Traveling

Francesca had in her mind snap-shots of Shane’s body over the years.

The two had met years ago, soon after Shane had made her way to LA, met Bette and Tina, and joined the fold. Back, Francesca thought, when she had just wrapped her first motion picture and things were at their peak with Marina, and life was all about decorating their new home and ***** with abandon.

That lasted a good two and a half weeks.

It wasn’t long before she found the girl prowling at Milk and decided to show her how it’s done. Shane was thinner then, lankier, not quite gracefully fitted to her frame, as she was now. Her arms seemed longer than they should have been, her face more angular, sharper. The next time Francesca saw her; nearly 8 months later, regular meals and legitimate exercise had filled the street waif out quite nicely. Shane’s delicately muscled arms taunted her, along with every other girl, from across the room every time Francesca entered the Planet to check up on Marina. Her lips were fuller, and she had learned to make up her eyes to display them to their best advantage, something Francesca assumed was Bette’s doing, originally. In less than a year, the lanky boyish hustler had become an exquisite androgynous object of desire, for her, and for everyone else.

But Francesca, as always, refused to be anything close to common, and as other girls dreamed of the shaggy-haired apparition over them, thrusting into them, taking them hard, she always had a predilection for the struggling boi she met so long ago, mewling and squirming underneath her, doing as she instructed, without question or complaint.

That was so hard to find these days. Marina came to mind for some reason. The image of her former love didn’t stay long.

The older woman turned back to memorizing Shane’s ever-evolving body, as the girl stayed poised, literally dripping with anticipation, low on her hands and knees amongst Francesca’s sheets. It was a position she had maintained for hours in the past upon request, until her muscles literally gave out from under her. Resilience was always one of her best qualities, Francesca mused. However her favorite quality was currently Shane’s elaborately toned back, something she had forgotten during her travels. She ran a freshly manicured finger tip down the center of the girl’s sweat slicked shoulder blades, a feral grin forming across her lips as the tightly wound muscles danced under her hand. The girl had been hurt since last they met.

————————————

Words woke Shane from the trance like state being back here induced.

“So, what was her name?”

Shane closed her eyes and tried to slow the images that bombarded her head. She came here for clarity, not psychotherapy.

“I’d rather not,” she whispered, raising her head, gazing at the headboard that she faced. A brief flash of earlier, banging her head against it, came and went in her mind.

Currently Francesca was kneeling behind her, between her spread legs, letting her hands go where they may. The woman over her moved in closer and their knees butted against each other. Shane’s mind went back to an hour ago, on her knees in that beautiful kitchen, suckling and nipping, lapping for hours at Francesca’s desire. She struggled to ground herself, stay on what was now. Now was defined by hands caressing her inner thigh, coated with her arousal, never staying right where she wanted them to or giving her a rhythm to thrust against. It was like a Swedish massage mixed with a sadistic body cavity inspection. She clenched her teeth, refusing to whimper, to beg. It was inevitable, but not now. Not yet. Francesca’s finger swirled between her lower lips and, slick with Shane’s need, she moved it back, applying pressure to Shane’s other entrance gently, at first. Francesca was cruel, but not heartless. Shane gasped all the same, slowly losing her ability to hold it all in.

“Cherie”

“Pretty”

“On the outside, yeah”

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