POV: Deirdre

Evelyn, kneeling demurely, looks up with those wide and lascivious eyes of hers.

All of this closeness is maddening. I want her very badly, and the thought drives me ever warmer. Soon, the building ache will be unbearable.

Why had she been so keen on that disgusting action? Remembering the strange sensation of my fingers in her mouth brings forth a brief spike of revulsion. I only wanted Evelyn to cease her incessant whining, mostly until the queer urge to do otherwise happened. Why does she drive me to take such bizarre initiatives? Why, too, is it so strangely enjoyable?

Shutting the devilish woman up was certainly nice, but that wasn’t all of it. In the same way that rendering another woman tender with kisses made them relax delightfully into an embrace, Evelyn’s pacifying sucking on my fingers had a similar effect on her. It was a good thing to make her feel at ease like that and to make her become so soft.

The more time I spend around her, the stranger my life becomes.

Two blinks from the woman below me flutters her eyelashes most invitingly, and the sight fills me with hope that she will squirm against my touch if I reach out again to grab her. I’m reminded how easily she turns to this, always yielding, always wanting. Her actions are strange; even the most coquettish of college girls would turn to frenzied passion after enough prodding, but not Evelyn, never Evelyn.

Stepping forward until we are barely separated, I set my hand gently on her head and stroke the soft black hair nestled between her horns. Is she not as wound up as I am? Is she not filling with fire at this very moment? As the tips of my fingers softly scratch her scalp, she tilts ever so slightly to follow them.

“Comfortable down there?” I ask, aiming to needle her.

Instead of a true answer, she simply nods once again and continues her expectant staring. Her hair, usually tied up in a bun, falls all the way down to her shoulders in messy strands.

The silly woman hadn’t even combed her hair out since we arrived back home for the evening. She was too focused on her rambling and raving, no doubt. There are other methods of stress relief to deal with a long, tortuous day, and we seem to be of one mind about which is the better option at the moment, if at different stages of readiness.

“Not going to say anything?” I ask, nearly entirely as a mock jest, but also in a small amount of confusion. Her behavior truly is odd. Have I misread the situation? This is Evelyn, always so eager, always bursting at the seams to be touched and to soak in pleasure.

Her breathing remains steady—not frantic at all—but her look still screams like she is moments from begging to be kissed.

“Do you want me to?” Evelyn replies huskily, cocking her head to the side.

She would answer a question with a question.

Infuriating.

“What I want,” I chime, hip jutting out to the side while leaning further over her, “is for you to answer me.”

“No,” Evelyn replies at first, then continues, still sounding freshly woken from sleep. “I didn’t plan to say anything.”

“Hmm."

Her answer is most curious. Still, my mouth runs ahead of me to voice its own ideas before I can suss them out to fruition. “Then I suppose we can continue to use your mouth for other things, yes? You’d like that?”

Again, strangely not vocalizing, even if we are making play with words, Evelyn nods. If this is how she wants it to be, then fine. We can press forward and enjoy ourselves.

“However, you’re far too dressed for the occasion.” I tease, and Evelyn hops to disrobing like her clothes are on fire.

First, she pulls her shirt over her head and then tosses it behind her. She then falls backwards, twacking her rear on the hard wooden floor to make taking off her trousers possible. After her clothes and the underclothes beneath are flung to her sides, she rocks back to her knees, folds her hands in her lap, and smiles ever upwards, perfectly still and fully nude.

The picture of it all is simultaneously adorable, alarming, and unusual. How can it be that a woman I am going steady with presents herself naked in front of me, and I find it to be confusing?

Did the disaster earlier with the councilor fully boil her brain then? What has possessed her so?

Sod it all.

"Well," I admonish. “My breeches aren’t going to remove themselves."

As I expect will happen, Evelyn lunges to get to the task presented before her. It seems almost as if she means to play the character of lady maid to a queen, and the notion is somewhat a thrilling one. I severely doubt many lady maids helped their patrons undress while naked themselves.

Her dexterous digits get to work first by unlatching the catch on my belt and then popping out the button below. The belt hangs loosely from its loops while her fingers quickly go to work unlacing the leather cord laces that cinch the trousers tight. With gentle tugs, she pulls until I’m in naught but my underwear.

Instead of letting her continue, I simply can’t stand to not have any touch. Since the moment I had her in my grasp, I was hungry for her. Placid as she appears to be kneeling there, her eyes still cry out for a tumble in the sheets.

Slowly, so she can pull away if I am terribly mistaken, I reach out and curl my hand around her rightmost horn to grip her tightly, and then tug her inexorably between my legs.

Evelyn’s kneeling height is ideal for this, vertically inept as I am. Instead of any resistance or even a single hint of unwillingness, the devil at my fingertips lets out the softest, most vulgar of whines as I press her face flush.

Her lips, through fabric, meet my waiting and eager folds. The delightful friction of the lewd kiss she gives makes my breath catch. Her nose, too, presses and rubs just above, near to my most sensitive spot. All together, the rocketing sensations force me to buck my hips into Evelyn’s face, even as I hold her against me.

So eager!

Evelyn’s lips smack together for affect, and she smushes her entire face forward to elicit more and more stroking contact through my panties. The sound of her deep, needy panting is like a siren’s call. I need more of her immediately.

Grabbing a second horn, I push her away. The suddenness of it has a multitude of consequences. Firstly, Evelyn complains mightily with a groaning whimper. Second, her eyes snap up to mine, looking like she has been betrayed. Third, as I squeeze both her horns so that my moving her about is firmly controlled, she wiggles her hips and presses her legs together desperately.

Too frantic to do otherwise, I hold her still in a vice grip and demand further satisfaction.

“Pull them down, now.” I command urgently.

She’s quick to do as I tell her, yanking down the last of our barriers. A sudden cool feeling hits my sex from the night air, meeting my wet slickness. To not waste any time at all, I tug Evelyn back to me, both of us stumbling together until her open mouth and waiting tongue meet my slick, glistening lower lips.

Still kneeling between my legs, now eagerly lapping my flesh, I haul on her red-hued, darkly tipped horns to bring her so tight between my legs that it snuffs out any chance of her gasping freely for air.

There, Evelyn rolls her tongue and licks greatly up and down against my folds. The heat of her mouth is as burning as the ache at my core.

“Yes, yes.” I cry again and flex to roll my center harder against her. The unreal feeling of her stuck so tightly to my pussy locks me in place, so I use her skull protuberances as a handle to keep balance.

The whole of her tongue, one big flat expanse, rubs up and then down, making a wet lapping noise against my sodden center. For Evelyn, air comes sparingly, and only when she frantically pushes on my tights. Each time, after I let her gulp down a breath, I send her crashing back down against me to lick more and more.

During one long and vigorous swipe, the tip of her tongue presses maddeningly against my hooded clit, and my legs tremble under the spine tingling joy of it. Along the length of my folds, she often sucks, bringing engorged and sensitive skin between her lips. Between the hectic series of licks, she peppers me with kisses, to my folds, to the wetness of my core, and to the bundle of nerves at the peak of my sex.

Her noises become long, uninterrupted streams of agreeable humming. My wetness only increases each time she devours in a new way or presses hard her attention. When her tongue becomes like a point and runs along my lowest entrance, I shudder so badly that she is forced to chase my body.

When I allow her a few deep breaths for once, Evelyn returns to my clit, first with a gentle lick, then with a swirling tongue. She tends to me so well; I’m sure I would fall if I wasn’t holding onto her so tightly. My legs, standing wide apart, burn from a strain I didn’t realize I was putting them under. I had been inching myself upwards, standing on my toes, holding myself tightly like a wire in tension.

“Ah, there.” I let out, practically mewling under the expert ministrations of Evelyn’s tongue.

Evelyn stays and continues to make the same motions. I jerk her by the horns in smooth movements to help her along. The rhythm is so good, so maddeningly pleasurable, that I decide to target the motions more and more in the hope that I can finish.

My panting is frantic, and Evelyn’s is nonexistent, although I know she must yearn for air. Tighter still, I draw her against me, rocking up and down on my toes to use her sucking mouth and tongue to feed every sensation they can directly to my clit. 

With tensing legs and thighs locked tightly around her head, while she pushes desperately against me for air, I climax sweetly on her tongue.

Her despret whimpering only adds delightful vibrations against my sensitive flesh as I ride out my crashing wave of pleasure against her lips. Evelyn manages, eventually, to suck in some breath by tilting her head down. Still locked against me, only now by her nose, she pants between my legs.

Letting go of her is hard; it feels like my hands are too locked in their grips to know anything other than that singular task. I do, however, manage it.

Evelyn goes reeling, falling backwards until landing once again on her butt. Her legs splay out beside her, and she sputters to regain her equilibrium. Sitting there, slumped over, in the light of my room, she glistens with my juices freshly painted across her face. Her chin, specifically, is so plastered as to be near dripping.

With those same half-lidded eyes full of want, she settles her gaze upwards. Smiling and licking her lips, she folds her hands in her lap.

Our recoveries take some time. Evleyn spends her time without moving much. I step towards the dining table and lock my arms out against it to lean on. Both of our heavy breathing is the only noise heard in my room.

The hammering of my heart and the indecent ache at my core both lessen and become more manageable.

“A much better use.” I remark, in reference to Evelyn’s tongue.

Dreamily, from where she still rests on the floor, Evelyn lets out an immediate hum of agreement. She stares at me, and I stare back. Her smile grows, very much so in compliment to her red-on-red blushing cheeks.

“Still not talking?” I ask, wondering if her curious muteness is still ongoing.

She perks up, hopefully not in too much distress, but perhaps picking up on my curiosity.

“Ah, uh, sorry. That wasn’t weird was it?” She says, clearly with growing worry.

“Not at all. Just curious as to the why.” I answer in the spirit of her concern, if not the precise wording.

“I didn’t mean to do that, I should have…” she mumbles, trailing off and then shaking her head.

“It’s alright, so long as you wanted to.” I assure her.

Evelyn’s blushing grows even redder; the coloration of her cheeks and neck is now a stark crimson compared to the usually dull coral red.

“Yeah, I wanted to.” She replies quietly.

“To not speak?” I ask, to be clear.

“Uh. Something like that,” mumbles Evelyn. “I could use a few more minutes to recover,” she adds.

More recovery? Fine with me.

Scooping her up along the way, I drag us both toward my bed. Neither of us are truly clean enough for the sheets right now, but I have many spares for just this reason. I certainly haven't forgotten that Evelyn’s body is due her own round of delight, and the bed will be a great place for that once she has her wits about her. Situating us both down on the edge, then crawling onto the far side, I pat the mattress next to me to beckon her onwards.

“Sorry. Got a little carried away.” She says shyly while wiggling over to me.

“You got carried away? I hardly agree. I certainly was the uh, more active of participants in our-”

“Not that,” she whispers.

“Having sex but not speaking?” I inquire. That was poor phasing. Having sex without words was a very common experience for me. What Evelyn had done was different from that.

She takes my meaning, I think, looking deep in thought before coming to any sort of response. We’re now both lying comfortably, close but not dangerously close together.

“I don’t think we even have the right shared vocabulary for this. I really shouldn’t have acted that way. I’m really sorry,” she says.

Evelyn’s apologies are certainly not needed, especially in this context. Girlfriends shouldn’t apologize to each other in the bedroom in these situations.

“You didn’t do anything wrong; you were amazing, and I’m ready to return the favor,” I reply with an easy smirk for her to see.

“R-right,” she mutters, flushing deeply once again, “but I really should try to explain.”

“Explain?” I question.

Evelyn partially winces, looking stuck to find the right words. “The uh, kneeling and not talking."

Was there an explanation for it? That made even less sense than Evelyn just acting strangely for no reason. Previously, making sense of her actions wasn’t so hard given the context. Some fun word play, her jesting agreeable lady maid bit. It all followed. Evelyn went on to explain in her own way.

“I just got carried away is all,” she mumbles, looking away. “Kinda defaulted into old habits there.”

I look expectantly at her, and she continues on.

“Oh, how to explain. I’m used to certain things, uh like, sexually."

I can’t help but raise my eyebrow at her. We have had sex plenty of times, and nothing like this has happened before. She has been like many women before her. Whatever she is talking about, it’s very confusing. Is this perhaps just Evelyn being her usual unusual self?

“Do you know what vanilla means?” Evelyn asks, sounding conflicted but hopeful.

“Ice cream?” I try.

Whatever does vanilla have to do with certain things sexually? Evelyn looks very disconcerted at my answer.

“Oh this is very hard. In my time, we um, it's very easy to spread ideas and… I just don’t think you might have had the same exposure to um, ideas and terms.”

Her assertions are as concerning as they are confusing.

“Has sex in the future changed so much?” I ask, hoping that the answer is no.

But this has never happened before. Why now?

“No,” she blurts out.

“I still don’t gather what you’re driving at,” I tell her.

Looking very much like she would like to hide under a pillow at this moment, Evelyn keeps at her explanations.

“You were so, uh, domineering when we started that I just reacted and began behaving strangely, I suppose.” She admits, squirming slightly in place.

“And in the future, that's normal?”

Evelyn pinches her expression again, fretting over something.

“Uh, not exactly normal meaning typical, but yes normal meaning common enough,” she insists.

“You’re not making any sense, Evelyn,” I tell her.

I’m not sure what she is trying to say here, but it doesn’t really explain anything, nor do I really understand what it is she is so apologetic over. Is it a social faux pas in her time? What exactly? All she did was become passive instead of sharing heated kisses and more with me. Odd, sure, but not unheard of. Plenty of girls in Boston needed to be kissed before they mustered up the spirit to kiss back just as fiercely. That give-and-take is very normal.

“Ugh, I know I’m not. Okay,“ she comments, determination etched on her forehead. “So, the moment you held my chin in your hand I started to fall into a routine, which was only enforced by everything you were saying, and then you put your fingers in my mouth and-”

Evelyn sucks in a quick breath. Her cheeks grow warmer by the second, clearly some kind of embarrassed.

But why be embarrassed?

“-and then it just felt really good, and so I got down on the ground, because I knew that would feel good too, and I hoped you would see me there, and punish me for annoying you and-”

She sucks in another short breath, then snakes a hand up towards one of my pillows and hugs it tight to her chest.

“-and you looked so intense I could barely breathe, and I got all in my headspace to just do anything you wanted, and it was amazing, but I shouldn’t have because that really requires communication beforehand.”

Evelyn's look turns to one of intensity. Her serious eyes stare across the bed at me.

“I really messed up,” she declares.

What she was saying was so very odd. Too confusing to even deconstruct. I get the fever and the desperation, but what routine was she talking about, and why would I punish her for it? Did she mean it teasingly, like I would take my stress of the day out by having a fun romp in the sheets? I mean, we absolutely could, but that notion was somehow bad for Evelyn?

“I don’t understand,” I state, confusion evident. “Why do you think you messed something up? We both had a good time, right?”

The devilish woman in bed with me looks my way with a true frown of foreboding sadness.

“Have you ever… done something violent during sex?” She asks seriously.

By the way she intones violent I know she doesn’t mean good fun, fierce and intense during sex, but something markedly different. Her question puts me on hyper-alert, and a dozen questions pop into my head.

“What, no. I would never. Did someone hurt you?” I swear definitively and in a glowering question.

“Ugh, this is impossible to explain,” Evelyn quickly remarks. “I mean, violent but consensually. Like maybe a woman asked you to spank her? That’s always been common enough right?"

Spanking? I’ve given a woman firm grabs on the rear and brought my palm down on them to make them jump. I’ve even done it with Evelyn. Thinking that I’ll very much ask just that, I inquire.

“Have I not done that with you?”

“Oh no, we have absolutely not done what I’m thinking about.” Evelyn replies in a choking sort of laugh. “Like, being bent over someone's knees until their ass is red, spanking.”

“Like a child being punished?” I ask in incredulity.

There’s that word again, punished. Evelyn mentioned that before, what place did something like that have during sex?

“I- uh, I mean, yes sort of,” she frets to express.

“Why would I ever do something like that to you?”

“You do it so naturally already and you don’t even realize!” She whisper-yells, eyes wide. “What about all the times you’ve pinched my nipples?”

Evelyn always squeaks so cutely or makes such lewd bedroom noises when I do that.

“Because that can feel really good?”

I know from experience just how nice it can feel, of course.

“What about when you tease me by giving me sexy instructions while we fool around?” She adds.

“That's fun too?” I reply.

“Exactly! And so can being spanked, and all sorts of other things that you might think are violent.”

With a grin plastered on her face, she looks on expectantly, but I don’t quite give her what she wants because her glow eventually fades to neutral.

“Deirdre, there's like, a whole world of stuff I have names for that I don’t think you’d know,” Evelyn scolds.

“You can tell me?” I muse back.

If she wants to make this all less confusing, she's going to have to. So far, I’m gathering that her tastes are very conflicting. Deviant to the extreme? Based on severe feelings like pinches and slaps? And she likes the way I talk? That's great I suppose.

"Okay, we can do that. We probably should. We are girlfriends after all. So this is going to sound weird; I have to warn you, but stay with me.”

“What right now?” I ask curiously, “You want to talk first instead of getting your own climax?”

Thinking it over, she bobs her head up and down, except laying in the bed as we are, truly it is side to side. 

“We probably should.” She says, blowing a raspberry. “Let me briefly explain some of the basics of Bee-Dee-Ess-Em.”

“Bee-Dee-Ess-Em?” I ask.

“Bondage, discipline, and sado-masochism,” she answers with a slight grin.

Slyfox00

Can you believe BDSM awareness in the 1950s amounted to just coded messages in personal ads and word of mouth? Such dark ages. It's okay thought! Deirdre is a natural at it.