Scissor Link by Georgette Kaplan (good books to read for adults .TXT) 📕

her and she felt so full, so complete, she didn’t know how she could take anymore. She was too damn sensitive; it was almost too intense for her. Every touch on her engorged clit sent jagged bolts through her.

“I can hear your fingers,” Janet said, “pumping in and out.”

“Jesus!” Wendy replied cleverly.

“You can’t take anymore, can you?”

“Uh-uh, uh-uh…”

“You’re going to come?”

Wendy whimpered as she nodded, tears brimming in her eyes, looking over at that fucking pin-up pose like it was talking to her. This just wasn’t supposed to feel so good! It was supposed to be a distant second to sex—it shouldn’t feel like the real thing!

Janet must’ve just known that was her answer, because she proceeded as if she’d actually been able to see Wendy. “Come for me. Right now. Do as I tell you.”

Wendy parted her lips to say yes, but a moan escaped instead, howling out of her body to tell Janet what was happening to her, all because of Ms. Lace.

Her fingers moved with a speed she hadn’t known they possessed, the glove giving them a mind of their own, and Wendy stopped trying to fight it, let it do whatever it wanted to her. Her eyes closed, the sight of Janet’s beautiful face sharpening in her head. It was right after they’d kissed, leaving those full lips slightly swollen, almost bruised, and a hunger and a fury and a challenge in Janet’s eyes that Wendy hadn’t been able to see at the time, but now all she could think of was how it felt to be burning under that look.

She remembered the press of Janet’s lips to hers, the softness of them; the feel of Janet’s tongue darting between her lips and into hers, as she responded, as she’d just begun to respond.

Wendy’s hand was a blur between her legs, her hips throwing her up against them, holding her in the air with burning thighs as her arm pumped and she strummed her clit and everything inside her went to her core, tight and hot and exploding slowly.

I’m going to come for you, she thought, her muscles straining, sweat pockmarking her body. You told me to come and I’m going to do it. Her lips parted, forming words even she couldn’t decipher. Ms. Lace. Her head thrashed to the side, pressing her cheek to the cool of her pillow. Ms. Lace. Her back arched, muscles tensed, all of her centered on her sex as she lifted it up to the sky, her hand. Janet. She came, a ragged version of the name escaping her as pleasure flooded her, filled her, then leaked out of her in slow degrees, her fingers continuing to play between her legs.

She collapsed to the mattress, it letting out a groan that mirrored hers. All the strength drained from her body, and she just barely managed to maneuver a clumsy hand to the phone and take a picture of three fingers inside herself before the feeling became too overwhelming. When the glove slipped out to rest against her thigh, the relief was both blissful and frustrating. More. She could’ve taken more. Janet would’ve made her take more, if only she were there, if only she could see how much Wendy needed it, her, them.

A rich laugh from Janet poured over her like honey. “Well, now we know how many fingers you can take. I’ll adjust my expectations accordingly.”

“Yes, Ms. Lace.” Wendy sent the photo she’d taken.

“Another picture. You follow orders well. Would you like your reward now or are you done playing for the night?”

“One more,” Wendy said, surprised she could speak when it felt like the air was flying out of her body the moment she breathed it in. “But I don’t want to see your body. I want to see you.”

The sound of Janet’s breathing stilled, quieted, and Wendy wondered for a dire moment if she had hung up. But no, the little timer on the phone call continued to flicker along. A moment later, it lit up with a new photo.

Janet’s glasses were off, her hair was down. And her face was different. It took Wendy a moment to realize what. She wasn’t smiling, not exactly—there was a tightly buttoned grin at the ends of her lips, but it was more of satisfaction than anything else.

But there was an openness there too. Not a vulnerability, but the cultivated blankness that Janet armored herself with was gone. And if there wasn’t a maelstrom of emotion on her face, there wasn’t a void of it either. Wendy had the uplifting feeling that if she told Janet a joke, she would laugh; that if she told her a tragedy, she would frown. No minute adjustments of a carefully composed visage, but what she was feeling, written boldly on her face.

She didn’t think it was ‘the real Janet’ or some sophomoric nonsense like that. The Janet who chose to be a businesswoman was just as real as the Janet who smelled roses or whatever. But this most definitely seemed like her Janet. Something no one else was privy too.

“Thanks,” Wendy said.

“Get some sleep,” Janet told her fondly.

Fondly. Wendy could absolutely put that tone with that face.

“I expect you to do your usual excellent work tomorrow.” She hung up without anything more.

Wendy struggled out of her top, pulled the covers over herself, and went to sleep staring at her phone and the new glimpse she’d been given of Janet Lace.

The gay bar was not Janet’s bag, even after what she’d done, but she was too keyed up to sleep and there was a certain ambience she wished to absorb. Wendy had said she’d fucked her in her office, reading that e-mail, and now Janet understood what she’d meant. However far apart they were, she felt fucked. Perhaps it was just knowing Wendy felt the same way.

In a strange way, her own muted reaction to the ‘lesbian scene’ was comforting. There’d always been that trepidation over her attraction to females—such a relief to meet Roberta,