Clarification: All characters in the sex scenes described in this work of fiction are above the legal age of consent in your state or country.
The cool nylon sheets clung to Layla’s back and shoulders as underneath them she gently applied her tongue and lips to Marianne’s oh! so very beautiful crotch. The folds of her vulva, the labias
minora
and
majora
as she remembered them being named in her Biology classes, and, most of all, that little button, the clitoris. Although she’d never studied her own clitoris with nearly as much attention as she now could Marianne’s, she was sure hers wasn’t quite as perfect. How could anyone’s be? The “button of love” as she and Marianne christened it, but one so beautifully intricate and so delicious to lick with her tongue or nibble with her teeth.
Despite the two girls having been so passionate through the night, their periods of sleep interrupted again and again by the re-arousal of their mutual lust, Marianne was still easily stimulated. Her crotch twitched and trembled with passion, while a trail of Layla’s saliva slid down the “tunnel of love” as the two girls had re-christened the vagina. Although Layla was under the sheet, it was thin enough to let through plenty of the early morning sunshine and even without her glasses Layla could see the details of Marianne’s crotch. And of course that contrast between the darkness, the near ebony blackness, of her skin, against the slightly golden, slightly brassy, brown of Marianne’s equally firm young flesh.
She could hear, and almost feel, the sound of Marianne’s pleasure. That gasp she loved, rising up and up from inside the very depths of her, sometimes exploding in a suppressed and delightful squeak and sometimes a more full-throated bestial cry. Oh! She loved Marianne so much! And what was better, Marianne said that she loved her too. Despite all the men she’d fucked, far more than the single (and singularly uninspiring) one that marked the totality of Layla’s other sexual experience. But she was sure she could never miss having other lovers now she had Marianne. One who was so like herself: slender, slim, smallish breasts and even the same slightly sharp chin. Of course, there was no way they could have both inherited that pointed chin, although who was to say what was in the ancestral mix of Marianne’s muddled genes.
“Shit!” suddenly cried Marianne, mid-gasp. “Someone’s at the door.”
“That’s only Mum,” smiled Layla. She pulled herself up from under the sheets and wrapped an arm around her lover, pulling the sheet up to cover her nipples. Marianne sat next to her. The sheet was bundled onto her lap and her own small pointed nipples, still excited and stiff, stood out prominently on her bosom.
“Hello, dears!” announced Layla’s mother, carrying in a tray with coffee, cereal and orange juice for two. “Don’t forget you’ve got school today!”
She smiled at Marianne who warmly returned the smile. Layla was pleased that she and her mother got on so well. How would she have felt if the two people she loved most dearly in the world didn’t get on? She shuddered at the thought.
“Thanks, Mum! We just got carried away!”
“I can see that, Lay! But remember your studies come first,” Layla’s mother commented. She regarded Marianne, perhaps too obviously evading her gaze from the needle scars on her long thin arms and the zits that still discoloured her brow after all those months since she’d come out of rehab. “What are you doing today, Marianne?”
Layla’s lover scratched her cheek perhaps a little too vigorously. “I don’t know, Mrs Lampton. I might go down the Job Centre. You know, look for a job.”
“What happened to that other job, dear? The one in the fast food restaurant?”
“The Lunchbox? I turned up late one day, only an hour or so, and they sacked me. Just like that!”
“Well dear, that’s what they’re like with casual labour in these places. What about going to college? Have you thought more about that?”
“Yes, Mrs Lampton,” Marianne said, idly scratching one of the pale scab-like scars on her arm. “I thought about it. After you talked to me and all. I dunno. I wasn’t too good at lessons and stuff when I was younger. But I’m thinking about it.”
“Well, Layla dear,” continued Mrs Lampton. “Eat your breakfast and I’ll take you to school. But hurry! I don’t want to be late for work. Like Marianne was.”
Layla nodded. She liked it when her mother gave her a lift to school. So, she was doing a morning shift today at the clinic where she worked. She should have guessed from the fact that her mother was wearing her black nurse’s outfit with the metal badge across her bosom.
Less than half an hour later, Layla and her mother had descended the stairwell of the council flats where they lived and were getting into the battered old Focus which after all these years and all those miles was still reliable enough for Mrs Lampton. Not that she could easily afford a replacement. Layla kissed Marianne goodbye, but couldn’t resist a tighter hug and a more slobbery kiss while her mother watched with an indulgent smile. And then mother and daughter were in the car, as Layla’s lover strode away in her battered denim shorts and that top which showed off her navel-ring to its very best advantage, her shoulder bag slung over her shoulder.
“Oh! I love her so much!” exclaimed Layla, watching her lover recede from sight in the rear-view mirror.
“I know, dear!” grinned her mother. “I could hear you all night!”
Layla blushed, her skin turning an even darker colour. “You heard? We didn’t make that much noise, did we?”
Her mother nodded. “Ours is a pretty small flat. But it’s love, Lay. I’m happy for you. I’m sure I was just the same when I was your age. Only, of course, not with another girl. You and Marianne make a lovely couple.”
“Oh! Mum!” said Layla with glee. “I love you too! After Marianne, you’re the most important thing in my life!”
“But what about your exams, Lay sweetheart. You don’t want to end up working in the Lunchbox like Marianne, do you? You’ve got to concentrate on them. Especially if you want to go on to Medical school so much.”
“I know. I know,” sighed Layla sadly, nervously adjusting her wire-framed spectacles. “I’ve got to study. I know I have to.”
“You’ve done so well, so far. So very well. Soon you’ll be leaving the Leamington Heights Flats and go off with that scholarship that’s just a few exams away. You don’t want to jeopardise that. And if you love your old mother, please don’t risk it. I’d hate to see you not do as well as you ought.”
“I know, Mum!” sighed Layla. “You’re really talking about Marianne, aren’t you? I’ve got to see less of her until my exams are over, haven’t I?”
“Well, dear,” nodded her mother. “I know you’re both very much in love. But she’s not got examinations to do like you. I’m sure you can hold out a month or so till your studies are over. You don’t want her to think she ruined your future for you.”
“Oh Mum!”
Layla could see the school coming into sight. A large block, partly Victorian and partly, and rather dilapidated, more recent brutalist architecture. Not the most revered educational establishment, but Layla was almost the star pupil and her fellow students were
so
