Bree and Rose had settled to a very weird routine. They had sex, but afterwards they didn't talk, and in the days that would follow there was no contact. It was their secret dance.
The first woman to give herself over to her lust would call first. Bree gave in more frequently than Rose.
When they met, they avoided talking about their feelings or about what had happened between the sheets.
Bree had given up categorizing their relationship, and it seemed Rose certainly didn't want to talk about it. When they went clubbing, Bree felt like she was invisible. Rose chatted up guys and flirted around. Then they got drunk and went home together and Rose would let Bree fuck her.
They had only kissed on one occasion and they didn't share much intimacy apart from pure animalistic sex. Part of Bree regretted that but she didn't want to push Rose too hard.
It was Saturday night and, as usual, they were out. Rose was more than just a little tipsy and couldn't take her hands off Bree in the club. Bree was surprised, and flattered. She knew she had to take Rose home as fast as possible. The fumbling and tugging of clothes continued in a cab.
They almost fell on their way up the staircase to Rose's apartment. Somehow they made it through the door, giggling like mad. They crashed into the kitchen, a whirlwind of half unbuttoned clothes. Immediately, Bree took command.
"Shut up and turn around!" Rose turned around obediently and bent over her heavy wood kitchen table. Bree focused on Rose's backside, exposed in front of her.
She lightly brushed against Rose's black silk underpants, tracing the way from her clit over her pussy to her backhole. She spread Bree's legs wide and started playing with her pussy's entrance through the soft material.
"Stop playing around with my pussy. You know what I need, so don't keep me waiting, bitch!" Rose ordered. Bree snickered to herself. Rose had become quite direct when it came to voicing how she wanted to be pleased and fucked.
