A Matter of Trust: A Carlsbad Village Lesbian Romance

“Oh my fuck,” Morgan sighed.

“I’m going to make you come again, Miss Banks,” Chloë murmured.

“Yes…please.”

“And then I’m going to go down on you and have a nice long taste.”

“Oh, fuck…”

“Such a long taste that even when I wake up tomorrow, you’ll still be on my tongue.”

“Christ!”

“And then I’m going to make you come again,” Chloë promised, applying more pressure to Morgan’s sensitive clit, making Morgan’s toes curl.

“Please…let me touch you,” Morgan begged. She had come to crave touching Chloë’s wet pussy. How many times in her life had she touched own wetness? Countless. And yet, she had never imagined that she would get so immensely aroused at reaching between another woman’s legs and feeling her fingers suddenly sliding through slick and wet folds, finding a swollen clit to pull on and pinch gently, and eventually slipping her fingers inside, enveloped by warmth and more wetness.

Chloë adjusted herself so that she could open her legs to Morgan’s hand which now reached across to cover Chloë’s completely shaved sex.

“Oh, my god, you’re so wet!” Morgan gasped.

“I love how much you like that,” Chloë said.

“Do you?” Morgan asked, circling Chloë’s engorged clit.

“Mm-hm. And I’m so wet because of you. I spend most of my days wet now, thinking of—Oh, fuck, keep doing that! Keep fucking doing that!” Chloë’s eyes squeezed shut, her mouth falling open as Morgan gently rolled Chloë’s clit between her thumb and middle finger.

The two women then stopped talking, only moans, gasps and frequent outbursts of swear words and calls to heavenly deities coming from their mouths as they both pleasured one another, Morgan loving how her pussy was stretched around the three fingers Chloë had yet to remove from inside her.

The instant she felt herself beginning to come, Morgan locked her mouth onto Chloë’s and let her screams of pleasure be muffled by their kiss.

Chloë came undone a second later but kept her lips glued to Morgan’s and now each woman was swallowing the screams of the other, a fact which somehow heightened the experience for Morgan who bucked her hips as the orgasmic waves rolled through her.

When her climax had run its course, Morgan rolled on top of Chloë and in mere seconds had her face between the younger woman’s legs. This was something else she craved: the up-close sight of Chloë’s pussy, especially like this; wet, pink, swollen from orgasm. And another craving: the taste of Chloë, the sticky feel of Chloë’s come on her tongue and lips, the musky/sweet/salty flavor of Chloë’s sex.

How had this happened to her? Morgan wondered even now. What switch had been thrown inside her genes to make her desperate to constantly fuck this woman when for nearly forty years the thought of such acts had never crossed her mind?

Placing her hands beneath Chloë’s ass, Morgan lifted Chloë’s pelvis slightly so she could have a better angle with which to drive her tongue into the young woman, swirling it around so she could lap up the creamy juices, eliciting cries from Chloë that Morgan wished she could record and listen to whenever she wanted.

Withdrawing her tongue, she ran the flat of it up Chloë’s pussy, settled over Chloë’s clit and with a few swipes and a couple of well-timed pulls with her lips, had Chloë coming again. Looking up as the first throes of orgasm convulsed Chloë’s pussy, Morgan saw her lover grab her breasts and pull on both of her nipples, a keening cry escaping her wide-open mouth.

***

“My last serious boyfriend—I mean, I guess you can call him serious; ‘official’ is probably more like it—was Benjamin,” Morgan told Chloë later. They were still in bed, their limbs entangled, their bodies shiny with thin sheens of perspiration from their recently ended carnal exertions.

“How long?” Chloë asked.

Morgan had to think about that. How long had her and Benjamin been together?

“Only six months,” she finally answered. “And that was…Jesus! Over two years ago!”

Really? Over two years since she’s had an official boyfriend?

Benjamin had been an okay guy. A little too alpha-male for Morgan’s tastes, though: too into sports and hanging out with his “bros.” Was that why she had broken up with him? No, she decided. She had broken up with him because one morning she had woken up, looked at him sleeping next to her and decided that she couldn’t tolerate spending any more time with him. And the thing of it was, he hadn’t done anything wrong. She had simply woken up and found herself lacking any interest in being that close to him ever again.

Like a switch had been thrown.

Again with the switch metaphor!