Tangy, soupy heat smothered Elle's gaping mouth, Val's smell filling her world as her flavor rolled onto Elle's tongue. There was nothing tentative, nothing hesitant: Valerie gave herself wholly to her lover, sinking down, driving Elle's head into the pillow and her nose into Val's well-trimmed bush.
And Elle responded, straining upward, her head thrashing to bring her lips to bear on every part of Val's vagina. She found Val's inner lips and sucked them hard into her mouth, one at a time...
And then the alarm went off.
Elle dragged herself awake, heavy-legged and cotton-brained, from that same old dream: the dream where she was about to slurp on her best friend's clit. The alarm was still whining at her, beeping insistently, pulling her out of bed yet again to face another day.
She sat blearily up, yawning, and stared across her little apartment at her mirror. A puffy, red face greeted her, shredded from last night's clubbing expedition with Valerie, the mouth red and lipstick-smeared.
It had been a fucking rager, Ladies' Night at the Honeytrap out near Timberlea, two-dollar drinks with a side of nude men on the stage prancing around, swinging their dicks like clubs. The Trap only did Ladies' Nights every so often, and last night had been Ben's first time up on stage.
Val and Ben had been dating since university, with Elle as their constant third wheel. Back then there had been five of them, inseparable, with the same classes and the same dorm buildings and the same meal plans, but after graduation Brad and Summer had moved away. Val had actually come on the scene late, a transfer from out west, but once she and Ben had hooked up after a fraternity party she'd slid into their group as if she'd always been there.
Elle remembered it well, Ben slouching down to the cafeteria hung over and with a tall, inordinately beautiful girl in tow. "Hi, motherfuckers," he'd sighed, taking his usual seat. "This is Valerie. We met last night."
The others had looked at each other with wide eyes. They'd all been at the same party, of course, but once Summer and Elle had gotten Brad hooked up with some slut from Quebec, the two of them had retired to the frat-house basement for some good-natured necking of their own; both Summer and Elle had been experimenting that term, the two of them ushering each other into the world of pussy. At that time, Elle had still preferred men, but Summer would soon change that.
"Hi guys." Val had plopped right down in a vacant chair like she was one of the family, smiling around at them all from beneath striking eyes of a dusky blue. Elle caught herself staring.
"Nice to meet you," Summer had purred back, blatantly eyeing the new girl's chest. "I'm Summer. This is Brad, and that little firecracker over in the corner is Danielle."
"Hi," Elle had smiled, already drowning in those eyes.
"Danielle!" Val's eyes widened with new interest, then she turned to Ben. "This is the Danielle you were telling me about? Your partner?"
"Yep." Ben had been adjusting his balls, frumping into his coffee.
"It's just Elle. Nobody calls me Danielle, really." The introduction came out with a hopeful smile. "Ben and I are working on a new routine for the Dance Follies next week."
"A really hot fucking routine," Brad put in; he'd watched some of the rehearsals.
"It's not hot," Ben had snapped, finally finishing with his balls, "it's art." Back then he and Elle had been serious about dance, about the way they could use it to express narrative (as their professor was constantly hectoring them to do).
"You guys end up tangled up like a fucking pretzel," Brad had snickered. "It's really fucking hot."
"Sounds interesting." Val was smiling brightly at Ben, but she was talking to Elle. "Maybe I could see it sometime?"
"Okay." Elle flashed her usual shy smile. "Maybe. It's called Souls Colliding."
"I came up with the name," Summer had giggled. She'd been majoring in English at the time, though eventually she'd ended up in Law, but ever since that morning at breakfast Val and Elle had been best friends. Val had seen Elle through breakups and makeups; she'd been there, waiting in the car, that day Elle had brought an actual
girlfriend
home to her parents, and the years had deepened their love and support for each other.
There'd even been a kiss, just once, with some playful drunken groping at a New Year's party, just before Ben had taken Val home to fuck. Elle still remembered, wistfully, the feel of her friend's lips, the shining eyes over her shoulder as she'd left to take Ben's cock, that special secret smirk she seemed to save only for Elle.
She'd flashed that same smirk last night at the Trap, glancing over to watch Elle's reaction when the announcer came over the PA amid the strobe lights:
Next up, ladies? Benoit, and his fabulous Benoit Ballz!
He'd bounded out in a ridiculous leopard-print bikini bottom over that substantial package Elle had felt press against herself countless times when they'd danced, the rest of his body still almost as toned as he'd been at school.
"Oh my god!" she'd blurted, her face lit up as she watched him onstage; he'd always been so graceful, so powerful, such an expressive dancer, and that came through to her trained eye even in such a tawdry setting. She glanced around, the women going insane with rapt eyes and nipples bursting at their party tops. She leaned over and had to shout in Val's ear over the throbbing music. "Is he going to go all the way?"
"You mean get nude?" The other woman was sipping liberally from her whiskey. "Fuck yes." She said it with a feral possessiveness, a look in her eyes that told Elle the two of them would be getting absolutely, viciously primal, later on back at her apartment. "That last guy is one of his coworkers."
"No shit?"
That last guy
had been called Franco, a shitty dancer, though the size of his cock once he'd whipped off his shorts had driven the crowd into a frenzy. "He had a nice dick," Elle reflected.
"Just wait'll you see Ben's," Val snickered back, and then she took her eyes off the stage to give Elle a curious glance. "Have you ever?"
"Ever what?" The woman pressed against Val's other side had her hand down her pants.
"Ever seen Ben naked?" Elle knew the score: outsiders presumed that university dance troupes were sexual playgrounds, where partners fucked each other more or less freely. "You can tell me. I won't mind."
"Actually?" She had, but only from behind. "I saw his butt once, but that's it. We weren't that kind of friend," she winked. She'd caught him from behind during a costume change, nothing more. "He's seen me, probably. Definitely my tits."
"Shush," came Val's urgent reply. "Less talking. More looking. My boyfriend is about to get nasty."
And he did, feeding off the overheated screams from the packed crowd, all of them swaying in an estrogen fog Elle could almost taste. Bodies pressed on her from all sides, breasts and butts and arms and hips constantly brushing her, keeping her excitement up.
Making her pussy throb.
Because yes, she was watching Ben strut his stuff, admiring his fluid moves, his smooth body... but she was far more aware of Val, pressed against her by the crowd, of her beautiful face and her amazing body and the excitement in those dark-blue eyes of hers. She stirred, the crowd freaking out: Ben had just lost his bikini bottom, and Elle hooted dutifully along with the rest of the packed house as he arched his back and thrust his cock at the crowd, head flung back and arms outstretched, for his big finish.
Elle glanced at Val, who was licking her lips; she was a proud woman. She watched her man on display with his cock half-hard, and she knew he could have any pussy in the place. But that it was hers, Val's, that he wanted.
Elle frowned at her coffee now the next morning, the everpresent Val sex-dream fading at last. She was meeting them for lunch, the inseparable trio once more, and as the clock oozed toward nine she figured she should probably clean herself up and get dressed.
* * *
Lunch was good, a half chicken-salad sandwich and a cup of soup, plus iced tea. Elle sat across from Val, chatting warmly, trying to forget that she'd now seen her old friend Ben sexing it up onstage with his meat exposed. It changed their dynamic, she'd noticed.
