My Last Orgasm Before Everything Changed. Part 1

Part 1

It’s the 80’s, another all-night rave, and I’m trying to pretend I don’t stand out as much as I know I do. I’m Dana Scully, nineteen, red-haired, blue-eyed, fair-skinned, barely 5'2" on a good day. Tonight I’m anything but a serious medical student. My hair keeps catching the strobe lights, glowing like sparks every time I turn my head.

“You’re staring,” I say, leaning in so my lips brush her lips. The music swallows half the words, but she hears me. She always does.

Her breath is warm against my neck when she answers. “Can you blame me?” One hand slides up my arm, slow, deliberate, her thumb pressing against the side of my breasts like she’s memorizing the shape of me. 

“You look like you were made for this night.” She’s nice to say that but I know I don’t. I hate dancing, but I like her, love her.

I turn my head just enough to catch her gaze. The glow sticks swinging from wrists around us paint her face in shifting colors  “And you look like you stole the night.”

She laughs, and the sound goes straight to my stomach, tightening something deep inside. “Maybe I did.” Her fingers tighten around mine, pulling me closer until our chests brush. The heat of her bleeds through the thin fabric of my crop top. 

“Maybe I stole you too. Dana, I’m seriously falling in love with you”

The words send a jolt through me, sharp as the synth line cutting through the bass. I should have a comeback. Something smooth, something cool. But all that comes out is... 

“Oh, Jennie,” as her free hand finds my hip, her thumb hooking into the waistband of my tight fitting jeans.

She smiles. “That’s the idea.” and uses the momentum to spin me, her grip firm on my waist. But when I stumble back into her, she’s there, steady. Her hands slid down to my ass, caressing, squeezing just enough to make me gasp.

The way she’s looking at me, feels like she’s already undressing me with her eyes, like she’s imagining all the ways she could bend me, break me, put me back together, my pulse thrumming between my thighs. I roll my hips against hers, just once, testing.

I reach up and pull her down until our lips crash together. Her tongue sweeps into my mouth, hot and demanding, and I moan into her. Her hands tighten on my waist, dragging me flush against her, and I can feel the ridge of her hip bones through her loose black pants, the way her thighs bracket mine.

When she pulls back, her lips are swollen, her eyes burning. “You’re dangerous like this,” she says, her voice sensual.

I grin, breathless. “You love it.”

She doesn’t deny it. Instead, her hands slide up my sides, under my tanktop, her fingers splaying over the bare skin of my stomach. Her thumbs brushing, teasing, making love to my breasts. 

My nipples tighten under her touch. I arch into her hands, biting my lip. “Jennie,” I breathe, “we’re in the middle of the…”

“Let them watch,” she interrupts, her voice a low growl. Her fingers dip lower, tracing the waistband of my jeans. “You’re so fucking beautiful when you’re desperate. I want everyone to see how good you look when you’re mine.”

The idea of her touching me here, in front of all these people, should terrify me. But the way she’s looking at me, like she’d kill anyone who dared to look too long, makes me feel powerful. Wanted. Owned. Her mouth crashes into mine again, her tongue sweeping in deep, claiming. 

“You want my hands on you? My mouth?” 

“Yes,” I gasp, my hips rolling against her thigh. The friction is maddening, the denim rough against me, between my legs,  through the thin fabric of my panties. “God, yes.”

Her hands are everywhere. One palms my breast through my top, her thumb flicking over my nipple until it's hard, while the other slips beneath the waistband of my jeans, her fingers sliding over the damp lace of my thong.

“God, you’re soaked,” she groans into my mouth, her fingers pressing harder against my clitoris. I can only moan, my head falling back as her fingers work me through the lace, circling, pressing, teasing. The music is a distant roar in my ears, I grind against her hand, the way her lips part when I whimper her name.

“Please,” I beg, my voice raw no longer the future Dr. Scully but a needy young woman.

“Jennie, please.”

She doesn’t make me wait. Her fingers sliding through my folds, slick with how wet I am for her. “God, you’re perfect,” she murmurs, her lips brushing my jaw. “So fucking tight.” One finger presses inside me, just the tip, and I clench around her, my nails digging into her shoulders.

She laughs, low and dirty, before adding a second finger, curling them inside me in a way that makes my knees buckle. “That’s it,” she coos, her thumb finding my clitoris, rubbing in tight, relentless circles.

I ride her hand, my breath coming in ragged gasps, my moans lost in the bass. The crowd presses in around us, bodies swaying, hands reaching for the sky, but all I can see is her, Jennie, her dark eyes locked on mine, her lips parted, her beautiful and heavy chest rising and falling like she’s the one being fucked.

The orgasm rips through me, my back arching, as I come with a broken cry. She swallows the sound, her tongue sweeping into my mouth as her fingers keep moving, milking every last shudder from my body. The world narrows to the feel of her inside me, the taste of her, the way her name falls from my lips like a prayer.

Part 2 to come
Ashley

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