up and saw Jane's eyes gleaming hungrily. "Yeah," said the other girl quietly, "it'll be okay. You know you want to try it." She squeezed Sarah's hand. "Come on," she whispered, "before the others miss us."

Sarah bit her lip uncertainly. She took a steadying breath—

Suddenly she felt a hand drop onto her shoulder. Sarah jerked guiltily. It was Nikki, carrying both her purse and Sarah's, as if she were ready to leave. The girl put her arm possessively around Sarah's shoulders, in a way she never had done before. As Nikki stood there her body was reassuring and firm all along the length of Sarah's, and her little breast was soft and high against Sarah's sweating side. To Sarah's surprise, Nikki made no move to break the contact or to step back and give Sarah any more room. The dark-haired girl smiled fixedly at the uncertain Jane.

"It's getting kind of late, Sarah," Nikki said blankly, staring hard at Jane. "You wanted me to remind you. We both have work tomorrow."

"Oh," said Sarah, conscious of the coolness of Nikki's slinky flesh against her, a shocking contrast to the urgent wet warmth within her body. "Y-y-yeah, that's right. Th-thanks."

"Thanks for inviting us," Nikki said mechanically to Jane. "We had a great time." She slid her hand down to Sarah's hip and patted it familiarly.

"Uh, great," stammered Jane. She looked nervously from one to the other. "We—we'll see you later, huh?"

"Oh, yeah," Nikki said bleakly. "Sure." She stared, her narrowed eyes icily unblinking, until Denise's girlfriend had to look away.

They turned and made their way back toward the door, Nikki's arm around Sarah's waist, her hand comfortable on Sarah's trembling hip. Though her hammering heart gradually slowed, still Sarah pulsed within. She did not quite know exactly what she felt.

"Thanks," said Sarah as they stepped out of the hot, smoky bar into the cool starlit night. Heat wafted from Sarah's face, and beneath the high stars her skin prickled with goose bumps.

"No problem," Nikki muttered. She released Sarah and sighed. Gravel crunched under their shoes. "It was getting kind of late."

Sarah dug out her keys and unlocked the car shakily. Beneath the thin fabric of her blouse, her n*****s still stood up enormous and tight. Her hands trembled. "Say, Nikki," she said with attempted casualness, "do you, uh…do think you could drive? All that caffeine must have made me jittery."

Nikki looked at her for a long moment. "Sure," she said at last, quietly, her eyes unreadable. "Let's go home."