Impact of Collision Ch. 03

I had been so self-conscious to have Claire see my building and apartment the first time, but now I am feeling self-conscious for entirely different reasons. As we walk up the stairs, I think about our cab ride, her hand edging my dress up to rest on my thigh.

'Just Claire being handsy,' I tell myself.

She babbles and laughs as we click over the filthy penny tile in the hall. Smiling, but afraid she'll wake my neighbors, I shush her under the too-dim bare bulbs lighting the stairs. As I climb ahead of her, I think about the cabbie adjusting his mirror to watch us, how I had spread my legs, wondering if he could see her hand pushing my dress up my thigh. My heart is beating hard and fast as I unlock my door. I can't remember ever feeling this turned on. I'm light-headed.

I lock the door behind us and take Claire into the bedroom. Sitting her on the bed, I kneel in front of her, carefully unstrapping her bloodied shoes.

"Always something with us," I mumble nervously. Claire is sitting on the very edge of the bed, crowding me a little, her legs splayed carelessly. She is idly pinching the hem of her dress, pulling the fabric tight between her hands and raising it up her thighs, I can see her panties, they are pale and look damp, presumably from dancing. I stand to get a warm washcloth but while I'm at the sink she slips past behind me, she strips off her dress and is shimmying out of her panties. I watch her in the mirror, naked, nymph-like, and smiling, her hands rising like a ballerina as she steps into the shower.

"I'm going to use your toothbrush!" she announces, leaving no room for debate; reaching across me she grabs it from its glass, jamming it in her mouth.

She stares at me defiantly and smiles as I hand her the toothpaste and turn to fetch her a towel. She steps out of the shower to meet me on my return, laughing and recounting some bit of gossip, but I'm distracted by her nakedness, trying not to look at her dark nipples. Looking down instead at the beauty of her flat stomach, her narrow waist, and points of her flaring hips. Her neatly trimmed blonde bush.

'Almost nothing at all,' I think, blushing and turning away, suddenly feeling ashamed and foolish about my own shaved pussy.

'What were you thinking?' I berate myself as Claire, still drying off, marches into my bedroom, babbling the whole time.

I listen to her, laughing at her own silliness, but my hands are shaking while I rummage for something for her to sleep in. This time choosing an oversized t-shirt.

"Here, put this on," I say, passing her the t-shirt without looking up.

"Pah!" She says pushing past me, dripping wet, dropping her towel, and crawling into bed.

"Why do I even bother?" I mutter, trying to focus on the discarded towel, but my attempt is half-hearted at best. I can't help but look up at her stretching long on my bed.

She pushes the covers down and is laying on her side, facing away from me. Her bare back stretching and twisting, hands in her hair. She has a lovely round bottom. She is quiet, her breathing is slow and even.

"Already passed out," I think. Part of me feels relief, but also disappointment. I think of watching her cum, the feeling of our legs touching.

'Were you hoping for another show?' I ask myself, as I look out my windows at the few lights across the street. I wonder if anyone is looking; if they can see Claire.

I grab her almost unused towel off the floor and think about leaving the lights on, letting any unseen watchers see her, but I turn out the lights and duck into the bathroom to undress instead.

I'm in and out of the shower in almost no time. Standing at the mirror I look down at myself as I dry off, my puffy nipples and my shaved pussy. I'm breathing hard like I've been running.

'What was I thinking?' I wonder, even as I touch myself, the smooth skin. 'What am I thinking?'

My nightie isn't on its hook. I look at my panties on the floor next to Claire's, prodding them with my toe. They both are darkened in the crotch. Pushing my toe into the gusset of Claire's panties, I see the sheen of precum. I turn out the lights and step into the bedroom.

"You have such an amazing figure, Sarah."

Her voice surprises me, making me jump a little.

"I'm sorry," she husks, sounding sleepy. "Did I scare you?"

"I thought you were asleep," I whisper. Claire is twisting over to look at me, and beautifully lit by the moonlight from my windows; it's bright and silvery. I'm naked. I realize I've been standing in the moonlight the whole time, illuminated just like Claire. But despite thinking Claire was asleep, I have been self consciously using my hands to cover my breasts and the smooth skin of my pussy. Still, I take a nervous look out the windows. I move slowly, as bright and white as the moonlight is, the shadows are pitch black.

"You have the body I always wanted," she tells me. Her skin looks like it is made from pale stone. Her hair is ivory.

"I'd kill to have your body," I whisper back, trying not to look at her. Instead of admiring her body, I keep my gaze lowered, looking for my nightie amongst the shadows on the floor. "You can wear anything," I mumble.

"Come here," she orders. Turning back away from me and lifting up her arm - expecting me to spoon her.

"My nightie-"

"Pssht, you don't need clothes for bed... Now Sarah! Tout suite!"

I hesitate, head spinning.

"Sarah!"

I obey, sliding into bed behind her. I curl one arm under my head and put my other hand on her hip but I leave a gap between us.

"Viens ici."

"Huh?"

Claire takes my wrist in hers, wrapping my arm around her, pulling me closer. My hand holds her smooth belly, my breasts press against the lean muscles of her back. My face is burning hot, my nipples must feel like stones. She shimmies her ass into my lap. Looking over her shoulder at me she brushes my shoulder with her fingers. "I mean it, your body is amazing," she whispered admiringly.

The world feels very small, very simple. Just the two of us in bed, naked and unashamed. No city, no boss or work, no mother or church, no Danny. Just us, Claire and I, our bodies pressing together there under the silver light of the full moon.

"I've always hated how big my boobs are," I admit. I'm squeezing her soft abs, kneading the flesh. Her skin feels dry and clean. I make myself stop.

"My mom... she rode me so hard because of them," I tell her. "I could never wear anything I wanted. She made me... I was too embarrassed to play sports."

"That's not fair," Claire tells me, a slight lisp to her voice. "I'm glad you weren't embarrassed. I'm also glad she wasn't here tonight, that you can do whatever you want."

"Me too," I murmur in her ear.

"I like seeing the girls on display. They're not too big you know, just right," she tells me. "I enjoy seeing others admiring your body the way I do."

Imagining that; imagining us being watched as we danced at the club, as she touched my thigh in the cab, as we lay together here in my bed. My breath is short, I feel faint.

"I liked it too," I tell her, my voice sounding small and girlish. "I was afraid, but you make me feel brave. I forgot to be ashamed."

"You have nothing to be ashamed of," she says, running her fingers up my cheek and to my hair. "You looked a treat tonight. That green dress beautifully compliments your complexion."

"I'm so glad you like it, I almost didn't wear it," I whisper, rubbing my cheek into her hand, so her fingers tangle and pull. "I almost chickened out."

"Really?" She asks, twisting all the way around so she's facing me, sliding her left hand between my arm and my cheek, cradling my face. Her right hand pulls through my hair to my shoulder and strokes my arm. It feels like such a motherly gesture; her expression so warm. I feel comforted and at ease curled up facing her; our knees touching, I move my hand to rest on my rib cage, my elbow folded behind me. My other arm is curled and supporting my head, under her hand. I'm displaying myself to her.

"You looked so bold," she tells me earnestly, "you should always wear that dress."

I smile, imagining picking up groceries in the dress that so thoroughly scandalized Danny. I picture myself going to work in it, what Keith and Ben and the other staff at the office would make of that.

"Your breasts are magnifique," she murmurs, interrupting my fantasy. She's staring at them in the harsh light from the moon. And then, after a long pause, she looks up at me, her eyes liquid and soft. Claire asks, "May I touch them Sarah?"

It is all going too far. I should be shocked, but again, like in the coffee shop, I am passive, letting her touch me. I have no urge to stop her, perhaps because her request was delivered with a child-like innocence, or perhaps because I'd been hoping she would touch me. I should feel self-conscious stretching out in bed naked next to her, my shades open, her hands touching my body, but instead I feel more beautiful than I can ever remember feeling - brazen even. I feel a thrill as I nod. Claire's fingers trail down to my breasts, running over the fragile skin of my nipples.

"I wish I had breasts like these," she whispers, cupping mine, the pad of her thumb rolling my nipple. "They are softer than mine...

For a long time we're silent. Just the sound of our breaths, mine hitching as Claire touches me. My breasts ache, they seem to swell in her hand.

"I've never felt another girl up," she admits.

"I've never been felt up by another girl," I whisper back, my breath shallow, my voice still high and girlish; thoroughly enjoying her wide-eyed wonder. "Is it nice?"

"I'm so excited, like a teenage boy!" She admits, sounding delighted, her voice shaking a little, squeezing me in her hand and delicately pinching my nipple between her thumb and index finger. Her smiling face is close to mine, the smell of mescal is strong on our breaths.

"Your fingers are trembling," I whisper, enjoying her touch, her admiration. "It feels nice."

"Your skin is so soft, c'est très jolie, ma chérie," she whispers.

Claire's compliments make me feel so beautiful, like dancing with her, I don't feel ashamed, instead, I feel proud. I stretch for her. My body is deliciously tired from dancing, my muscles ache, but I am wonderfully relaxed. I want her to see my ribs, my flat stomach, the points of my hips. I want her to admire my breasts; my nipples, puffy and pink.

Claire says something, but says it so quietly, I don't understand - it's hardly a lisp.

"What?' I ask, my voice breathy, the full import of what's happening suddenly bearing down on me.

"Take care of yourself," she whispers, taking a moment to lick her lips.

I stare at her, confused; hesitating. Does she mean the exhibition? What had I missed?

"It has been such a lovely night," she whispers, her voice husky and thick, her tongue so wet she was almost drooling. "I don't want it to end."

My heart is pounding and I feel like my eyes must be as wide as saucers. I open my mouth to say something, but before I can, Claire stops me, gently squeezing my cheek in her cupped hand. Her fingertips gently pull at my skin.

"I'm not ready to sleep..." she hushes. "I want..." she pauses. "...this time, together. I want you to take care of yourself, Sarah. I want you to do it for me."

Our faces are almost touching, she is still cradling my cheek in her left hand but her right shoulder begins to move in little circles. Her right hand is no longer petting my arm. I let out a long deep breath.

'How long have I been holding my breath?' I wonder.

"Please Sarah," she begs. "Do this for me."

I could feel myself flushing, her hand cradling my cheek pulling our faces even closer. There is no ambiguity, no misunderstanding. I know exactly what she wants.

She knows I watched her. Did she watch me? Did she see me cum? I can't help but remember my fantasy. My breath catches as I imagine spreading my legs for her, pushing my fingers against my lips, parting the wet flesh. I picture Claire staring as I rub and finger myself, I think again of kneeling over her face, of looking down at her as she watches me rubbing and fingering myself. Would she want to touch me as well? I imagine a drop of cum falling.

The images are all so obscene... so shocking, so absurdly beyond the pale - my mind rebels. My face is burning hot. I'm sure it must be scarlet. I'm beginning to shake.

"Je t'en supplie," she whines, her voice high and soft with need. Her hand below my cheek pulsing softly. She's begging me, "please."

But my fingers were already between my legs, touching my smooth hairless mons, my lips. Sliding into myself, I'm wet. Like on the dance floor, her body leads and mine follows.

I take hold of her rolling shoulder with my free hand, squeezing it tight, the tiny motions telegraphing down my arm. Our lips are so close, sharing breaths back and forth. She stares into my eyes, biting her lip. The room is silent except for the tiny wet sounds of us touching ourselves, our little moans, and soft cries. She slides a knee between mine, drawing us even closer. The back of my hand moving against the back of hers. I feel the changing pressure as her hips start rolling, pushing her hand harder against mine, my fingers pushing deeper into my wet pussy. My hips follow her lead, pushing against my hand firmly against hers. Our breaths become shallow, panting, interjected by rapid little moans.

Our breasts are touching as I feel her begin to cum. She says my name, our lips touching. There is a tangle of limbs, her holding me tight, me holding her. The orgasm makes me cry out.

"CLAIRE!"