As she looked down her body she saw Sonya's shoulder moving steadily as she worked her fingers in the clutch of the hot flesh in which they were trapped.
"Uuuuummmmmmmm… fuck me, lick me, give it to me everywhere," she moaned. "Give me an assful and a cuntful! Oh, hard! Ram it up hard, make it hurt!"
The arm moved like a piston, pummeling into her tender folds as the mouth clamped over her stiff clitoris. Her body turned into three burning pleasure points that met in a rising crescendo of cuming… cuming… cuming.
"Oh, baby, fuck it, suck it, ram it!Oooohhhh, it's so gooooood!"
They ended up sprawled over the bare floor, the mattress sliding away from them as their bodies twitched in unending ecstasy. Sonya kept her fingers deep in pussy and ass until Brenda's head moved from side to side in weak supplication.
"No more, no more…"
Sonya rose to her knees, her palm clutching her own pussy. "Roll over on your stomach," she panted. "I'm hot for some more."
She obeyed, sprawling out in passive readiness, as Sonya mounted her back and began rubbing her hot, wet cunt over Brenda's sore ass. She lifted her hips against the circling weight as the scratchy hair pounded against the curves of her white cheeks. Sonya's tongue licked at her neck and shoulders as she grunted in abandon, bringing herself off quickly and powerfully against the tender flesh.
"Ummmmmm, you've got a good ass in more ways than one!"
When it was over, she clasped her wet thighs around Brenda's ass and lay on her with a long sigh of contentment. How heavy she was now, in spite of her lithe slenderness. Heavy with the weight of satisfaction.
They were still for several moments, then Sonya whispered against her ear.
"That's known as grass on the ass. I had to have another one after what I was doing to you. It got me hot all over again."
"Do you suppose anybody heard us yelling?" Brenda murmured.
Sonya climbed off and got shakily to her feet. "I don't hear any dogs barking, do you? I think it would stir them up quicker than it would Teddy."
She leaned back against a table and stretched, spreading her legs and tensing the muscles in her thighs until they rippled softly. Her lips parted in a sexy smile and she rubbed her fingers lightly over her curly crotch.
"Happy pussy… real happy. So is yours?"
"Yes, oh, yes." She got up and looked blankly around the tiny room for her clothes, found them and began to struggle with shaking fingers with hooks and eyes and buttons.
Sonya drew on her panties and shook out the knickers raising her leg in a graceful bend as she stepped into them.
"We've got to get together again. Ginny's place? I mean, your place, excuse me."
Brenda brushed back her hair and kept her palms flattened against the side of her face.
"My place… yes, my place." She began to smile dreamily, then a short, excited laugh bubbled to her lips. Sonya looked at her strangely for a moment, then smiled. She looked at her watch.
"Well, that was a nice lunch, wasn't it?"
Brenda looked dubiously at the door to the shop, then to the one that led to the alley.
"Back door or front?" she asked.
Sonya gave another one of her earthy laughs, so at variance with the sleek, regal appearance she made.
"Since you obviously like both, it doesn't really matter, does it?"
She went out the back, as they heard a customer enter the studio. It was much hotter outside now; a searing summer sun had replaced the perfect spring morning. She walked in a daze down the street, heading back home. Now, the crowds did not seem so close or nerve-wracking, nor the noises so piercing. Everything seemed muted to her now as the torpid aftermath of sex rendered her body heavy and nerveless. The world no longer came at her with unsheathed threats. A hazy peace enveloped her as she made her way back to the apartment. Ginny's place… my place… our place!
Her footsteps kept time with the litany that spun through her brain. Brenda Taylor… Virginia Walters… Brenda Taylor… Virginia Walters. Soon the words marched together and ran amuck in a meaningless pudding of sound, with no separation between one name and the other.
She came to the apartment building and let herself in the front door. No one was in sight. She dreaded meeting Harl. Now he seemed like something from the past. The thought of him and his body repelled her because they reminded her of her first tortuous day in the apartment. Now the torture was over.
When she stepped into the apartment it was uncomfortably hot, a preview of the summer to come. She walked in and put her keys in her bag, noticing as she did the letters she had received from her mother and Jim.
A leaden reluctance to answer them struck her. She had not even read them. Twenty-four hours ago she would have ripped open mail from home in her frenzy to escape from Ginny but now there was no desire or need to escape.
Tiredly, like a child determined to get his homework over with, she sat down and read them both. Her mother's was a skittish rondo of incompleted, gossipy thoughts and inchoate warnings about life in the big city. It was Jim's letter that gave her cause for alarm:
I guess all girls want to work in the big city but I wish you had chosen L.A. instead. I miss the living hell out of you. How about if I flew in for a weekend and we painted the town?
No! her mind screamed. He couldn't come here, not now. He would change her back into the frightened girl she had been. She turned the page with shaking fingers and went on reading:
I don't want you to change and be some New York girl. Remember you're still my Brenda, and I want you to stay as sweet as you are.
She balled the letter up and threw it across the room, a dry hard sob rising in her throat. With an effort at calm, she got up, smoothed out the letter and prepared to answer it immediately. If I don't he might show up out of the blue, she thought with desperation.
She wrote slowly, weighing each sentence… Now darling, think of how we're going to need that money when we're married. Don't go throwing it away on a trip here. I haven't changed at all and I have no intention of doing so. This year will pass very fast and then we'll be together for good.
She stopped and read it over, rubbing her wrist absently. Suddenly she was fully aware of the dull ache that throbbed through her whole hand. She looked at it in puzzlement, then back at the letter. Her handwriting had undergone a subtle change. Instead of her sprawling forward slant the letters were vertical and neatly formed. Her hand hurt from the change in the way she held her arm and the pen. She flexed the fingers and tried to remember how she had formerly held the pen, feeling foolish that she was practicing something that was so second-nature.
Or should have been…
Jim's letter lay on the table and she turned over a sheet and began to write on it, consciously attempting her old style of penmanship.
Ginny Walters… Virginia Walters…
She dropped the pen and stared at the scrawled name, a tiny smile forming at the corners of her mouth.
There was nothing wrong. She had done the most natural thing, in the world. Whenever anyone practices with a new pen or plays handwriting games, what does he write? Nearly always, what is the first thing that occurs to him to write? His name…
She laughed to herself, a light fluttery sound. Well, she had fooled Jim once; he thought she was a virgin. Now she would have to fool him again. It didn't matter… it didn't matter a damn bit. It was just a game.