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Eloise throws herself down onto the sofa with a sigh.
"Worst fucking date of my life."
She's not even exaggerating (which she can admit she is rather prone to). She feels as if the dullness of her date — Theo, an East London lesbian who has the audacity to have a shaved head and use a boy's name and then be a fucking TERF — has somehow leeched away the usual kick and fizz and fight that swirls through her. Her limbs feel heavy, as if the two hours of arguing with that fuckwit has actually sucked all the energy from her body.
Penelope wordlessly uncurls her crossed legs and plants her little bare feet on the floor. She moves her computer so Eloise can rest her head on her lap. She's wearing one of her stupid nighties (she has far too many of them, actually, because she so rarely leaves the fucking flat) and the frilly cotton rides up a little, so Eloise has her cheek pressed to Penelope's bare thighs.
"You say that once a week," Penelope says softly, pushing her glasses up her nose and peering down at Eloise.
"A transphobe, Penelope!" Eloise announces, though she hardly has the energy left to be outraged. She just feels sorry for herself and fed up. Which — one of Eloise's best qualities (in her own opinion) is that she is like a bulldog or an alligator, her jaw locking around her opponent until they give up and die. It is why her family members refuse to get into debates with her any more (except Anthony and Hyacinth — Anthony because he will never learn not to get ragebaited and Hyacinth because she finds it funny to wind her big sister up). But for some reason she does not even have the resource of her own stubbornness to draw on.
Penelope winces. "Christ. This person needs to get in the fucking bin."
Eloise feels somewhat soothed by this. She rubs her cheek against Pen's soft knee — which has gone all pink from the laptop. "You're meant to use a cushion when you have your computer on your lap," she reminds her. "We don't want a repeat of the dissertation second-degree burn fiasco."
"Yeah, yeah," Penelope says, tugging her nightie down so Eloise's face is cradled on cotton instead — which makes Eloise pout, because that wasn't her intended outcome. Her best friend's bare thighs make a much better pillow than the cotton. The night keeps getting worse, actually. She is, she thinks, the most tested girl on earth.
"Did you know, Penelope, that I suffer more than Christ?" Eloise asks with a dramatic sigh.
"Mm-hm," Penelope murmurs distractedly, and Eloise realises she is balancing her laptop in one hand over Eloise's head and scrolling the trackpad with the other. Eloise is used to sharing Penelope's attention with whatever she is writing at any given moment, but right now it makes her feel sour and petulant.
"If you drop that thing you'll brain me, you know. I'm not dying because you had to finish your yaoi omegaverse smut."
"Sorry, sorry," Penelope mutters, closing the laptop and laying it on the sofa beside her. "Also it's yuri omegaverse."
"Slay," Eloise says flatly. "What a win for feminism."
It is a little mean but Penelope takes it in her stride, like she always does. It's why they're such good friends, Eloise thinks. Eloise gets to be cunty sometimes and Penelope gets to be bitchy sometimes and no-one's feelings are ever properly hurt. Not like with her family, where if Eloise says something even a little cutting (or funny, in her book), there are tears and a Family Meeting to talk about her attitude.
"Maybe you need to take a break from dating," Penelope suggests, tucking her curls behind her ears. "You have been rather… frenzied with it, lately." Her eyes look comically big behind her glasses, like some sort of adorable cartoon mouse, her ginger lashes fluttering as she blinks. Eloise thinks she's at her prettiest like this, in her stupid nighties and her face bare of make-up and her curls unkempt. When she gives Eloise all her attention like this, too — it makes El feel kind of warm and sparkly, actually, makes her want to puff and preen and perform for her.
"Yeah," Eloise agrees, though she's kind of forgotten what Penelope said, lost in the particular blue of her friend's eyes. She shifts her head on Penelope's lap and thinks maybe the evening isn't such a wash after all.
"I mean, what's the rush? You've kind of been… volume-dating lately. Girl-maxxing."
With Penelope's eyes on her, Eloise feels like a flower under a sunlamp. She lets her mouth curl up at the corners. "I have a high sex drive, Pen," she says, and watches as Penelope's ears turn pink.
Eloise is uniquely unburdened by the shame most people seem to have about sex. It baffles her, really, because it feels like a basic human impulse — the same as eating or breathing, a biological function like any other. So she doesn't really get why it makes Penelope all squirmy and shy.
Not that she's complaining. She likes when Penelope's neck gets all pink and she gets stuttery. Makes Eloise feel worldly, in control, like she's some gay oracle or like… Sally Bowles, smoking a cigarette in a holder and scandalising Christopher Isherwood.
"Are your glasses actually steaming up, Pen?" Eloise asks, smirking and sitting up. "Here — let me clean them off for you —"
She tries to grab the glasses off Penelope's nose. Pen bats her hand away with a squeal and shoves her shoulder.
"Oh my god, get off," she huffs, but she's still blushing and her lips are twitching. Eloise feels it then — the punch-kick in her ribs, like a motor roaring into life, and suddenly all the bleakness is pushed away, replaced by the usual perpetual forward motion that powers her. She sucks in a deep, clarifying breath — before she pounces, and pins Penelope to the sofa.
"You maniac!" Penelope shrieks, as Eloise flings herself on top of her friend and tries to nab the glasses. This is not the first time Eloise has done this, of course (they have been friends since they were eight years old — these things happen), so Penelope is quick, wriggling and twisting her face to the cushions to trap the glasses to her cheek.
Eloise doesn't really care about the glasses anymore, not really. She's distracted by the plush, wiggling warmth beneath her — because wasn't this what she wanted this evening, why she went on that stupid date in the first place? A warm body to press herself against, to feel the sweet rush of flesh against hers, to press and pin and feel good? And it doesn't hurt that Penelope is so pretty, so pretty and soft and she makes excellent whining sounds when she's pinned.
But suddenly Penelope freezes, and her plump little lips drop open, quick breaths hushing in. "Oh," she murmurs, her cheeks vibrant red. Eloise pinches her glasses off her nose and places them on her own, blinking down at Penelope with a victorious smile as her vision swims and magnifies weirdly.
"You're so blind," El smirks, pushing down onto Penelope's wrists just a little.
"El — do you —" Penelope stutters, her body still, "— have an erection?"
Eloise frowns. Her crotch is jammed into Penelope's hip, and when realisation dawns she lets out a sharp, bursting laugh. "It's my packer."
Penelope frowns, her tits heaving underneath the diaphanous nightgown. Eloise can feel them brushing her torso with each gasped breath and she feels something spark and jitter through her body.
"Your…" Penelope falters.
Eloise gets off her and sits up on the couch. She spreads her arms wide over the back of it, sprawling with her legs apart. The bulge is satisfyingly obvious like this; Penelope's eyes drag straight to her jean-clad crotch, just as Eloise meant them to.
"God, you're so straight," El laughs, as Penelope sits up uncertainly, kneeling on the couch cushions beside her. "It's easy to forget because of how little sex with men you have."
Penelope gives her a dark look, her pink lips pouting. In fact, all of her is pink. Like strawberry ice cream. Eloise wonders if she's just as pink under that nightgown.
"My packer." When Penelope still looks blank, El smiles. "My cock. I like to wear it sometimes on dates."
"Oh. Your strap."
"No, sweetheart," she says, lips twitching.
"Don't patronise me," Penelope mutters, but her cheeks get redder, her little fingers winding into her nightie awkwardly.
"It's not for sex," Eloise explains. "I just wear it in my underwear sometimes." She cups the bulge, lifting her hips just a little. "I like to wear it on dates. Makes me feel good."
Penelope's eyes seem to be glued to Eloise's crotch, a little furrow between her brows.
"Here," Eloise says, and leans over to put her glasses back on so she can see properly.
"Thank you," Penelope says, pushing the glasses into place, though her eyes do not leave Eloise's jeans. "But…" she hesitates, her fingers still twitching and tugging on the cotton. Eloise imagines her dragging it up, up, revealing each inch of pink skin slowly, tantalisingly. "You aren't like…. Isn't it for like… gender dysphoria?"
Eloise shrugs. "It's for anyone. Trans people or butches or whoever."
Penelope snorts. "You are not butch."
Eloise pokes out her tongue and scowls. "I can be, actually," she says, though in truth it is a bit of a sore spot for her. Eloise has never felt fully comfortable embracing that identity. She has often considered buzzing her head and throwing out her make-up — but every time she determines that yes, actually, this is her new deal, she is Butch Eloise, she starts touching her hair sorrowfully and looking at her few dresses with longing and she can't go through with it. It feels like something of a failing that she can't be either, neither fully femme or fully butch, but in truth her connection to her gender presentation is pretty fluid. She is just herself, in the end (which never feels like quite enough but she has grown to accept it).
"Anyway," she says, sticking her nose in the air to cover up that little soreness. "My favourite thing is to wear it with skirts. A nice surprise for whoever gets under them."
She waits for Penelope's reaction but to her surprise she is quiet. There is something on her face — something curious, almost hungry, and she tilts forward on her knees, her eyes cloudy and blinking slowly behind her glasses.
"Can I — can I feel it?"
Eloise feels she's going to explode with all the pleased that rushes through her at those little words. She can't help how her chest puffs up, how she cradles her hands behind her head and spreads her legs a little further.
"Go ahead, babygirl," she says.
She calls Pen that sometimes because it pisses her off — Penelope is soft and chubby and it makes her look young for her age (she still gets ID'd buying rosé in Tesco). She's always doing things with her hair and getting new glasses in an attempt to look more grown-up, but in El's opinion it does fuck-all. She still looks angelic — especially now, when she's all pink and pissed-off.
"You're so annoying," Penelope says, and instead of grabbing the packer, poking it or squidging it, she grinds the heel of her hand into Eloise's crotch. Presses all the silicon directly against El's clit.
El can't help it — she moans.
It hangs in the air, weighty and swollen. There is a terrible moment where Eloise can't breathe, waiting for Penelope to tease her or look disgusted or — something —
It doesn't come, though. The opposite happens, actually.
All the strawberry ice-cream turns darker, her cheeks a blushy, syrupy red, and Penelope tilts her head to the side. There it is, that determined, curious hunger — and then she leans forward and does it again. Mashes her little hand against Eloise's jeans, and this time she grinds in a slow, deliberate circle, her eyes fixed firmly on Eloise's face.
Eloise bites her lip but the moan comes out anyway. Is she already wet? The silicon feels silky, slippery against her pussy. Maybe it was all Pen's squirming — or her pink cheeks or her soft thighs in that nightie. She fights the urge to buck up her hips, her breath still caught in her chest while she waits for Pen's next move.
She doesn't have to wait long, because Pen keeps fucking rubbing. Grinding the packer into Eloise in these slow, aching circles. On each pass Eloise lets out a little groan (she's pretty noisy in bed generally — poor Pen has probably had to hear it more than once). She wonders if she should stop this, wonders if they're about to cross a line and ruin years of friendship, but El is horny and Pen is so, so pretty and Eloise never did once turn down an opportunity to fuck. What had she said to Pen? She has a high sex drive. Exactly.
That's all this is, Eloise tells herself as Penelope clambers onto her lap, her thick, creamy thighs split over her. Eloise wants to grab them, slip her fingers under Pen's nightie and see if she's wearing underwear — but she isn't sure what the move is here. She's afraid Pen might get spooked and stop touching her, so she reckons it's better to let her lead. She's already unbuttoning Eloise's fly so it's working out pretty well so far, anyway.
Soft little fingers slip between the denim jeans and Eloise's black cotton underwear. Penelope has her hand trapped between their bodies as she rubs the silicon into Eloise's clit, sending sweet spirals of pleasure through El's cunt.
"It's so squishy," she says softly, her eyes wide and excited. She's wearing an expression Eloise hasn't seen before — kind of eager and focused and determined — and Eloise feels unbearably pleased to have it turned upon her. All Penelope's curious attention poured all over her, plus her soft, spilling body perched on El's lap and her hand on her pussy. Eloise almost wants to laugh from the giddiness of it all, but then Pen presses the packer just so and instead she whines.
"Yeah," El says breathlessly, her head tipping back onto the sofa with a thud. Penelope feels pleasingly weighty on top of her and Eloise feels like she's…. well, Eloise has spent her entire life feeling as if she might float away any second, lift right up out of her Dr Martens and drift off into space, and Penelope's body feels like a guy rope. Something tethering, pinning, and maybe usually that would make Eloise feel trapped, a butterfly on a pinboard, but now it just feels good. Snatches her breath from her throat and makes her belly feel warm like she's just taken a shot. She wants Pen to pin her, wants her to put her in a little glass jar so she can look at her whenever she wants. Eloise would flutter so prettily for her then, wouldn't she? Wings against the glass, spirals and pirouettes.
Fuck.
"Fu-uck —" the second syllable gets sucked into Eloise's mouth sharply as Penelope squishes against the packer again. She can't help how her hands wind into Pen's nightgown, fists in the cotton as the silicon presses so nicely against her clit. She wants Penelope flush against her, wants to feel all her curves rolling upon El's sharp lines. Wants to press their pussies together, actually — she bets Penelope's is so pretty, so plump and soft like the rest of her.
"You gonna come like this?" Pen asks, and Eloise is pleased to hear her voice is higher, girlish, cheeks stained cherry-red and her plush lips parted. It's not just El feeling it, then.
Eloise shakes her head, her fists shaking. She wants to pull them apart slowly, tear and tear until this stupid nightie is in shreds and Pen's tits are out (gorgeous, massive, perfect tits that Eloise has spent her entire life pretending not to stare at).
"No," she manages to grind out, her words pathetically hiccoughy as Pen keeps rubbing her. "Not — fuck — enough."
Penelope stops her movements and Eloise bites back a whine. Don't stop, she wants to beg, but unfortunately the scrap of self-respect she has left will not allow it.
"What's enough?"
Eloise considers her options, her chest heaving and her mouth watering. She can see Penelope's ripe little nipples tenting the cotton of her nightie and it's making her insane, actually. Totally unfair of her to have them so close to Eloise's mouth and be asking about enough.
Option one: she laughs it off. Tells Penelope she's just kidding around. Keeps their friendship squarely in its box, draws a line in the sand so she doesn't jeopardise —
Her brain won't even let her get to the end of the thought. She tilts her chin up and gives Pen her most charming, irritating smile, the one that makes Pen scowl and blush all at once.
"Wanna see?"
Option two, then. As Eloise leads Pen to her bedroom by her sweaty little hand, she is sort of proud of herself for even considering the first option.
"Oh."
"It looks scarier than it is," Eloise promises Penelope, plugging the wand into the wall. Pen's eyes have gone really wide, her teeth worrying her lower lip. El wants to shove her fingers in her mouth and let her gnaw on them, too, but Pen has never looked more like a twitchy prey animal and she has to go slow, slow. "What do you use?" She tosses the wand onto the bed and stands next to Pen. "Oh my God, or do you just use your hand? Like some sort of… I don't know. Pioneer woman."
"Pioneer …?" Penelope pulls a face, which is adorable. "No. I have a little rabbit thing."
Eloise grimaces. "Being straight is so scary."
"It's not because I'm straight, I'm just poor," Penelope mutters, but she's bending to touch the wand, pushing her glasses up her nose to examine it.
El starts unbuttoning her jeans with one hand, slipping off her shoes. She digs out the packer and tosses it aside. "Well, this thing is a lot more powerful than the rabbit." She pauses, her thumbs hooked into her waistband. "You want to just watch or you wanna…" Her lips curve up into a smile, her eyes dragging over her friend's body. "You want to try it?"
Penelope is breathing sharp and wet, her eyes hazy behind her glasses. She's so cute, El thinks. It's sort of sick she isn't getting regularly fucked through her mattress, really, but El knows Penelope struggles to find people to date. Heterosexual men are baffling.
"Try it," Pen says, and now her ears are pink too. "Try it, please."
Eloise has to stop herself cheering in excitement. "Okay," she says, and she hopes Penelope doesn't catch the excited tremble in her voice. "On the bed, then."
Eloise leaves her top on. Maybe it's kind of weird or unsexy to be only in a white tank top with her bush out, but it feels safer, somehow. As if they might kid themselves this is just them messing around, girls doing girl stuff. Homoerotic but in the regular way. You know — just bestie stuff. Full nudity feels frighteningly intimate.
It's why she doesn't kiss Penelope either, even though she's spread out on El's pillows like some slutty fucking angel, her knickers shimmied off and her knees bent. She wants to so badly, her cunt throbbing like some cartoon heart beating out of her chest, but she manages to control herself somehow as she crawls between Pen's legs, wand in hand.
Her nightgown is tented between her knees but El can still see Pen's pussy, and it's just as pretty as Eloise imagined. Pink and plump and yeah, she's fucking wet. All glossy and lovely, and if these were normal circumstances Eloise would have her face between Pen's thighs already. As it is she just grins wickedly.
"I like that you don't shave," she says, which makes Penelope huff and try to kick her.
"You don't either," Pen says, pouting.
Eloise catches the kicking foot and uses this new leverage to spread her friend open wider. Penelope shuts up then, her breath catching as Eloise turns on the wand. "Yeah, but I'm a lesbian." The rumbling of the toy matches Penelope's shivery little breaths. "I'll start us on low first. Don't want to blow your clit off."
"El— El —"
It starts off a rebuke but turns into the prettiest little moan when she presses the wand to Pen's pussy. Her back arches off the bed for a second and she flops back down onto it, lashes fluttering so sweetly that El wants to feel them on her cheek.
"Oh God," Pen groans, her tongue darting out to wet her lips and her cheeks reddening further. The flush is down to her chest and arms — even her thighs have turned pink. "God, that's the lowest — fuck, fuck, fuck," she babbles, because Eloise has started moving the wand in circles over her, the blunt head caressing her swollen pussy. She's already so wet that Eloise can hear her — and between that and her moans and her high, gasping breaths, it's a fucking symphony. Penelope's moans should be available on Spotify, she reckons.
"You're sensitive, huh?" Eloise comments, as she hitches Penelope's thighs up and around her waist so she can press closer.
Penelope's eyes are practically crossed behind her glasses, which — yes, they're actually steaming up as her cheeks get hotter. "I'm — yeah, I guess I — oh, oh —" Pen winds her fingers into Eloise's bedsheets and scrunches up her face as Eloise leans down to turn the power up another notch. "God. God. I'm — Jesus — okay. Fuck."
"Better than the rabbit, huh?" Eloise smirks — though she doesn't really know how she has the power of speech, because she is so horny her teeth are practically chattering. She grabs Penelope's hand and places it on the wand so it's firm against her sticky little pussy (flushed magenta lips that Eloise would like to lick very badly, please, and a pouting clit that she needs to get her lips on). "Hold it still here, okay?"
Penelope nods hazily, a little crease appearing between her brows. "What're you —"
The words are stolen when Eloise leans over her, nestling herself between Penelope's thighs so she can slowly grind her cunt against the head of the wand. Penelope lets out this gorgeous, shivering sort of cry and Eloise hisses as she works her hips into just the right spot, the rumbly vibration hitting her just where she needs after all of Penelope's teasing with the packer.
"Fuck," she grunts, propping herself up over her friend. Pen is inches away like this, a fucked out little cherub in a nightgown, her mouth open and tongue glistening pink inside. El imagines spitting in it, letting Pen taste her, getting inside of her in anyway she can — but she thinks it'll probably cross over the bestie line and instead starts to grind her hips.
The results are almost instantaneous and extremely gratifying. Penelope's head tips back and her mouth opens and the fingers of her free hand wind into the hem of Eloise's tank top. She begins to tremble all over.
"Oh God," she says breathlessly, and her thighs feel so thick and safe around Eloise's waist that Eloise wants to cry, especially when Penelope drags her closer with her heels and lifts her hips into the wand. "Oh God, God, God, God," she pants desperately.
"That's it," Eloise croons, circling her hips so she can find a rhythm against the toy. "Just move the wand how you like it and I'll find it. Yeah, yeah — fuck."
Penelope starts to rub the want back and forth fast. It feels fucking amazing and she smells sweet and rich like her rose perfume and her wet little pussy, and it all gets so much that El has to close her eyes, her hips bucking mindlessly against the wand. Her own cunt is abominably wet, so slick she must be dripping against Penelope, and she wants desperately to push the wand away entirely and just rub their pussies together but it feels way too good to stop. Everything is slick and shivering and hot, Pen's thighs sticky around El's waist, her warm breath puffing onto her face, their bare abdomens pressing together as they both grind closer, harder.
But then Penelope starts making these desperate hiccoughing sounds like she's sipping in air — she's so delicate, isn't she, so pink and soft and dainty — and El's eyes fly open because she needs to watch this part.
"Turn it up," Eloise growls — growls! Like some Neanderthal! She would laugh if she wasn't nearly blind with arousal. "Turn the wand up higher, angel."
God, she's fucking lost it — but who cares, actually, because Penelope is obeying her, her fumbling little fingers turning the dial up. Then her perfect face screws up and she comes with the prettiest cry yet as the vibrations intensify. Almost a sob, really, her lower lip sucked into her mouth and her hips jerking helplessly.
"Yeah, yeah, fuck," El mutters gutturally, riding out the stronger sensations, and she knows she should stop and let Pen recover but if she comes this easily she can probably come again, right? And in El's book the only thing better than an orgasm is two orgasms, so as Penelope's moans wind down and her eyes blink open, El just keeps fucking her (because that's what she's doing, no denying it — fucking her best friend — shit).
And Penelope, bless her, doesn't wriggle or push her off or say stop, stop, too much. No — she kind of goes limp, her body melting into the duvet while El slams her hips hard into the vibrator. She must be so overstimulated, poor thing, but she lies there and takes it prettily while El rubs and grinds and thrusts herself against the wand, over and over. Blinks up at her with that sweet little doll face, eyes wide and gorgeous and lips swollen, and Eloise wonders if she's ever seen anything prettier, actually. She wants to kiss her badly — not just kiss but sink her fingers in, stuff her full and press and press until she gets swallowed up by all Pen's pillowy softness.
"Higher," she grits out, sweat beading on her forehead and upper lip (why is it so fucking hot?), her body racing towards her orgasm. She feels sort of like she's going to explode, something syrupy pushing at her skin from the inside out. Like she's been downing honey, or drunk so much of Pen's rosewater perfume that it's going to pour out of her mouth and nose. Pen turns it up — all the way, greedy girl — and it's too fucking much, her fucking bones vibrating, but then Pen starts to beg "El, El," in this soft, pitiful little voice as she comes and El can't hold on a second longer.
She comes with a humiliatingly feral groan, burying her face into the cloud of Penelope's hair to muffle it. Pen shakes and wriggles underneath her as she comes too, her arms winding around El's waist as though she might keep them both from falling apart.
Fat fucking chance.
Eloise drags herself reluctantly from the soft cradle of Pen's body, breathing like she's just run a marathon. Her head is spinning and her fingers and toes feel like they're full of TV static. She feels like she might float away, might drift up into the clouds and be lost forever, so she tugs herself to focus on something — anything — and she lands on Pen's eyes. All that creamy blue, like they're lit up from the inside somehow. They've hardly looked away from El all night, have they? Sunlamp on a hothouse flower. El feels unbearably good, expansively so, her body blooming under Penelope's attention.
She doesn't want it to stop.
What's better than two orgasms?
"Have you ever been strapped, Pen?"
Penelope's eyes turn comically round. "N-no," she stutters, her face brimming with something Eloise is too horny and desperate to examine properly. Later, she thinks, as she switches off the vibrator and leans over to her bedside drawer. Later, they'll sort it all out, sift through whatever the fuck is happening (besties who come at the same time all tangled up in each other — right, yeah).
But now — her fingers wrap around the silicon cock, her heart beating lush and wet — but maybe it's not just blood in her veins anymore, maybe it's something richer and sweeter, honey and wine.
"Do you want to be?"
Pen rubs her nipples absently over her nightgown as she watches Eloise put on the strap. Eloise can't read the expression on her face and she feels suddenly shy with the purple dildo sticking obscenely, obnoxiously from her groin. She feels sort of… freakish, like she wants to cover it with her hands (not femme enough to be a femme, not butch enough to be a butch), but then Pen swallows and says:
"Looks really good on you."
And El feels a little better, then.
"You should just take your nightie off," El suggests, as she adjusts the side buckles and makes sure everything is in place, her knees spread wide on the bed. "You know, just if you need to tug on them to come, or something," she says quickly. Except Pen is already pulling the nightie over her head and then, fuck — fuck —
She's fucking perfect. Spread out on Eloise's bed, her hair curling in chaotic waves and her legs parted so her puffy pink pussy is on display. She's got this soft, wobbly belly and gorgeous rolls around her waist that El wants to sink her teeth into, and her tits — they're just as perfect as El always imagined, plump and heavy and tipped in little rosy buds that look achy and perfect.
It's weird because El wants to stare, wants to examine every inch of her, but there's like this strange, inherent instinct not to look. Some hangover from their teenage years, something shameful and crawling, years upon years where El tried to pretend she wasn't looking while Pen changed; wasn't staring at Pen's big fucking tits in her nighties and T-shirts, or holding her too tightly when they hugged, or blushing too hard when Pen sat on her lap, or held her hand, or or or —
It's fucked-up that it's still in there, kind of gutting and choking at once, because Eloise isn't ashamed of her sexuality, of who she is — not any more. And she's had sex hundreds of times, with dozens of people, and she shouldn't feel like her heart is suddenly on the outside of her body, raw and thumping and vivid. Penelope could shove one of her little fingers into it and Eloise would be dead on the spot, wouldn't she?
"You okay, El?"
There's that little furrow again, a sweet little crumple on her otherwise perfect face. And Penelope is looking at her with such care and concern that Eloise feels herself reinflate, all the sad empty parts filled up by the affection on Penelope's face. Eloise isn't thirteen anymore, she reminds herself. She's a grown-up, and she's got a beautiful woman spread and wet and waiting for her cock. Why the fuck would she waste another breath feeling ashamed when she could be fucking her?
"Yeah, angel," El says, as she starts to slick some lube up and down her cock (maybe not necessary, but she doesn't know how tight Pen is and she doesn't want to hurt her). She shuffles closer to Pen, and now it feels almost defiant when she stares at her tits, letting herself look and look and look, unapologetically hungry. "I've never been better, actually." She tosses the lube aside and taps Pen's calf. "Hold your legs open for me."
Pen swallows audibly, her eyes sweet and hazy as she hooks her hands under her knees and spreads herself, little fingers digging into dimpled thighs.
Fuck, she's sexy like this. Tits pushed together by her arms, her belly pouting into spilling rolls, her sweet pussy shining and open, her eyes ridiculously wide. She's still got her glasses on which makes Eloise feel insane for some reason — dizzy with longing, her cunt throbbing violently, so powerfully that her entire lower half feels like it has its own heartbeat.
Eloise often gets the idea that she can sort of feel it when she straps girls, but it's never as strong as this. She swears she can feel the silk of Penelope's pussy gripping her, feel it slick and wet around her cock as she slowly pushes in. Penelope starts to whine right away — not just whine but actually say Eloise's name, as if she's begging for something she doesn't understand, these little achy noises that Eloise almost can't hear over the ringing in her ears.
"Yeahyeahyeahyeah," Eloise groans as she works herself into Penelope's pussy (she was right — she is tight, tight and slippery and perfect). She starts to roll her hips right away, pressing the cock in and in and in until Pen is full and gasping.
"Fuck, that feels — oh my God, why does it feel so much better than —"
Eloise is so pleased it almost feels mean, something vindictive and triumphant in her chest. "Yeah, it's better, angel," she grunts as she rolls and humps, air pressed out of her lungs with each inward thrust. Pen's tits jiggle maddeningly each time she sinks deep and it's hypnotising watching those mouthwatering little nipples bounce. She wants to learn their shape with her teeth but Pen seems to be really, really enjoying what she's doing and she doesn't want to change the angle.
Wet, hushed sighs and aching moans tangle in the thick, sex-rich air. Penelope lets go of her thighs so she can play with her nipples, her eyes fluttering closed — so Eloise replaces Pen's hands with her own. Lets her fingers sink into the endless softness of her friend's creamy thighs as she eases herself in and out of Pen's pliant little pussy. It's making her feel drunk to watch how it splits and flushes around her cock — but she can't look at Pen's face either, her rosy cheeks and plush mouth and those hazy, gorgeous eyes of hers.
"Are you — gonna —" each breath is huffed out desperately with the exertion of her hip movements, her lungs tightening with each delicate gasp that drops from Penelope's lips, "come — like this? Just from getting — filled?" Eloise kind of thought vaginal orgasms were a myth, but maybe Penelope really is that sensitive, some perfect feminine fantasy made real, all pink flush and perfect moans and coming practically untouched. Maddening, actually, and Eloise feels that weird, sharp longing in her belly, that one she gets when she's really into girls and she can't tell if she wants to fuck them or be them, crawl under their skin and exist in their body for a little while. Be inside them, one way or the other.
"N-no," Pen breathes, and the fantasy pops and melts away. Her forehead creases up. "El, but it feels so good. It never feels like this —how are you doing this —"
"Rub your clit, angel," Eloise rasps, keeping up the rhythm. Sometimes on the inward thrust the strap kind of bumps against her own clit and she fights the instinct to shove herself all the way in and just grind. Penelope's words are making her feel like she's sprouted wings and is about to fly away, her fingers and toes tingling, and she realises Pen is right: it never feels like this.
Penelope whines as she starts to circle her clit with her fingers. El feels sweat drip down her spine, pooling at her lower back — in fact her whole body feels like a furnace and she wonders if she's as red as Penelope, who has flushed a sweet, cherry red that Eloise longs to press her lips to, her tongue, to see if she's as delicious as she looks.
"God," Penelope whimpers, and her hips jerk up sharply as though she's been shocked. "Sorry, I'm — my pussy's so sensitive."
"Get the wand," El orders in a rough voice.
Penelope does, and the minute she turns it on they both moan. Eloise is sure she can feel the vibrations in her cock, and it starts to get harder to pull out because Penelope is gripping her so tightly, her pussy spasming as she rubs the wand against her clit.
"This thing is — fuck," Penelope gasps, her back arching. "Oh god, god, I'm gonna — fuck —"
"Come, angel," El groans (begs is probably a better word for it, actually). "Come on my cock, let me —"
She doesn't get the next word out, because Penelope has wound her little fist into Eloise's tank top, and the moment Pen comes — the moment her face screws up and those sweet cries spill from her mouth — she drags Eloise down into a sloppy, desperate kiss.
It's a fucking mess. Tongues licking greedily, teeth clashing, Penelope sobbing her orgasm directly into Eloise's mouth. It's also possibly the best kiss of Eloise's life — she winds her hands into Penelope's hair and just tries to eat down as many of her moans as she can. She can't move her hips — not only because she's got no purchase at this angle, buried deep into Penelope's convulsing pussy, but also because she feels weak, broken apart entirely by the sweetness of the kiss, by Penelope's desperate whines and the fingers pulling at her top. She feels shattered; chest ripped open, bones to dust. Her heart, throbbing on the outside of her body, has been pierced clean through.
She bites down on Penelope's lower lip and Pen shakes violently through the last gasps of her orgasm, hiccoughing out Eloise's name as her hips rock up against the dildo and the wand. Once it's over, Eloise tries to extricate herself, half out of her mind with need — but Penelope pulls her back down, her legs winding around Eloise's waist to keep her plugged deep.
"Don't," Pen breathes, and she sounds just about as insane as Eloise feels. "Want you to come. Please, please."
Eloise lets out a noise she hasn't heard herself make before, something sort of yipping and whining at once like a kicked puppy, and so she does what she's wanted to do since she got the cock inside of Penelope; she begins to grind.
It feels fucking amazing. Better than she imagined, her clit rubbing against the wand and Penelope's pussy and the end of the strap all at once. She humps desperately into Penelope's soft body, feeling like she's going to drown in all the rich plushness, the warm, damp cradle of her flesh. She presses her mouth back to Pen's and kisses her roughly as she starts to come, the pleasure washing over her in a spilling, unstoppable wave. Up and up and up it climbs, and Eloise doesn't know how it's possible to feel as if she is flying and sinking all at once. She reaches a hand down to palm one of Pen's tits, letting her fingers sink into her creamy perfection (because it occurs to her this might be the last opportunity to ever touch them, actually) and she comes it is with a mouthful of Penelope's tongue and a handful of her tit.
"Fuck," she gasps when it is done, collapsed on top of Penelope and breathing hard into her rose-scented neck. She feels roughly as though she has been turned inside out, all her most vulnerable, sorest spots thumping and exposed, her entire body one giant, jangling nerve. "Fuck."
"Yeah," Penelope agrees, her voice fluttering and breathy. "That was — does it always feel like that, El? Sex with women?"
Eloise reluctantly peels her face away from the pillow of Penelope's decolletage and looks at her friend. She knows what she could say now; she could lie and say yeah, babygirl; I guess those boys you fuck aren't keeping you satisfied, hm? She could roll over and make a joke and they could stay safely within the boundaries they have drawn around their friendship; chalk this up to Pen's curiosity and Eloise's high sex drive.
But. But. Eloise knows you could call her a lot of things — a liar is not one of them. She is honest, always, even when it hurts herself and others. Brutally honest, her mother would say. A dickhead, her siblings might say.
But not Penelope. Penelope would say she is just being herself, and Penelope loves her for that, doesn't she? Accepts her, all of her, even when she is being a cunt. Perhaps she can accept this, too.
"No," Eloise says, and she makes sure Penelope hears her, their eyes tethered. "No. It's never like this, Pen."
Penelope's pretty mouth drops open, her eyes blinking quick. "Oh. Oh."
"Yeah," El says, her heart pounding in her throat. She feels like she might start bawling, so she shoves her face back against Penelope's chest, blinking quickly to keep back the tears.
It's hard to get the dildo out of Penelope's pussy — she's so tight it's sort of suctioned inside of her. Eloise has to work herself out just as carefully as she worked herself in, Penelope hissing and whining and clawing at her shoulders while she does it (which is — insane is not quite strong enough for how Eloise feels — she thought maybe the feeling would fade now she's fucked her but it isn't fading). To her surprise, once it's out Penelope starts carefully unbuckling the strap harness, her soft little fingers brushing El's thighs and arse and even over her bush — and maybe it's accidental but the touch feels too explorative and purposeful, like Penelope wants to get her fingers on her (yeah — insane).
And then they are kneeling on Eloise's bed, Penelope still naked and pink and Eloise in her white vest, both staring at each other and blushing hard. Penelope takes Eloise's hand and presses it over her heart, her eyes large and shimmering.
"El," she says softly, her sweet voice tremulous. "I— I love you."
And Eloise has heard her say it a thousand times before — more, more, countless, at least once a week since they were eight years old — but she's never said it precisely like this.
"I love you, Pen."
Yeah. Never like this.