Ava takes her, slowly at first, breath ragged as Jean’s while she eases inside. Inch by glorious inch. She’s still for several moments – stroking Jean’s back, her hair – until Jean has time to adjust to the dildo’s girth at this angle. There’s no room for such gentleness in the realm of casual, yet it’s what enables Jean to let go, to tilt back and meet Ava’s hips.
Even when Ava begins to move, she rocks gently. Jean bites her lip to keep from crying out as the length of it fills her, again and again. But there’s no holding back when Ava reaches between them, circling Jean’s clit in perfect time with each stroke.
White hot pleasure burns through the last of Jean’s modesty, and she’s breathing ‘fuck’ and ‘please’ and ‘harder’ in a frantic voice she doesn’t recognise. And Ava, it turns out, is excellent at following instructions. She picks up the pace, driving into Jean until her legs tremble. And every thrust brings such an exquisite pleasure that Jean can’t bring herself to care about the slick sound of Ava driving into her sex, or the unmistakable scent of her own arousal.
There’s only Ava slamming into some sweet spot Jean had never guessed at possessing; Ava’s deft fingers catching at Jean until she breaks apart. The force of Jean’s orgasm leaves her limp as a ragdoll. Only Ava’s strength keeps her upright. But Ava doesn’t stop, though she slows. She eases back, sliding just the tip in and out until another uncontrollable shudder runs through Jean, gentler this time, but almost unbearable this close to the last.
Jean reaches back, words beyond her, and Ava seems to understand. Ever so careful, she withdraws the dildo, dropping a kiss against the nape of Jean’s neck. Together they slide down onto the floor, flushed and sweaty, slumped against the back of the sofa.
‘Fuck,’ Ava says, still panting. ‘That was amazing.’
Her limbs have the uncoordinated twitch of orgasm, though Jean had been unaware of her coming, too lost in the intensity of her own pleasure. And an earlier question surfaces in her mind, though Jean’s too dazed to phrase it elegantly. She gestures towards the dildo, glistening in the glow of the fairy lights. ‘How does that… work for you?’
Ava gives a breathless laugh. ‘You know, an orgasm’s mostly about what happens in the brain. And using this is like catnip to me. Also…’ She pauses to unbuckle herself, wriggling free. ‘The way the base sits against me really hits the spot.’
Jean shifts, pulling her ruined tights and underwear free. ‘So, I don’t have to worry about being a selfish lover.’
‘No. I’m good.’
‘I’m glad.’ Jean hesitates. Considers Ava’s body. The expanse of tanned skin, glowing with exertion. ‘But would you mind? If I touched you?’
Ava shakes her head. ‘No. I’m not stone.’
Jean reaches out then, laughing. ‘Of course not. You’re so warm.’ She shifts closer, skimming fingertips along the outer contour of Ava’s ankle to her thigh. ‘And soft in all the right places.’
Ava laughs again, properly this time. ‘I meant stone butch. There are some lesbians who only like to fuck their partners, but not be touched in return.’
‘Oh.’ Jean’s hand stills on the swell of Ava’s waist, uncertain. There are so many things she doesn’t know. If Ava’s not stone and enjoys being touched, no doubt she can find a woman capable of doing it more skilfully than Jean. It had been naïve to think she could successfully explore the secret dips and curves of another woman.
‘You don’t have to do that. Not if you don’t want to.’
‘I do want to.’ Jean sits up, freshly conscious of the slickness between her legs. Her dress will be coated in it, the nature and location of the stain making its origins unmistakable to the dry cleaner. But, drinking in the sight of Ava’s body, Jean finds it impossible to care. ‘I wanted to touch you last time as well. It’s just…’
‘What?’ Ava tucks a strand of hair behind Jean’s ear to better look at her.
‘You made it so good for me, and I’m not sure how well I’ll manage to return the favour.’ It’s ridiculous, carrying on like a nervous virgin halfway into her fifties.
Ava shrugs. ‘That’s not a big deal. We all have to start somewhere. Believe it or not, I wasn’t always this good. And I’m not expecting you to be some kind of vagina virtuoso.’
Jean laughs in spite of herself. Shifts so that they’re sitting closer. ‘Okay. But how do I… Any advice?’
Ava’s smile widens, devilish. ‘What feels good when you touch yourself?’
Jean’s cheeks burn. She can’t meet Ava’s gaze. But she does have an answer. She takes her time, stroking Ava’s cheeks, her throat, her arms, all so smooth. Jean doesn’t miss it, the scratch of stubble or the thick pelt of body hair.
Careful not to catch Ava’s curls, Jean pulls the t-shirt up over her head, eager for more of that peachy soft skin. And realises Ava isn’t wearing a bra. Jean’s gaze flits to her lap, the ceiling, her cast off shoes. Until Ava smirks, says: ‘I know you want to look. You can even touch.’
Jean doesn’t need telling twice. Her fingertips trail the dip of Ava’s clavicle, the hollow of her sternum still slick with sweat, the perfect swell of Ava’s breasts. They’re smaller, perkier than her own. They fit comfortably in Jean’s hands, a pleasant weight. And beneath Jean’s palm is the hammering of a heart through the thin wall of her chest, the stiffening of both nipples into tight little buds. They’re darker than Jean had expected, a pretty nut-brown shade. And – before Jean can overthink it – she lowers her head.
Ava stills as Jean sucks at her nipple, gasping as Jean’s tongue flicks the tip. And knowing firsthand the silvery pleasure she’s inflicting brings an unexpected satisfaction to the act. With a free hand she reaches for the bud’s neglected twin, plucking and suckling ‘til Ava’s arching against her.
Jean pulls away to survey her handiwork, Ava flushed and panting, her mouth a moue of disappointment. But as Jean’s hand trails down her belly, her expression morphs to surprise – then delight as Jean reaches her goal. Jean cups Ava’s mound, short curls bristling against her palm. She feels as much as sees the sharp intake of breath when she makes contact. And Ava parts to the touch, already slick from their earlier coupling.
Jean traces her labia, astonished by the molten heat of Ava. Instantly her fingers are coated in desire – and the silken texture is surprisingly pleasant. She probes deeper, seeking more of it. Feels the subtle clench of Ava’s walls as she sucks in a breath.
‘Gentler,’ she says. ‘Y-you have to build up to that.’
And Jean does as she’s bid, pulling back and using all that slickness to circle the nub of Ava’s clit. Soft and slow – just the way Jean herself would like it. Only when Ava’s rocking against her murmuring incoherent praise does Jean slide a finger back inside. This position is hell on her knees, but she could no more pull her hand free now than cut it off. All around her, hot and pulsing, is Ava. She’s literally inside Ava. No wonder men get drunk off the sexual power play of penetration, the animal part of her thinks – it’s an incredible feeling. An almost unbearable intimacy.
