The MILFs of Muffy Lane: A Lesbian Erotica Short Story Page 2

  “Oh God,” exclaimed Paige. “That feels amazing.” She buried her face deeper into the pillows, her breath quickening as her friends pleased her between her legs. Paige could feel herself growing exponentially wetter, her throbbing pussy releasing a creamy moisture that Grace would immediately lap up as she ate Paige out.

  Melanie brought her hand down to Paige’s presented pussy and slid her middle and ring fingers inside, pushing them in and out, as her mouth continued against Paige’s asshole, rimming her out, tracing her tongue over the creases.

  Feeling the moment, Paige reached over to her side and touched Grace’s furry mound, running her fingers through the soft black hair sticking out from Grace’s pubis. She gentle massaged Grace, and gradually moved her fingers down and parted Grace’s pussy lips. Grace was already quite wet herself, and Paige used this lubricant to explore blindly as she got pleasured from behind.

  “I want to make you come, Paige,” said Melanie, thrusting her fingers at an increased clip. She kissed with greater fervor on Paige’s asshole now, vibrating her lips into it and trying to dilate the hole with her tongue.

  Both Paige and Grace were moaning now between breaths. Paige inserted her fingers into Grace’s pussy and as she began to finger Grace, she slowly moved her fingers back and forth in a “come hither” motion, caressing her fingertips against Grace’s insides. Grace, with her arousal increasing, attacked Paige’s clit and the top of her pussy, sometimes bumping into Melanie’s finger fucking.

  Melanie pulled her face back from Paige’s ass and brought her hand around. While maintaining her fingering with one hand, she used the forefinger from her other hand to gently prod at Paige’s asshole. Paige trembled and all the women felt it. Her thighs quivered and she tried to spread herself out further, opening up for Melanie.

  Easing her fingertip into Paige’s opening asshole, Melanie stroked at the rim of Paige’s little balloon knot. Paige’s entire backside was impossibly moist now, almost gushing with milky grool, her wetness covering her pussy and ass. Melanie tenderly kissed Paige’s ass cheek while she penetrated both of Paige’s openings.

  “Oh fuck,” called out Paige, collapsing her front half down into the bed and stopping her fingering of Grace, although her fingers remained inside of her friend. She felt wild and wonderful, an energetic intensity flowing through every part of her body. Paige had never known such pleasurable attention. She felt undeniably gratified, both holes filled, her clit being wetly slurped and suckled.

  Paige’s ass shook, her legs shuddered, and she felt herself go completely numb for a moment. Then, out of nowhere, it was as though she had been knocked out. She felt dizzy, she saw stars, and she could hardly breath. Although she couldn’t hear anything in that second, she knew she was moaning with each out-breath. Her hips riotously bucked as a powerful surge coursed through her entire body.

  Melanie and Grace had taken her over the edge. It felt like she was underwater or out in space or somewhere other than the solid ground she normally experienced.

  She was coming.

  Melanie deftly pulled her finger out of Paige’s ass and concentrated only on her pussy, pushing hard back and forth, ushering her through her intense orgasm. Grace took the cue as well, latching her lips securely around Paige’s clit, moistly sucking it up, slurping and gobbling as though she were eating a ripe fruit.

  “Oh God,” shouted Paige, her body writhing with the movements of her friends. “Fucking… Oh fuck!”

  Paige’s pussy pulsed and tightened around Melanie’s fingers, and her ass began to collapse over to one side of the bed. Grace quickly maneuvered out from under Paige and popped up onto her knees. Melanie slid her fingers out of Paige’s pussy and smacked her teasingly on the ass.

  Lying there now, Paige tried desperately to catch up to her breath, panting and gasping. She curled up into a ball, her pussy still feeling deeply moist against her inner thighs.

  “Oh God,” Paige called out again, closing her eyes, pushing her face into a pillow.

  “First time’s a charm,” joked Melanie. She and Grace laughed together.

  “You have a real tasty pussy,” said Grace. “Very sweet.”

  “Gracie,” started Melanie. “Let’s go get another glass of wine and let Paige recover. I kinda think we blew her mind.” Grace and Melanie laughed and hugged each other. They then grabbed their wine glasses and waved goodbye to Paige, though her eyes were closed. Still nude, the two of them scurried out of the room and stomped down the stairs.

  Paige hugged herself and lay there on the bed, her breath gradually returning to her. She could hardly think straight. But she knew what she just experienced was incredible, undeniable, and she thirsted for another round.

  Reaching her hand between her legs, she tenderly stroked her aching pussy, massaging herself softly as she floated back down to Earth.

  *

  Thank you so much for reading The MILFs of Muffy Lane! I write these stories for you and sincerely hope you enjoy them. If you liked this story, please leave a positive review on Amazon and let me know what you loved most. Reviews not only help to inform potential readers of a good book, but they also let us authors know we’re on the right track. Writing and publishing is a tireless profession, and there’s nothing more rewarding than positive feedback from readers. Thank you so much for your support!

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  Nico

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  AN EXCERPT FROM: DORMITORY DEAREST

  *

  I NEVER THOUGHT college would be this weird. I mean, I was really excited about it leading up to the big move but I didn’t really know what to expect apart from what you see in movies. None of my close friends, of which I had few, went to the same college as me so it was like I was going off on this new adventure all by myself. Nobody knew me, I could reinvent myself if I wanted, I could be a totally new person and carve out a completely different path if I so chose. But once I got to school, I found that I simply couldn’t help but be me. Geeky, introverted, freaky me.

  Nerdy Natasha. Lucky I ended up in the same small arts dorm with all the other nerdy outcasts and not in one of the huge student ghettos filled with roving bands of bleached bimbos looking for an easy target like me to sink their teeth into. No, as an English major I had been asked by some benevolent cosmic force if I would like to enroll in the residential college for Arts & Letters students and without even knowing much about the program I dutifully accepted. The program was called ALOHA, which stood for Arts & Letters Organized Housing Association, and it was a total lifesaver for a girl like me.

  My dorm was quite small, being one of the oldest dorm buildings on campus, and was only three floors high as opposed to some of those much larger skyscraper dorms that peppered the huge campus of my midwestern farm school. It was like we had our own little sanctuary where we could just be us. All kinds were welcome but it was an overwhelmingly geeky atmosphere. I liked that. But, if I’m being honest, I wasn’t prepared for the level of geekiness. Much different than high school. These students had much more passion. More spunk.

  The beauty about my dorm, Leopold Hall, was that the entire student population within its walls were ALOHA students. It really was like we were on some island. Some island for weirdos. Totally awesome.

  So when I say that I never thought college would be this weird, I mean weird in a good way. Strangely exciting. Different. Filled with possibili
ty and acceptance and with very limited, if any, judgment from peers. We were all just there doing our own thing. English majors and writers like myself, theater students, visual artists, the outcast art crew. It was a terrific amalgam of my university’s creative contingent and it was nothing like I had anticipated. Utopia, almost.

  And the things that happened to me, well, I couldn’t have anticipated them either.

  Each floor of Leopold Hall housed a different year of ALOHA students. So the freshmen like me were on the first floor, sophomores on the second, and juniors on the third. The third floor was much smaller than the other two floors and was all single rooms, rather than the doubles that the freshman and sophomores got. And generally that was fine because by the third year many students drifted away from ALOHA. I could see that it was a good program to start out in, to help you get adjusted to college life, but by the time you’re a junior you want to live off campus, spread your wings and all that. The way the years were laid out in the dorm worked out swimmingly. Girls on one side of each floor, boys on the other.

  And my roommate, Whitney, was a blast.

  “You know what’s awesome?” asked Whitney, sitting on the couch under our lofted beds wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt, her dirty blonde hair twisted up tightly into a bun. Whitney was an outgoing theater major and I was happy to have been paired with her.

  “What’s awesome?” I asked, sitting sideways in my desk chair, avoiding working on a paper for my English class.

  “I felt like, in high school, most boys wouldn’t even give me the time of day,” she said, something I found hard to believe considering she was a pretty girl with an affable personality. “But here in ALOHA, all these boys are totally creaming themselves over me.” I couldn’t help but laugh at her.

  “You’re a nut,” I said. Watching Whitney fuss with her hair, I couldn’t help but fuss with my own hair in mimic. While I was a natural redhead, freckled and all, I dyed my hair a more vibrant red because it made me feel fun. Following Whitney’s lead, I pushed my own hair up into a bun and tied it in place with a piece of elastic from around my wrist.

  “What?” she said innocently, stifling a grin.

  “I just don’t believe that you had trouble with boys,” I said. “You’re totally lying to me.”

  “Well…” said Whitney, looking off sheepishly. “Maybe it’s just that I’m getting more attention here at college. It’s skewing my memory.”

  “Exactly,” I said.

  “I think I’m leaning toward Justin,” she mused, almost as though she were talking to herself. “He’s kinda beefy and brooding.”

  “Eh,” I said in an unimpressed tone. “I don’t know.”

  “What do you mean?” said Whitney. “He’s cute. He’s got that James Dean thing going on. Tight white t-shirts,” she said, almost giggling.

  “You’re so damn girly,” I said. Even though I said this is a bit of a derogatory way, I actually loved how girly Whitney was. She kind of balanced me out. And I knew that she knew I didn’t mean anything by it.

  “And you could take some lessons!” retorted Whitney with a snort, crossing her arms. “If you don’t think Justin’s cute, who do you like over on the boys’ side?”

  “The boys’ side?” I asked, feeling a little put on the spot and cornered. “I mean, I don’t know.”

  “There’s a lot of nerds over there,” Whitney admitted. “Can’t tear a couple of those dudes from their computer games. But there are definitely some hotties. You can tell me, Natasha. Who are you sweet on?”

  “Whitney,” I groaned with embarrassment.

  “Tasha,” said Whitney, impatiently awaiting my answer.

  “I don’t know,” I reiterated.

  “Fine,” she said. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

  “It’s not that I don’t want to,” I said, slightly acquiescing. “It’s that I don’t know. None of them, I think.”

  “What about Michael?” she asked. “He’s an English major, just like you. I like his long hair.”

  “No, I don’t like Michael,” I said. “He’s fine, I mean, he’s a good guy. But I’m not, like, sweet on him.”

  “People are already shacking up,” said Whitney matter-of-factly. “And a lot of the sophomore boys already have girlfriends. You’re gonna miss out, Natasha.” Whitney then had a brightening thought and her face lit up. “I bet you like a boy in one of your classes!”

  “I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” I said, standing up from my desk chair and wandering over to my closet. Opening my closet door up, I fished around inside to find my sleeping clothes. With a slight flutter in my heart, knowing that Whitney’s eyes were on me, I cautiously pushed my jeans down my legs and began to change clothes.

  “The reason I’m pressing you on all this is because I care about you,” said Whitney. “You’re my roommate. We’re in this together.”

  “Thanks,” I said, pulling my jeans off my feet, standing there now in just a t-shirt sporting the university’s logo and my panties. I retrieved some athletic grey worn-in shorts from my closet and quickly pulled them up my legs.

  “And…” said Whitney, continuing, wagging a finger at me. “You know the ALOHA trip to Stratford, Ontario is coming up for the Shakespeare Festival. We’re all staying overnight there and it’s going to be a total fuck fest.”

  “Oh my God! Whitney!” I exclaimed. “I’m not going to just pick some boy so we can screw around during the Shakespeare trip.”

  “I’m just teasing,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “But, you know, it’ll be fun to partner up with a boy on that trip.”

  “It’s not like we’ll be sleeping in the same room with the guys,” I said, turning from the closet and walking back over to her. As I walked, I slipped my hand inside my t-shirt and unhooked my bra, then deftly began maneuvering out of it and eventually pulling it out from my sleeve. “It’ll probably be you and me sleeping in the same hotel room.”

  “And just maybe I’ll slide down the hall to a boy’s room,” said Whitney with a grin. She was not impressed with my annoyed face. “Oh c’mon.”

  “I’m going to bed,” I said, stepping to the wooden ladder connected to our loft. Our beds were both lofted up near the ceiling, giving us a bit more space in the otherwise small dorm room.

  “Wait,” she said. “I’m sorry, Natasha,” Whitney admitted. “I’m just teasing you. You don’t have to like any of the boys on the other side of the hall. I’m just being a gossipy girl.” She frowned softly.

  “That’s okay,” I admitted, putting my foot on the first rung of the ladder.

  “Will you tell me when you do like a boy?” Whitney asked with a pleading tone. I could tell she just cared about me and wanted to be involved in my life. She didn’t have any kind of nefarious plot otherwise. She just liked talking about what she considered to be girly things.

  “Yes,” I said, feeling a softness in my heart for her. She really was a sweet friend. “You’ll be the first to know.”

  *

  But I wasn’t being completely honest with Whitney. It wasn’t that I didn’t like any of the other freshmen boys on the other side of our dorm. It was that I hadn’t really thought romantically about a boy for a long time. The last time I remembered thinking that I liked a boy was probably early on in high school. But it was kind of short lived. I just thought he was interesting and when I told some of my friends that, they interpreted it as though I liked him romantically. And I went along with it, half-pretending I had a crush on him to satisfy the projections of my friends.

  I can admit that I was a bit of a late bloomer. I didn’t really date at all in high school and now that I was in college, feeling a new sense of freedom and excitement, I was ready to expand my horizons and find romance. But the problem was… I just wasn’t interested in the guys.

  Ugh. I feel like I’m being cagey and indecisive here. The truth is, dear reader, that as I aged and the idea of romance slipped into my brain, I alway
s thought of other girls.

  I didn’t know how to say that out loud. Not to my family or friends, not to Whitney, and I sometimes found it difficult to even say it to myself. I know logically that a girl liking other girls isn’t really that big of deal. You see it on television and in movies all the time now. There’s nothing wrong with being a lesbian. I was just having a difficult time saying it. I can’t explain it. The words wanted to jump out of my mouth, but when I parted my lips they just wouldn’t exit. I was confident that I’d figure it out at college, finally come out of my shell, maybe even shuck this husk of introversion off my shoulders. But I had to wait until the time was right, you know?

  It was midday and there was hustle and bustle around the cafeteria, students filing in and students filing out. I had just returned from my morning English class and before getting lunch, I wanted to stop in at the ALOHA office in the basement of the dorm to chat with them about the upcoming Shakespeare trip. As I wandered through the lobby of Leopold Hall, I ran into Meghan, one of the other freshman girls in the program. We weren’t really all that friendly with each other yet, but we’d talked a couple of times.

  “Hey Tasha,” she said with a smile. Meghan was a music major, cute and kind of goofy. “Are you getting lunch?”

  “In just a few,” I said. “I’m going to go stop into the ALOHA office first.”

  “I’ll save you a spot at the table,” said Meghan. “What are you going to the office for?”

  “Just to talk and pay for my spot,” I said. “Do you know if it’ll be Sacco down there or someone else?” Anna Sacco was the head of ALOHA, a professor at the university, and a very smart lady. She was also a published and respected poet.