She repeated the process as slowly as she had the first, knowing Jenny’s eyes hazily followed the tiny but precise movements.  Marina halted when Jenny’s upper half sprung free of the dress, only because she simply couldn’t continue without letting her hands have their fill.  She kneaded Jenny with agonizing slowness, cupping, squeezing, brushing.  Marina’s fingertips skated under her lover’s *****, the printed pads memorizing the shape, the texture. 

Jenny gasped, squirmed.  She felt like she’d drank a cup full of metal shards and Marina’s hands were magnets.  Every touch tingled, burned.  She felt pulled from the bone, sucked dry and discarded.  Sweat pooled at the small of her back, it was almost unbearably warm.  She didn’t seem to notice that Marina had changed tact, that her tall lover left her dress gaping at the waist, her hands now toying with the lace trim bound to the middle of her thighs.

Marina’s fingers slipped past the knee-highs and found their true destination.  Jenny’s lips, damp and bruised, trembled.  Forearms sweeping past Marina’s shoulders, her limp fingers dangled over the chair’s stiff back.  Marina attached her mouth to Jenny’s, her flickering tongue thick and hot.  One swipe of her thumb and two fingers plunged into welcoming heat, swallowed into pulsing heat.

Marina rocked forward, her feet arched and spread, rolling the smaller woman on her palm.  She worked Jenny until this too became a dance.  One which she knew the moves of all too well.  Her thumb circled around Jenny with a swift sureness that made her inwardly groan.  Marina felt like exploding. Every thrust, every twitch seemed to tighten both their insides.

“Jenny,” she moaned, her voice hauntingly thin.  Jenny rode her frantically.  She clung to Marina’s hand with deep, rough jerks, her head flung back and her body bowed outward.

Marina bent to her, her hair thrown across Jenny’s ***** like a dark curtain.  Covering her lover’s nipples with a ravishing mouth, she bit each, needily, purposely.  Marina silently coaxed, led Jenny to shuddering *****.  She felt it in the tips of her fingers, the roots of her hair.  Her body was aflame yet satisfied, pleased.  The chair creaked, spoke its last cries until Jenny was absolutely still.  Tying at the ankle, she wrapped her legs around the back of it, gently pressed her knees into Marina’s sides.