Bette moved her hands down the woman’s back. This is what she wanted, and what she’d been waiting for.

She realized now what a fool she’d been, how crazy it was to get involved with Candace Jewell, or to pick up a random woman in New York. What she wanted, what she needed, what she craved. She never needed to stray from home. All she needed to do was claim this body for her own, and it was hers.

Here, in their bed, she took her. Here, she was able to enjoy the fullness of the *****, to complete her explorations. And she made sure to enjoy every inch as if this was when it all became a totally new experience for her.

It started with the lips, full and inviting. A long session of kissing, during which her hungers grew. She completed a more thorough investigation of the woman’s mouth, tongues becoming an essential element of exploration.

From there was the more traditional march across the skin, again, performed primarily by taste. The pace set by the usual factors, movements, moans, and the occasional push for Bette to move herself to one place or another.

Such was the extended visit to the *****, where each nipple required specific and extended attention, attention which Bette was more than willing to provide.

As her mouth did the primary exploration, Bette was aided by her hands. Her partner eagerly tasted and sucked the fingers of one of Bette’s hands. The other hand did the preliminary investigation for where Bette’s mouth would follow, or explored lower, grabbing *****, legs, but definitely keeping away from the ultimate destination.

Bette was relying on experience and habit, and letting the desire, the demand build.

And build it did, until Bette could no longer restrain herself. She positioned herself between the woman’s legs and started with a slow tease, licking the outside of the outer lips before slowly opening up this flower before her with her fingers.

Once all was revealed, Bette returned to her careful and thorough attentions, lips and tongue dancing and playing with the woman’s *****, fingers probing further and deeper. She teased with ways developed through long practice, varying speed, intensity, bringing the woman closer to the edge, and then pulling back.

Finally when she was certain the woman could take no more, Bette brought her release.

Bette cradled the woman. Together, the two cried in enjoyment and exhaustion, and the knowledge that they had each deprived themselves of so much for so long.

“Bette?” Tina asked, apprehensive at first.

Bette turned towards the doorway.

“And Jenny?” Tina shouted seeing the other woman in the bed.

The lovers, busted, scrambled to cover themselves.

Pulling on a tanktop and sweats, Bette trailed Tina into the living room. “It’s not what you think,” she said, but knew that if it wasn’t what Tina was thinking then Tina had far less imagination than what she gave her credit for.

“I suppose I can go to the ultrasound appointment without you,” Tina announced, arms crossed, foot tapping.

“Tina, c’mon, you know this was beyond my control.”

“Beyond your control?”

Bette rubbed at her head. “It’s that damn fanfic writer again.”

“Fanfic writer.” Tina’s skepticism was almost palpable.

“Someone made some comment about Jenny and I and for some bizarre reason this wacked-out writer thought it was a good idea.”

“And I’m sure you hated every second,” Tina’s skepticism was almost palpable.

“Well,” Bette hedged. Then, noting Tina’s ire, she tacked on, “I hated most of it.” Bette quickly realized that was not the right answer. “But I still couldn’t have helped myself,” she added hurridly.

Tina rolled her eyes. “That is the worst excuse I’ve heard.”

“Worse than trolling for comments?” Bette wanted her wife (of undetermined current status) to recall that it wasn’t so long ago that the two of them ended up having a, dare she say, delightful, roll in the sheets with the dragon spawn.*

As Bette tried to move closer to Tina, Tina pulled away.

“Do not bring your lips near me, I know where they’ve been, and half of West Hollywood has been there before you.”

“So, am I forgiven?” Bette pleaded.

Forgiven? I think not.” Tina’s demeanor remained stern.

“Am I at least cute?” Bette knew the question was pretty much off-topic, but she didn’t see much benefit to remaining on this topic, anyway.

“We’ll talk about this later,” Tina concluded.

“Later?”

“After you’ve showered, brushed your teeth and disinfected your mouth, and we’ve been to see the doctor.”

Bette shot Tina one of her thousand-watt smiles. “So I’m still going to the ultrasound?”

Tina shrugged. “The fanfic writer can’t really change what’s going to happen onscreen in episode 9. But maybe if we don’t react as she expects, she’ll stop doing this.”

“Or maybe she’ll finally have us doing something. You know, together. No one else involved.” Bette winked at Tina.

“As long as she doesn’t write us into a carnival,” Tina stated, sitting down on the couch and pulling out a magazine. “And kick Jenny to the curb while you’re back there. No seconds or we’ll be late.”

With that Bette headed back to do as her (possibly ex-) wife ordered. This was going to be one bizarre series to have to explain to Dan Foxworthy, if she ever really did return to therapy.

(Personally, I doubt Bette will return to therapy. The writer, on the other hand, should consider giving Foxworthy’s office a call.)

(the end. and I mean it.)

——————
* “When It All Became 13″ – courtesy of your friendly, local fanfic writer.