Impact of Collision Ch. 05

"I didn't even see the bar," I say with a gasp as I hand her back the glass. She stares at me over the rim as she drinks. "What do you think they were serving?" I wonder.

"Red Bull and vodka," she tells me with authority. "I'd stake my reputation on it."

The two of us are still soaked in sweat. Steam had been rising off Claire's shoulders and head as we walked across the street from the party to my building.

"You have a reputation?" I ask, smiling.

"I'm getting one," she tells me. "Especially the more time I spend with you."

"I don't know what you're talking about, I'm a good Catholic girl." I retort as I take the last gulp of water before turning to the sink to refill the glass.

"I'm a good Catholic girl too!" Claire pipes defensively.

"Somehow I think it's different," I tell her, thinking of the Algerian and the Norwegians. I hand her the glass, smirking.

"Perhaps," she concedes, perhaps knowing what I'm thinking. "Do you still have your uniform?"

"Yes! Do you?!"

"Of course!" Her laugh fills the kitchen. "Do you have it here?"

"No." I feel myself flushing at the idea of wearing my school girl uniform for Claire. I take the glass from her hand and drink, trying to cover over my embarrassment.

"Me neither..." she says, sounding a little wistful, but she's staring at my lips. We've been talking about nothing, as if nothing is happening, as if we are just two friends drinking water and I'm not about to kneel and eat her pussy.

"Come!" she orders, turning off the kitchen light. "Time for bed."

Claire leads me into my bedroom by the hand, stopping in front of the window and turning me around. She unzips the back of my dress, smoothing her hands over the damp skin as she pushes it off my shoulders and down my arms. I start to cover myself, raising my arms and preventing the dress from falling, but all it takes is a small "tsk" from Claire and I drop them and shimmy out of the dress for her.

She unclasps my bra and reaches beneath my arms to slide her finger over my bare breasts, cupping them, hefting their weight appreciatively as my bra falls to the floor. The lights are on and I'm nervously looking out the window. She is pulling at my nipples. We are no longer pretending nothing is happening, I suppose. The crowd across the street has dispersed, and the windows across the way are dark, but still I can't help but imagine watchers as her thumbs slip into the waistband of my panties.

"It's not fair," she tells me, pushing them down.

"What's not fair?" I ask, standing on my toes and again shimmying for her.

"That you have such perfect breasts AND a great ass," she says matter of factly - as if we were trying on clothes or preparing lunch, not stripping me bare in front of the whole city.

"It's too big," I tell her, thinking of the way it sticks out.

"Are you fucking mad?" she asked, grabbing my ass in her hands, her fingers curling like claws. "Have you never looked at yourself?!"

I step out of my panties as she releases me, and turns me towards her. Her cheeks are flush as her eyes glint with excitement.

"You threatened to behead a man for calling my ass fat."

"But you-"

"Seriously!" she says, slapping my ass hard enough to make a loud crack.

"EEP!" I call out and jump, more from surprise than pain.

"And these! They're magnificent!" she complains. I had moved my hands up to cover myself but she pushed them away so she could look at me.

"They don't sag at all, and are the most beautiful shape. It's like you were drawn by a teenage boy."

She reaches around my waist to squeeze my ass, pulling us together and lifting me onto my toes. Her brow creases as she looks hard at me, staring at my lips.

"Et ta bouche, ta belle bouche," she says hungrily, as she bites her bottom lip.

I look away, feeling self conscious under the harsh glare of her appraising gaze. I reach for the hem of her little black dress hoping it will distract her and she releases me. She makes soft sounds of complaint as I jerk at the little shift with shaking hands. She lifts her arm and shows me the little zipper hidden in the seam along her side. The pull is a black tear drop. I lower it exposing a 12 inch slit of pale sweaty skin along her flank. With the waist no longer crimped I can pull the damp silk up over her sweaty hair. She is glorious in her lingerie, standing proudly for me and whoever might be looking at my window as I drop the damp dress to the floor.

"You can't go home in that," I whisper, as I guide her with a hand on her arm, turning her around. My voice sounds scared. "It's soiled."

"Maybe you can lend me something to wear?" she asks. Her voice is playful.

"You're soaked," I scold, as I unclasp her bra and she turns back around, facing me as I peel it off. It's black lace, so fine it's almost almost diaphanous - such a beautifully fragile little thing, so exquisitely made. I dream of being able to wear things like this.

"You like this, don't you?" She asks, as my fingers trail the delicate lace. "In French, it is called le soutien-gorge."

I think this 'soutien-gorge', exquisite on its own, perfectly captures and frames her engorged nipples, it is like art, or even porn. I think of how I should learn more French, of how happy that would make Claire.

Her skin glistens and her erect nipples shine, dark and almost oily looking. She arches and twists for me. I look down at her belly, admiring her underpants, they match her bra. "You always have such wonderful lingerie."

"My mother bought these for me," she tells me. "They were a going away gift."

"She has wonderful taste," I tell her, putting my hands on her hips.

Keenly aware of the show we're giving anyone still awake, I drop slowly to my knees to take off her panties. Claire's belly is rising and falling with her hurried breath. I look up at her and she moans a little with delight, like she's been presented with sweets.

"My mother will adore you," she tells me as I hook my fingers in her panties.

"You really think so?" I ask shyly as I pull the little garment off her ass and down her thighs. "She won't think I'm a loud, crass American?"

"No, not my Young Sarah," she says as I bow at her feet. "She will see what I see."

"I would like to meet your mother, one day, '' I say, bussing her soft little bush with my lips. I'm gripping the back of her thighs tight. Her skin is slick with sweat. She fingers my scalp, gulping air. It's been a long day and she smells strong. I put out my tongue, preparing to eat her pussy right here next to the window with the lights on. She's still in her heels, and shuffles her feet wide, giving me entrance. Her thighs are wet against my face. She's hot against my tongue, but I can feel her swaying and jerking for balance, her legs are shaking with the effort to stay upright.

She makes a small petulant sound and pulls me back.

"I can't," she whines, sounding winded. "It's too much. I'll fall. I can't..."

I stand and lead her to my bed, letting her fall back onto the bed, feet spread wide on the floor. I start to undo the straps of her shoes. Claire is up on her elbows, smiling at me as I do. As soon as I free the first foot she pulls it onto the bed, bending her knee and letting it fall to the side, in a lewd display. Taking off her other shoe I kiss the sole of her bare foot before standing.

I stand and turn to shut off the lights, but she stops me.

"No."

I turn back and look at her. The curls at the corner of her mouth are still there, but something in her eye is unyielding. She sees my eyes glance at the open shades. She shakes no.

"Let them watch my beautiful Young Sarah, I know you like being watched."

I feel the color rise making my face hot. I'm not drunk enough for this. There's a trembling in my chest as I turn back and cross to her. Crawling between her legs onto the bed it feels like something very immense and infinitely heavy is spinning out of control. Pressing my knees against the backs of her spread thighs, my arms bridging her body, our lips almost touching. I'm dripping wet, we both are.

"What happened on the dance floor?" she asks. "You almost fell."

My stomach clenches with shame. I consider lying, telling her I had a cramp, but remember the faces of the girls around us watching me, remember their smiles as we'd left. They'd all known. Claire certainly knows.

"I came," I confess. She's looking up at me, her eyes narrow, studying me. My face feels like it's on fire. "I had an orgasm."

"In front of everyone? All those girls..." she says, her expression opaque. I can't tell if she's shocked or amused. "I think Young Sarah is an exhibitionist slut. What kind of good Catholic girl does that?"

"I- I-," I stutter.

"Show me how you're a good girl," she tells me.

The word "slut" is still ringing in my ear, hearing her speak it, even soft and kind, fills me with dread. I feel tears filling my eyes as I think of the girls watching me, the looks on their faces, the way I made a show of myself.

'I am a slut,' I think. I dip my head until my mouth is just beside her ear.

"Tell me what you want," I beg. "I'm good. Tell me what to do and I'll do it. Anything you want."

"Your mouth," she whispers in my ear. "I want your mouth on me, Sarah, I want you to go down on me again. Eat my pussy."

I'm kissing her mouth as she murmurs her orders. My name fills our mouths. My tongue licks her lips as they shape the word "pussy."

Our tongues play and her arms wrap my shoulders, pulling me into a deep kiss. She moans, filling my mouth with a rich smoky flavor of ramps, red wine and cigarettes. I think of Minter's paintings, the obscenely large tongues, the beautifully painted lips, darkly freckled cheeks. But then, Claire starts pushing me down.

Traveling down her chin and neck; I pepper her with kisses. Stopping to enjoy the feel of her clavicle held between my lips, so delicate and fine. I maw at her "beauty bone" for a moment, softly with my teeth, but Claire presses me to move on, using more force now.

Her skin is hot and salty with sweat. Her breast fills my mouth, my tongue circles her nipple.

"Fuck! FUCK!" she hisses, squirming beneath me. I suck, her hands grip the tops of my shoulders, clutching almost painfully as I nurse. "Jesus Sarah!"

"MmmmMmmMm," I moan in protest as her hands bear down.

"Enough! Do as I say! Fucking eat my pussy!" She spits, shocking me. I pull my lips away in surprise as she grabs me by the hair, "Fucking do it bitch! Lick my fucking cunt!"

Part of me is thunderstruck by Claire's crude outburst, wondering at it and afraid, yet I all but jump down the bed to lick her pussy, rushing to force my tongue into her in a show of obedience. I'm hit with her taste - strong and sour, but I push on.

"Nom de Dieu de putain de bordel de merde de saloperies de connards d'enculé de ta mère!"

More than just swearing, she is pulling at my hair with angry jerks, fucking my face with her hips. I'm flooding her with saliva, washing her with my tongue.

"Suck it!" she storms, her voice rising, almost hysterical. "Show me how you eat my pussy!"

I'm almost panicked to do what she tells me, making a sloppy mess as I frantically lick, bobbing my head as fast as her grip on my hair will allow, sucking her with all my might. My tongue feels like it might cramp.

"Slut!" The word lands like a slap. "Rubbing your cunt. You love this, you love being my slut."

I realize she's right, that without knowing it, I've been fingering myself. I feel a pang of guilt, wonder if I should stop but I look at her, and see how much she enjoys seeing me this way.

We're looking at each other, my lips wrapped around the tips of my tongue and her clitoris. I'm sucking like a baby, compressing the little muscle against the swollen prominence, dragging my tastebuds up the slick underside, then forcing it back down, over and over.

Claire's eyes are glittering, wide like they might overflow. She's baring her teeth in pure animal pleasure.

"Eih! Eih! Eih! Eih!" Her body is hot in my hands, slippery with sweat.

"AaaayyyAHHH!" She bellows, throwing back her head and thrusting her hips upwards. I raise myself onto my knees and finger myself while looking down on her as she bucks and twists, the movements of her limbs almost like punches and kicks. My hand is a blur making lewd wet noises and my breath is short mechanical bursts.

"AH!"

"AH!"

"AH!"

"AH!"

Claire is humping her hips up at me hard. I have to move my face with her thrusts so I don't bash her with my teeth or get a fat lip.

"Fck!"

"Fck!"

"Fck!"

"FUCK!"

"FUUUUUEEEE!!"

Shoulders and arms on the bed, hips and knees in the air Claire floods my mouth. Her neck is bent and she is staring down the length of her sweat drenched belly at me, her face a rictus mask of pleasure so intense it looks like pain. For a moment she is frozen like that silent. Even her ribs clutched and tense her breath all expelled. I'm still sucking, my lips turned out and spread wide.

Claire is watching me finger myself as her own breathing calms and her limbs relax and her belly goes soft.

I drop my head and rest my sweaty head on the sodden flesh of her belly, lowering my mouth back to her cunt as I try and catch my breath. Claire is watching me. She pets my hair, moving it aside so we can see each other. I put out my tongue and lap at her, licking and sucking. I had wanted to cum with her, but I'm not disappointed because I know now Claire isn't done; she can go again.

My fingers are working over my clit slowly as I suck, I can feel my own orgasm building as I feel her breathing change, as she moves from recovering from her last orgasm to building towards her next. I am in awe of her, of her appetite, of her power.

At brunch it's as if nothing has happened. Just two girlfriends nursing our hangovers with coffee and Bloody Marys while we share the Sunday Times. Claire is anxious to read the feature on Sophie Calle she's holding, but excited to see our piece with the census data I'm showing her.

"It's beautiful," she tells me, I hold up the page so she can see the full layout. "Really, so smart Sarah."

I can't help but blush with pride, which makes Claire smile and fuss.