(Author's note: This story was written for a friend. It is intended as a companion for a series of photographs.)
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Amethyst smiled to herself as she watched the flame in the fireplace begin to take the fresh log. The flame flicked under the piece of wood from the starter log behind it. Flicking, she told herself, flicking. Much like the touch of a finger, or perhaps a tongue.
The new scented candles loosed an interesting relaxing smell that mixed comfortably with the music drifting through the room. Jazz, new old jazz, something about a softer side of Coltrane.
She poured the chilled wine into a long-stemmed glass and sat down near the fire. The fire warmed her through her new white dress. It felt good. Her workday had been productive although routine, but it wasn't work or business that held her thoughts there beside the fire. It was the evening to come.
The wine was good to the taste, it's bouquet fine and correct. She sipped it and thought of the woman coming to visit. Her smile kissed the rim of her wineglass as she pictured the evening to come. Would Brooke make the first move, she wondered? Or would it be better for her to act first? Neither of them had ever had a woman as a lover. They had shared that admission. Would they really do it? Could they?
How quickly one can discover such things, she told herself sitting there remembering. How quickly when two people with a common, unsatisfied interest get to know each other. She had liked Brooke immediately. They had become fast friends over quick lunches and laughs at the computer in the office. A few drinks, a few phone calls, maybe too many drinks one particular night, but once they began to talk, their feeling just simply poured out to each other. The ideas and the suggestions followed soon after.
Amethyst sipped her wine by the fire and told herself she had no doubt that she would act, she would make love to Brooke, she would fuck her in all of the ways she had imagined and fantasized about, provided, of course, that Brooke was willing. Would she be, really be willing, even after all the talk and shared fantasies? Would she be? Amethyst intended to find out.
The antique clock in the living room struck eight and for some reason Amethyst was reminded of something she had intended to do. The comfort, the gray comfort she'd bought last year, it was in the hall closet, she thought. She wanted to find it and use it beside the fireplace with Brooke. She could spread it on the floor for a nice place to play. If she had it handy beside the sofa, she wouldn't have to go looking for it later. She got up and sat her wine on the hearth, careful not to sit it so close that the nice chill would be disturbed. The walk down the hall told her just how wet her pussy had become sitting beside the fire. With no panties for hindrance her warm juices had already begun to flow down the inside of each of her thighs. The wetness made her wiggle a bit as she walked.
The hall closet was packed with stored clothing and boxes, but she knew the gray comfort was there somewhere. With the door wide open, she squatted there to look low behind the hanging clothes. The moment she squatted the signals arrived: very excited pussy, very excited clit. With her legs and knees open, her pussy was completely uncovered and open beneath the dress. Spotting the comfort she pulled it near her but didn't rise. There was no hesitation at all as her index finger slid softly up the full length of her swollen, wet pussy, no hesitation as the finger found the throbbing nub of her clit, no hesitation as the wet finger painted circles there, teasing, playing, promising.
