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“The world is holy! The soul is holy! The skin is holy! The nose is holy! The tongue and cock and hand and asshole holy!
Everything is holy! everybody’s holy! everywhere is holy! everyday is in eternity! Everyman’s an angel!”
A. Ginsberg, ‘Footnote to Howl’, (1955).
***
Dream takes off her shirt and George feels her brain white out.
She doesn’t know where to look - Dream’s sheer bralette or the pink crease line of her stomach or the light hair that begins under her navel and fans down into her boxers. She’s seen Dream shirtless before, obviously -- there was a stretch when she’d first arrived in Florida where they’d spend hours in the pool. But Dream often wore one-pieces, and she herself wore trunks with a t-shirt.
To see Dream in this context, all coy and expectant, with freckles and acne scars on her shoulders, makes her feel like the first person to discover desire.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” she says, once Dream is settled back against the pillows.
“You’re so stupid,” Dream says, grinning. She pokes a socked toe to George’s thigh, and George grabs it and holds it on instinct. It’s comforting to touch any part of Dream. “You don’t have to act like this,” she says, gesturing awkwardly to herself, “is like, amazing.”
George blinks at her. “You have no idea,” she says, slowly, “how attracted I am to you.”
Dream tucks her chin to her chest, shy. “I don’t get it,” she says, quietly, but she’s still smiling ever so slightly.
“What d’you mean?”
“I’m not --” She looks back at George. “I’m not like, hot. Not like you, anyway.”
Her stomach leaps at the confirmation that Dream finds her hot, but she sidesteps into what is most important right now - making Dream feel good.
“Dream,” she says, seriously. “You have to know you’re fucking gorgeous.”
“But I’m --” She shrugs again, her shoulders tucking up. “I’m tall, and like, broad and awkward. My elbows stick out.” She pauses like she’s thinking. “I’m like, hairy everywhere. Even on my stomach.”
“I know,” George says, loosely knowing that this isn’t exactly what Dream will want to hear, but saying it anyway. She lets herself, finally, really look at Dream’s happy trail. It’s tantalising, almost teasing her. “I want to kiss you there so bad.”
“You --” George glances up at the aborted word. Dream is flushed. “George.”
“Sorry,” George says, belatedly.
“You actually want this,” Dream says, like it’s a revelation.
“Yes,” George agrees. “Like, so bad. So bad it makes me feel,” she squirms where she sits, though admitting it feels good. “It makes me feel dirty,” she whispers. “In a,” she rushes to say, when Dream’s gaze flickers uncertainly, “in a really good way.”
“That’s --” Dream tilts her head, parts her chapstick coated lips. George watches as she whets them with her tongue -- it’s just a fraction of a movement but still, she follows it. There’s nothing she would rather watch. “I’ve never even gotten dressed up for you.”
George’s stomach heats at the thought of Dream picking out an outfit with George in mind, and she shifts slightly where she’s sitting. But that’s not the point.
“I don’t care,” she says. “I’ve always wanted --” She knows it’s too much, but it’s Dream. “I wanted you from across the ocean,” she admits. “I wanted you before I knew what you looked like.”
“George,” Dream says, like her name itself is a wonder. “I -- Can I kiss you?”
George has barely finished inclining her head in a nod before Dream is leaning forward and cradling her head with her hands.
Dream kisses gently at first, like she’s scared she’s going to startle her. George meets her somewhere in the middle, grappling lightly at the shorts Dream wears, fiddling with the hem, and raising her other hand to tuck a lock of her hair behind her ear. Dream is so fucking delicate, so devastatingly pretty and girlish that George is overwhelmed with the privilege that she’s letting a girl like George -- butch and crass -- hold her.
“So pretty,” she says, voicing this, as soon as their lips part. George feels dizzy at the sight of her spit glossing over Dream’s lips, and she touches them lightly with her forefinger. “Pretty girl,” she says, like she’s dumb with it.
“Stop being weird,” Dream says, immediately. It’s almost like she doesn’t believe it -- which is so ridiculous George almost wants to cry.
“I’m not being weird,” George defends. “I’m being -- I’m being honest, idiot.”
“I’m --” Dream shrugs it off. “I’m not --”
“You are,” George interrupts, plainly. “You really fucking are. You have like…,” she swallows, feeling her cheeks redden. She pushes through it. “Freckles. On your shoulders, and your nose, and like,” she glances, briefly at how they disappear under the dip of her bralette and feels like she’s going mad. “Other places.” Dream grins, shy, so George looks away. “And your eyes are golden. And so is your hair, and it like, falls. Nicely. Against your like, shoulders and neck. All lightly.”
“Lightly?”
“Yeah,” George nods. “Makes me wanna --” And then she reaches out, and traces the line of her collarbone, barely touching her.
“George,” Dream breathes.
“See,” George says, weakly. “You’re ridiculous. It makes me --” She shakes her head. “It makes me feel so many things.”
“Are they good?” Dream dares to ask.
“They are,” George says. “They’re so big. Enormous.” She closes her eyes, and loves Dream. “It’s all that I am, sometimes,” she shrugs, before admitting, staring at the blankets underneath them: “Most of the time.”
“I don’t want you to put me before --”
“It’s not even a question to me,” George interrupts, resolute. She trekked the ocean for her. She waited for her. She fell in love three years ago, trembling in her parents’ house. “You’re it for me.”
“George,” Dream says, again, like she just wants to put more of her into the world.
George bites her lip. There’s a way she knows she could show her devotion, but she’s not sure if Dream would want it. She runs her tongue over her lip. “I would bury myself in you,” she says, taunting herself with the line. Daring herself to cross it. “If you wanted.”
Dream knows her, so Dream can tell she’s hinting at something. She raises a brow. “Oh,” she says, expectantly. “Yeah?”
“I would,” she says, parting her mouth. “I would --”
“You want to show me how much you want me?” Dream puts together.
“Yeah,” George says, desperate.
“Like…” George’s mouth goes dry as Dream parts her legs a fraction. “This?”
“Yes,” George says, immediately, needing it like air.
“You don’t have to,” Dream says, like it’s even a question that would cross George’s mind. “I haven’t shaved in like, a while.”
George's gaze trips down. “No?” She asks, feeling dizzy.
“I know,” Dream says, uncomfortably. “Kind of gross or whatever.”
“No,” George says immediately. She needs to get her mouth on Dream so badly that she feels like she’s dying. “People who care about hair are stupid. It’s natural. Why would hair grow there if it’s not meant to be there? Idiot.”
“I’m not an idiot,” Dream pouts.
George stares at her, dumbly. “I know you’re not an idiot,” she says, instantly giving in. “I’m just saying, like.” She swallows, looking down again at the small shorts Dream is wearing, at her strong thighs tucked up against her body. “What’s the worst thing that’ll happen? I’ll get hair in my teeth? I always get hair in my teeth.”
“George,” Dream says, blushing.
“What?” George defends. “It’s true!”
“I guess,” Dream says. “Not that I --” She shrugs, and looks away from George. “Nobody’s ever like. Gone down on me before.”
“Oh,” George says, and she knows, instantly, how disappointed she must sound, so she dresses it nicely. “That’s fine, obviously. Like, we don’t have to do that if you don’t --”
“George,” Dream interrupts. “I didn’t say I didn’t want to. I just said nobody else has.”
“What the fuck,” George says, incredulous. “Why?”
“You know I’ve only been with guys, George.”
“Yeah?” George frowns. “What, and they were all fucking tapped in the head?”
“I don’t know,” Dream shrugs, almost embarrassed. “They just didn’t want to.”
“I do,” George says, some irrational jealousy pushing her to brazenly prove how much better she is than anyone Dream’s ever been with. “I want to.”
“I know you do,” Dream says, indulgently.
Her gaze trips down to Dream’s navel again. “Can I?”
“Um,” Dream says, “if you’re, like, sure.”
“I am,” George says, certain. “Are you?”
Dream bites her lip, nods.
George’s eyes flutter shut as she puts her mouth on Dream’s stomach in a kiss. She hums into it before pulling away again, and pressing another one, open mouthed and lower.
“Love your stomach,” she says, stupidly, but she needs Dream to know. She kisses again, inhaling the soft scent of skin and body wash. “Does it feel weird?”
Dream huffs a laugh. “You mean nobody’s kissed your stomach before?” She jokes.
“Hm,” George says, barely able to look away from Dream’s happy trail, now sticky with spit. “I’m generally, like, well.” She makes a face. “I like to give.” she surmises, awkwardly.
“Oh,” Dream replies. “I guess that --” George glances up in time to see Dream’s flushed face again. “That makes sense.”
George grins, tucking a finger underneath Dream’s waist band. Dream shudders as she lets the pad of her finger wander back and forth.
“You like it?” She asks, softly.
“George,” Dream says, weakly. It’s an answer in itself.
“Can I kiss you…” George starts, trailing her finger lower, letting it survey Dream’s inner thighs. “Here?”
“God,” Dream gasps, legs shaking. “Yeah,” she says.
George pushes herself down the bed, and tucks her arms underneath Dream’s strong thighs. Her mouth is so close to Dream’s crotch that she feels heady with want.
Watching Dream carefully, she lets herself get closer until she places a gentle kiss on Dream’s downy thigh. And again, and closer, until her nose is pressed solidly against the crease of her inner thigh, her tongue brushing the sensitive tendon there. Some of her hair prickles against her tongue -- but it feels good, the tender scratch of it. Dream’s breath is coming heavily, and when George glances up, opening her eyes, she sees that Dream’s are shut.
She glances back down, and sees that her boxers are damp at the front.
“Fuck,” she whispers, inhaling sharply. “Fuck, you smell --”
“Sorry, sorry” Dream says, immediately, going to shut her legs.
George quickly places her hands on her inner thighs, keeping them open.
“No,” she says, certain. “You smell good.”
“I smell gross,” Dream counters, but with a shine in her eyes, like George is doing something miraculous here.
“You’re insane,” George insists, “if you think I wouldn’t like, bottle the smell of you and huff it to get high.”
“Ew,” Dream says, wrinkling her nose.
“It’s true,” George says, and then, as she watches Dream’s face very carefully, she places her hand to the front of Dream’s boxers, angling her thumb carefully to touch --
“Oh,” Dream gasps, eyes widening. “You’re barely --”
“I know,” George assures her, rubbing gentle circles. “Just getting you used to it.”
“George,” Dream says, weakly. Her legs twitch a little.
George grins, heady with power. “I’m barely touching you,” she murmurs, knowing exactly what it will do to Dream.
“I’m getting so --” Dream clasps a hand over her mouth, as she bucks up into the featherlight sensation. “This is embarrassing, George.”
“It’s hot,” George says. “Just imagine what my mouth will feel like.”
Dream’s eyelids flutter at that, and her head tips back, revealing her tender neck. Her hair rests gently against her clavicles, and George wishes, not for the first time, that she had the ability to touch her everywhere.
It’s when Dream lets out a whimper even from behind her hand, that George decides to take mercy on her. She reaches for Dream’s waistband again.
“You want --”
She barely gets the words out before Dream is nodding frantically, so she tugs Dream’s boxers off, smiling, before nestling down in front of her cunt.
Dream’s knees knock together, but George soothes her, prying them open.
“Don’t be shy,” she says, gently. “It’s okay.”
“Stop talking like that,” Dream complains. “I’m not like, a spooked animal.”
“Okay,” George says easily, keeping her eyes on Dream’s face. She can tell she’s not used to being looked at, square on, so she avoids looking at her until she gives a little nod.
“Oh fuck,” she says, when she finally looks. The words are punched out of her. “You’re so --” She forces herself not to touch. “You’re so fucking wet.”
“George,” Dream mumbles, weakly. She’s blushing deeper than George has ever seen.
“Can I --” George starts, desperately, swallowing, before looking up for permission. “Can I touch?”
When Dream nods, George gently swipes her thumb up Dream, from her entrance to her hood. It glides easily, and when George pulls away, she’s slick with her.
“You’re so messy,” George says, in wonder, before taking her thumb absently into her mouth. It tastes so fucking good, sexy and forbidden, and it makes Dream buck her hips towards George’s mouth, a desperate sound leaking from her lips.
“George,” she pants, sounding completely ruined.
“You’re not being very patient,” George teases.
“You’re being a fucking asshole,” Dream complains.
“Oh,” George says, giddy with control. “Is that what I am?”
“George,” Dream says, with warning, realising her mistake.
“Hmm,” George hums, resting her index finger gently on Dream, before circling her clit ever so lightly. “It doesn’t sound like you want my mouth anymore, does it?”
Dream lets out a sound, close to a moan. “George,” she grits out. “Fucking touch me.”
“Silly,” George grins, determined not to let on how badly she wants to taste her. “I am touching you.”
“‘S not --” She sounds close to crying from frustration, but George watches her face ever so carefully, scanning for any signs of discomfort. “It’s not enough, George --”
“Do you think you could come from this?” George interrupts.
Dream’s eyes widen. “What?” She asks, mouth parting in shock.
“Do you think,” George repeats, letting her words drawl, “you could come from this?”
“No,” Dream says, immediately. “How could I -- oh.”
George presses slightly harder on her clit for a moment, just testing. “Interesting,” she says. “See, I think you could.” She lowers her face, close to the centre of her, and blows lightly over her clit. With even the slight sensation, Dream’s hips shudder. “You’re so sensitive,” she says in awe, before schooling herself into an unimpressed expression. Again, she rests her index finger on Dream’s clit, and rubs it ever so gently, before swiping some of her come from around her entrance to make the glide easier.
“Don’t --” Dream says quickly, and George stops immediately. “Not inside,” she explains.
“Okay,” George says, kissing the inside of her thigh in acknowledgement. “Got it.”
She plays with Dream’s clit for a few more minutes, just watching in awe as she trembles.
“I actually think you are gonna come,” George says, seriously.
“I’m not,” Dream mumbles, but she bucks and gasps all the same.
“You are,” George says, rubbing sweetly at her clit.
Dream whimpers. “Fuck,” she whines. “Feels so good.”
“I know,” George coos. “Why don’t you just come, huh?”
“You’re barely touching me,” Dream says, like it’s that specifically that’s hot to her.
“Mm,” George agrees. “It’s embarrassing, isn’t it?”
“Shut up,” Dream gasps, though she fucks herself towards George’s finger. “Shut up, shut up.”
“You think you’re not being embarrassing?” George pushes. “You think you’re not gonna get off on the pad of my finger?”
“But -“ Dream stutters, eyes squinting in pleasure even as she forces herself to hold off. “You said you were gonna --”
“I can get you off more than once, Dream,” George assures her. “You think my mouth won’t feel good when you're extra sensitive from already coming?”
“Oh, fuck,” Dream whines, evidently giving in as her eyes roll back.
“You look so fucking good,” George says, distracted. She shakes herself, before looking back down at Dream. Grinning, she switches her fingers so that it’s just her pinky pressed against Dream’s clit. “Hey,” she says, “look at this.”
“What,” Dream breathes blinking down at her.
“You’re losing your mind over this,” George teases, “and you’re just getting yourself off on my pinky finger.”
“Oh fuck,” Dream gasps. “George.”
“You like that,” George grins. “Huh?”
“Yeah,” Dream agrees. “Yeah, yes, fuck --”
“You wanna come, Dream?”
“I can’t come from this --”
“Yes, you can,” George insists. She moves her hand so she’s rubbing prettily at Dream’s clit, giving her exactly what she likes.
Dream unravels in seconds.
“George,” she whines, covering her eyes with the palm of her hand.
“Let me see you,” George instructs, wringing pleasure from her.
“Harder,” Dream whimpers through her fingers, her hand now fumbling down over her mouth.
“You think you deserve it?” George teases.
“George.”
“Okay, okay, fine,” George relents. “Whatever, I’ll make you come.”
Getting Dream to react exactly how she wants her to is easy, really. She does a lot of the work for her -- bucking her hips up and grinding against George’s hand, desperate and strung out and hot. George only has to do a few exact things with her fingers, focusing on Dream’s clit, and it’s not long before --
“Oh fuck,” Dream grunts suddenly, her hips stilling before twitching four solid times in a row.
“There you go,” George soothes, touching her through it. “There you go, Dream.”
It’s not long before Dream is tucking herself away from George’s fingers, and George is running a hand up her thigh to soothe her.
“You okay?” She asks, before taking her wet fingers into her mouth and sucking.
“Am I okay?” Dream asks, incredulously. “Are you fucking insane?”
“Well,” George says, some part of her still needing an answer, even if it feels like it might be obvious. “Are you?”
“Yes,” Dream says, exasperated. “Yes, I’m okay.”
“Okay,” George replies, satisfied. She runs her hands up and down the inside of Dream’s soft thighs, sliding her hands under her ass and pulling her ever so slightly closer. “You want to go again?”
Her eyes widen a little. “Are you sure?”
George frowns at the notion that she wouldn’t want to continue. “Yeah,” she says, slowly. “I want to --” She pauses, flicking her eyes down to Dream’s cunt, still slick from climax. She swallows, feeling heady with how much she wants to get her mouth on her. “I want to.”
“Is head like --” Dream shifts a little before continuing. “Is head like, a thing for you, then?”
George feels the corner of her mouth tick up. “A thing?” She asks. “What d’you mean?”
“Like,” Dream says. “I don’t know. Like with coding and math and stuff. Is it like, a thing for you?”
George laughs, the sound rocketing out of her. “If anyone was gonna get obsessed with giving head,” she says, “that would be you.”
Dream pouts, but it does nothing but make George’s heart lurch in her chest. “Shut the fuck up,” she says, lightly.
“Mm,” George agrees. “Okay.” And then she slides onto the floor, and kneels before the bed.
“Where are you going?” Dream asks, concern lacing her voice.
“Just down here,” George replies, before reaching out and touching Dream’s thighs. “Look, turn towards me?”
“Oh,” Dream says, as she lets herself be led. When she’s rearranged to George’s liking, her mouth goes dry. She’s a fucking vision. “Hi.”
“Dream,” George says, for a lack of anything better to say. “You look…” She swallows, overcome. “I’m so lucky,” she says, quietly.
“George,” Dream replies, voice thin with emotion.
“Hey,” George says. Her head ducks towards Dream’s cunt again, just needing to be close. “Dream,” she says, low and desperate.
“George,” Dream says, for the hundredth time. “Why do I feel like you’re the one that’s about to feel good?”
“Because,” she says, fumbling to find the right words. “I don’t know, is it so fucking insane for me to want this?”
“No,” Dream says, quickly. “No, of course not.”
George looks up at her. Her tawny hair falling softly over her bare shoulders. Her eyes, wide and earnest. Her stomach, shining with the glint of her spit. She did that, she thinks. She did that.
“I want you,” she says, the words spilling out of her. She wants to sink her teeth into Dream and never let go. Her desire feels so enormous that she can’t name it. “I want you forever.”
“You --” Dream starts, but cuts off when George parts her mouth and tastes her. “George,” she whimpers, bucking into her mouth. “You have me,” she finishes, weakly.
She tastes heady. Like cunt, obviously, but it might be the fact that it’s Dream that makes it so good. Her heat covers the whole of George’s mouth and chin. It’s intoxicating, and she closes her eyes with the pleasure of it. When she pulls away briefly to breathe, her face cools where its become wet with her.
“Fuck,” she murmurs into the crux of her thigh. “You taste --”
She doesn’t get to finish her sentence before Dream is gripping the back of her head and guiding her back to the task.
She sounds fucking incredible above her, all breathy whimpers and overwhelm.
“Dream,” she says, into her, between circling and sucking her clit. “Good.” She’s become monosyllabic, dumb, struck by the taste of her.
“George,” Dream pants, squirming into her mouth. It’s maddening. “Need --”
George slips her hands under Dream’s ass and tugs her towards her, pulling her so she’s angled perfectly. She guides her so Dream tucks her legs up, bracketing her head with her thighs, and suddenly, though she’s closing her eyes, the image of what they must look like is reflected in her mind. She suddenly feels bowled over with arousal, and the need to get off feels urgent.
The need to get Dream off is more so.
She feels herself moan into Dream, though the action is out of body. Almost immediately, Dream clenches her thighs around her head. She’s surrounded on all sides by Dream. Her strong thighs, hairy and soft. Her cunt, trembling into her mouth. Even her heels are digging into her back, insistent. There’s something about the physicality of Dream being right here, around her, surrounding her, even in her mouth, that makes her want to cry.
She inhales heavily, her nose nestled into the thick thatch of hair. It’s long enough to curl, and something in her is deeply pleased that Dream hasn’t trimmed for anyone, not even her.
She tucks away to breathe again, spitting down onto Dream, before looking up at her.
“Jesus,” Dream says, “Christ.”
George swipes at her mouth with the back of her hand. “What?”
“You’re like…” Dream reaches out, and holds George’s face in her hand. She passes her thumb across George’s open mouth. “You’re covered in me,” she murmurs, reverent.
“Is it good?” She asks, just to check in. She kisses briefly at Dream’s thumb.
“I --” Dream blinks. “What?”
“Does it feel good?” George elaborates. She misses Dream’s cunt under her tongue in this brief moment that they’re apart, so she thumbs gently at her clit to make her squirm, and sucks Dream’s thumb into her mouth.
“George,” Dream whines, complaining.
“Hmm?”
“Eat me out,” she says, plainly.
George grins, and pulls away, going easily. “Everyone thinks I’m the needy one,” she says, just to annoy her.
“You are the needy one,” Dream insists. “You need to eat me out.”
“You’re so stupid, Dream,” George says, because she is.
But George is the one who closes her eyes to give head, so maybe they’re both a little stupid with want.
“Look so fucking good, George,” Dream whimpers, when she ducks her head again and mouths from her entrance to her clit, her lips slick with come and spit. She feels Dream’s hand again in her cropped hair, threading through the clipped length and tugging so hard she feels it in her own cunt -- and that’s when the urgency sets in.
The need to make Dream come suddenly rises like it’s what she was put on earth to do. Before, she was eating her almost languidly -- just for the pleasure of it. Now, she has the need to bend Dream to her desire and tongue fuck her until her legs are shaking.
She slips her hands around Dream’s thighs again, and pulls her cunt steadily into her mouth.
“George,” Dream whimpers, clearly loving how George is licking at her with fervour, doing little tricks with her tongue that make her leg jump -- like George is searching out a hidden reflex and trying it out for kicks.
George hums back in answer which, to her delight, results in Dream moaning in a way that she hasn’t heard before. She concentrates, and then hums again while sucking her clit into her mouth and flicking at it with her tongue.
“George,” Dream yelps, clutching at her hair. “Fucking fuck.”
George can’t help but laugh into her cunt, which must feel devastating, because again, Dream is whimpering into her hand and tugging at the short hairs at the back of George’s neck.
She closes her eyes, mouth wide and plush and wet against the pulse of her, delighting in the way Dream twitches and whines.
“Make me --” Dream interrupts herself to say, sudden and breathless.
“Hmm?”
“Make me come, George.”
“Demanding,” George comments, before going back to the task before her.
“I know you’re -- mm -- I know you’re doing this on purpose, George.”
“Hm?” George pulls back so she can speak. She rubs the back of her hand across her mouth, swiping away most of the slickness, before pulling at Dream’s hood lightly and rubbing her clit. She smirks at the way it makes Dream’s eyelids flutter. “What am I doing on purpose?”
“You’re like --” She stops talking to close her eyes, and squirm into George’s touch. “Being mean, George.”
“I’m not being mean.”
“You are,” Dream insists, with a pout. Her eyes widen in such a way that tugs at George’s heart -- she knows all the stops to pull, exactly how to devastate her.
“Stop being cute,” George says, flustered, before she can stop herself.
“I’m --” Dream starts, brows furrowing in confusion, before George rubs with more pressure to distract her. The resulting moan goes right to her own arousal.
“Shut up,” George says. “All of you is --” She huffs, annoyed, feeling herself redden. “Shut up.”
“I didn’t say--”
George finally gives in, closing her eyes and opening her mouth, tonguing slowly at Dream’s cunt. She flicks at her clit, revelling in the tang of it, sucking the come gently into her mouth. She inhales again, just to smell the headiness of it. Giving head is like worship, and more importantly, she’s giving. Every inch of her is occupied with the task, laying herself down for Dream’s pleasure. Dream deserves all of her and more, and to give it is a gift in itself.
She can tell Dream starts to get close when she quickens the movements against her clit, swiping back and forth as her legs start to quake around her. Instead of easing back like she has been, she clutches tightly at her thighs, feeling them solidly in her hands, and works at her cunt until her jaw aches, and then beyond the pain. When Dream starts making pretty little sobs, George distantly feels her own cunt pulse and she wonders, briefly, if she might be about to come in tandem.
But this is about Dream, so she puts it off and gives her everything until --
“Fuck.” The word breaks in the middle with pleasure. “George, can I?”
Instead of answering, she grips even tighter at her thighs and works her tongue even faster.
When Dream comes, she feels it first -- the way her cunt flutters, the way she tastes different, the way her hips buck sharply.
“George,” she cries.
“Good,” George soothes again, as she pulls away. She can’t help but press a kiss to her oversensitive clit, and then another, open mouthed to her bush. And another, to the dip of her navel. “Want you to have --” Everything, is what she doesn’t say. “Want you to feel good.”
“I --” Dream blinks, and George watches her slowly blinking eyes, her glossy lips, her freckled cheeks. “What about you?”
“Believe me,” George says, honestly. “That made me feel good.”
Dream bites her lip. “Are you sure?”
“Dream,” George says, bluntly. “I made you come with my face in your cunt. Obviously it made me feel good.”
“But…” Dream flicks her eyes down, to George’s stomach, to her legs to her boxers. Her gaze stays heavy on the wet patch at the front of them. She -- tauntingly -- reaches out, and splays her hand across George’s thigh. George looks down at it, enraptured, and finds she cannot look away. “What about you?”
“I --” George swallows, before looking at Dream and realising she should explain. “Being touched is kind of --”
“Oh,” Dream says, pulling away her hand like she’s been burned.
“No,” George interjects. “I don’t mean --” She tries to get everything neat in her head. “I still want to get off,” she says, feeling her cunt throb in agreement. “But like --” She shifts, pulling at Dream’s legs gently until she’s sitting up, and then sits herself onto Dream’s thigh, straddling her. She shifts a little until the angle’s right, and then her eyes blow wide and her mouth parts. “Um,” she says, dumbly, as Dream’s eyebrows raise, and her large hands come to engulf her waist. She rocks her hips forward gently, and the pleasure is suddenly so good she feels weak with it. “Like this,” she explains. “I can --”
“You just want to ride my thigh?” Dream surmises, starting to smirk.
“Shut up,” she says, weakly. Trying to not rock forward is a monumental effort.
Dream rubs little circles where she holds onto her waist. “Go on,” she says, like George is taking up her time.
“Oh,” George says, in realisation. She rocks forward, and she can see when Dream realises how turned on she is.
“Oh my God,” she breathes, her persona dropping a little. “George, I can feel how wet you are.”
“I can’t help it,” she complains, nonsensically, starting to ride Dream in earnest. Dream rises her thigh to meet her. “Fuck,” she whines.
“You look so hot,” Dream says, like she has to. Her eyes flick across George’s face, her neck, the slight shape of her tits in her cotton tee. “Are your nipples sensitive?” She asks, like it’s not going to ruin George just to hear it.
“Fuck,” George gasps, fucking herself faster on Dream just at the suggestion. “I --” She shakes herself, to clear her head. “Yeah,” she admits, the heat of her arousal burning.
“Can I --” Her right hand leaves her stomach, hovers above her tits.
George pushes her chest towards her, desperate. “Please,” she says, hardly caring how fast she’s giving up her dignity for Dream.
She finds them quickly, touching one lightly through her shirt. The slight scratch of her nails is delicious, and the moan she lets out is embarrassing. So is the way she arches into the touch.
“Fuck,” she gasps, before whimpering. The electric pleasure is so fucking good, and it goes straight to her cunt.
“Jesus Christ,” Dream breathes. “You like this.”
“Feels good,” George pants, feeling her eyes roll back into her skull. She gasps again when she feels Dream’s other hand rise and find her other nipple. She pinches at them both lightly before rolling them in her fingers.
“Dream,” George whines, going out of body at the pleasure. “Stop embarrassing me.”
All movement stops immediately, and she aches at the loss. “You want me to stop?” Dream asks, seriously.
“No,” George begs, “no, please.” She fucks herself faster on Dream’s thigh. “More, please.”
Dream’s hands return to her nipples, to her immediate whimper. “You gonna come?”
“Mm,” George blinks her eyes open and looks down at Dream. She’s struck by how fucking gorgeous she looks, how enraptured she seems. She thinks -- she’s certain the wind could blow in a certain way and she’d be twitching into an earth shattering climax. “Yeah, uh, soon.”
Dream rolls her nipples again, before stilling her thigh. “Okay,” she says. “Fuck yourself on me.”
“Dream,” she complains. “That’s embarrassing.”
“Well, you were so adamant on embarrassing me,” Dream replies. “It’s time for you to show off, now.”
“Fuck,” George breathes. “Okay.”
“Look good,” Dream praises, playing with her nipples, figuring out how she likes it and giving it to her. “Feel so messy on my leg for me.”
“Mm,” George can barely bring herself to be coherent. “Feels --”
“Yeah?”
“So good, Dream,” George bites out, closing her eyes. Her slick cunt grinds back and forth on Dream’s thigh, and it feels so fucking good she could die from it. The pleasure begins to climb.
“You gonna come for me?” Dream coaxes.
“I --” George can barely make out words.
“Are you?”
And then, like a miracle, she is -- clamping her own thighs around Dream, arching into her, riding the crest of her orgasm. “Fuck,” she exhales, before slumping. Dream’s hands come around her pulling her close to her chest, rubbing her back comfortingly. She wants to stay in the warmth forever.
“There you go,” Dream is soothing her, just like she did. “There you go.”