Amethyst

(Author's note: This story was written for a friend. It is intended as a companion for a series of photographs.)

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Amethyst smiled to herself as she watched the flame in the fireplace begin to take the fresh log. The flame flicked under the piece of wood from the starter log behind it. Flicking, she told herself, flicking. Much like the touch of a finger, or perhaps a tongue.

The new scented candles loosed an interesting relaxing smell that mixed comfortably with the music drifting through the room. Jazz, new old jazz, something about a softer side of Coltrane.

She poured the chilled wine into a long-stemmed glass and sat down near the fire. The fire warmed her through her new white dress. It felt good. Her workday had been productive although routine, but it wasn't work or business that held her thoughts there beside the fire. It was the evening to come.

The wine was good to the taste, it's bouquet fine and correct. She sipped it and thought of the woman coming to visit. Her smile kissed the rim of her wineglass as she pictured the evening to come. Would Brooke make the first move, she wondered? Or would it be better for her to act first? Neither of them had ever had a woman as a lover. They had shared that admission. Would they really do it? Could they?

How quickly one can discover such things, she told herself sitting there remembering. How quickly when two people with a common, unsatisfied interest get to know each other. She had liked Brooke immediately. They had become fast friends over quick lunches and laughs at the computer in the office. A few drinks, a few phone calls, maybe too many drinks one particular night, but once they began to talk, their feeling just simply poured out to each other. The ideas and the suggestions followed soon after.

Amethyst sipped her wine by the fire and told herself she had no doubt that she would act, she would make love to Brooke, she would fuck her in all of the ways she had imagined and fantasized about, provided, of course, that Brooke was willing. Would she be, really be willing, even after all the talk and shared fantasies? Would she be? Amethyst intended to find out.

The antique clock in the living room struck eight and for some reason Amethyst was reminded of something she had intended to do. The comfort, the gray comfort she'd bought last year, it was in the hall closet, she thought. She wanted to find it and use it beside the fireplace with Brooke. She could spread it on the floor for a nice place to play. If she had it handy beside the sofa, she wouldn't have to go looking for it later. She got up and sat her wine on the hearth, careful not to sit it so close that the nice chill would be disturbed. The walk down the hall told her just how wet her pussy had become sitting beside the fire. With no panties for hindrance her warm juices had already begun to flow down the inside of each of her thighs. The wetness made her wiggle a bit as she walked.

The hall closet was packed with stored clothing and boxes, but she knew the gray comfort was there somewhere. With the door wide open, she squatted there to look low behind the hanging clothes. The moment she squatted the signals arrived: very excited pussy, very excited clit. With her legs and knees open, her pussy was completely uncovered and open beneath the dress. Spotting the comfort she pulled it near her but didn't rise. There was no hesitation at all as her index finger slid softly up the full length of her swollen, wet pussy, no hesitation as the finger found the throbbing nub of her clit, no hesitation as the wet finger painted circles there, teasing, playing, promising.

The doorbell startled her and she rose, almost tripping over the comfort folded at her feet. She reached down and grabbed it before walking quickly and wetly toward the front door. She turned in the den doorway and looked in at the fireplace. Nice fire, she told herself, as she tossed the comfort on the floor beside the leather chair. A few more steps and she was at the door. Opening it, she found Brooke.

Brooke stood there smiling, her eyes fixed and relaxed, the short black dress she wore was not possibly more than six inches below her crotch. Amethyst smiled back completing their smile greeting. No words. As much as they had chattered and laughed, now they couldn't or wouldn't speak. But neither of them broke the silence, or their smiles. Amethyst simply stepped back from the doorway and let Brooke walk by into the house. The scent of her perfume hung subtly in the air as she passed, reminding Amethyst of the wetness chilling on her inner thighs. Brooke walked down the hall with Amethyst's eyes devouring her every move, every curve, every flex of her body beneath the tight black dress.

No words passed between them as they found themselves at the breakfast bar, perhaps six feet from the fireplace, amidst the candles' scent and the waif of the music winding through the dim light of the den. Amethyst poured Brooke some wine into a matching glass before refilling her own. They both sipped and smiled at each other, both wondering, it appeared, whether or how it all would begin.

It began when Amethyst reached out and touched Brooke's face lightly with her fingertips. Her long slender fingers moved lightly over Brooke's left cheek, down along the line of her jawbone, around the gentle angle of her chin, upward slowly to her lips. Brooke's smile parted and the tip of her tongue greeted Amethyst's fingertips. The touch of the tongue sent shutters down Amethyst's back, down over her ass, down each of her legs, down into the floor, she thought. She closed her eyes and took in a deep breath. She didn't see Brooke step closer, move against her body, place her face only inches away. When Amethyst's eyes opened they found Brooke's.

Brooke kissed her then. Softly, gently. Neither of the two of them had ever kissed another woman on the lips. Not like this. But there was no hesitation, no fumbling. Brooke's tongue moved easily into Amethyst's mouth and found a receptive playmate. Their arms entwined and they took each other, arms finding places to hold, hands wanting to roam but waiting, lips pushing harder against lips, sharing breath and quiet moans.

"Come with me," Amethyst whispered, reluctantly breaking the kiss but wanting, wanting everything.

Amethyst took Brooke's hand and led her to the middle of the floor directly in front of the fireplace. The gray comfort was only two steps away and was found easily. It was spread with a bit of a flourish as Brooke watched smiling.

No more words were necessary as they resumed the embrace, the kiss, the touch. Amethyst hands were at the small of Brooke's back, gathering the dress, raising it as they kissed. Fingers discovered bare skin where panties might have been. They moved downward, fingernails grazing over the soft, firm skin, grazing downward until they cupped the cheeks of her ass. Brooke responded in kind until they both possessed the other's ass, possessed it with their hands, coming to know it as they had hoped.

It was something of a lovers' dance when they lifted each other's dress, swaying to the music as they were, kissing, licking, tasting as they went, dresses rising higher, skin finding skin, soft tuffs of hair finding their match, nipples finally finding nipples. Upward each dress went, over each head and off, until they were naked in kind, naked together.

Knees bent and they went down on the comfort, Brooke on her back, Amethyst on her side. The kiss was broken. The moment was for touching and exploring and feeling. Eyes held eyes but wandered to see, to learn.

Amethyst gently took Brooke's hand from her breast and move it away. "Please," she whispered, reaching for the wine glass forgotten on the hearth above her.

As Brooke watched, Amethyst took a sip of the wine and leaned down to kiss and share. Her tongue moved inside her new lover's mouth, tasting of wine, cool white wine mixed with white-hot passion. Her mouth moved from Brooke's lips and began to kiss slowly down her neck, the tip of her cool tongue tracing lines over the soft skin, downward over the collarbone, downward in irregular patterns over her upper chest, her breast. Brooke watched again as Amethyst took more wine in her mouth, watched the mischievous smile descend to her nipples, felt the cool tongue again, cooler now, taking each of her nipples, painting cool circles around them as they grew and hardened.

More wine; more circles. More kisses. More gentle sucking. Brooke's eyes closed and she drifted into the blackness of the sensations.

Amethyst embraced the thrill of experience. The rush of it made her mind race with things she wanted to do, things she wanted to feel and taste, but she reminded herself to be patient, to be patient as a good lover must. With wineglass in hand she left Brooke's nipples and began to let her tongue travel downward over the smooth belly, around and inside the pouting navel, downward further over the freshly shaped pubic hair, downward until her mouth and tongue could tease the smooth upper thighs in front of her. The thighs parted for her in invitation. Amethyst smiled and shifted her position, moving between those thighs as they parted, wine glass still in hand as she took in her first close view of a place she had never visited, a woman's pussy, Brooke's pussy.

Brooke was beautiful, she told herself, beautiful. Her pussy lips were shining in the candle light, wet, swollen, thick, wanting to be opened and pleased. Brooke was shaven there between her legs, so smooth and clean. The tuft of brown pubic hair was left above, completing such an enticing picture, perhaps its triangular shape was a simple beacon to what resided at the small triangle's apex.

Looking up, Amethyst saw Brooke watching her. Their eyes met and held as Amethyst tipped the wineglass slightly and let the cool liquid drip onto the hood covering Brooke's clit. Brooke flinched with a bit of a start but then settled feeling the wine run down her pussy, between the cheeks of her ass, and onto the comfort below her.

Now, Amethyst told herself, yes. She leaned forward until she was on her stomach, forward until her warm breath met the chill of the wine on Brooke's skin, forward until she could touch her with her tongue if she wanted.

Brooke felt the first touch of Amethyst's tongue at the base of her pussy, low between her legs. The touch of the tongue was so light, so faint, but yet so distinct as it slowly began to rise upward over her pussy, spreading her lips, opening her. She took in a deep breath and heard herself sigh as the tongue entered her. And the tongue fucked her, a woman's tongue, a tongue like no other that had ever touched her there, touched her pussy. And the tongue licked her, licked her gently like no other tongue had. So different, so good. Her hips moved to find the tongue, to fuck back, to get involved, but the tongue avoided her and moved up to find her clit. It flicked over her there, over her clit, over and around her clit, making her throb harder and swell.

Amethyst slid a finger inside Brooke as she made love to her clit. With the wine and saliva and pussy juices running down her, it was just a matter of doing it to slide a finger in her ass as well. Two fingers filled Brooke, two fingers fucked her, as Amethyst sucked on her clit harder.

Brooke came then, her hips rising up to get everything she could, to receive, to take, just to somehow get everything. Amethyst left her clit and dropped her mouth lower to lick and suck away the juices that flowed around her finger in Brooke's pussy. The fingers in Brooke's pussy and ass held themselves still as they were gripped and released, then gripped and released again in the spasm of an orgasm.

Amethyst listened to the whimper of her new lover as she moved her face back and let her fingers slowly withdraw. She slowly kissed her way up the body below her, Brooke's body, until she found the mouth she wanted to kiss.

They kissed quietly in the dim light and mellow music because they didn't need to speak. And they had the night in front of them, all of it.