Girls' Games

Chapter 3

Hey, everyone! So, this story I'm about to tell happened when I was really young, back in that phase of discoveries and curiosities about sex. I had a friend who was basically my soulmate—we were always glued together, up and down all the time. And, you know, we were total dykes without even knowing it!

You know those games like kissing your friend "just to practice" or fingering each other? Nah! Well, yeah, it was exactly like that. Back then, I thought it was totally normal. It was only later, when I was older, that I realized it wasn't that common when other friends started saying they'd never done anything like it and that stuff like that was more for boys—for me, almost all the girls had done it with their besties.

Each of us had a boyfriend, but the relationships lasted, I don't know, a month? They were those intense, dramatic romances, with promises of eternal love, until someone screwed up or lost a little interest. Then you know what happens: crying, shady posts on social media, drama with friends, it became the hot topic in class... until it all started over with someone else.

It was during that time that, one day, I was at her house. Both of us in pajamas, listening to music, talking nonsense, and debating a super important topic: which boy at school had the biggest dick. Detail: neither of us had ever seen a dick in our lives! But, of course, the imagination went wild, and with it, that warm tingle started to build.

We could've easily gone to our separate corners, closed the door, and discreetly get ourselves off in any of the bathrooms in the house, but no... The fun part was doing it together and even announcing it. Because, yeah, that was our big thrill. This time, it was her who brought up the idea—actually, it was almost always her. I went along because I liked it, sure, but she was way more bold than me.

"Hey, wanna rub one out?"

"Who’s gonna cum faster this time?" I said.

"Ah, but you fake it just to win!"

And it was true! I always did that. I could never cum by myself, especially with her watching. I'd die of embarrassment. So, I'd just let out my best moan from the group chat and claim the prize.

We took off our panties laughing, got settled on the floor—she leaning against the rug and me against the wardrobe—spit in our hands, one hand on our tits, the other on our pussies, and go for it! The best part of this game was exactly that mix of intimacy and vulnerability. Having someone see you there, in your most private moment, and at the same time seeing that person the same way.

Another thing I remember well were the smells. At first, a fresh soap scent, clean and crisp. But as the heat built and our bodies got more slick, the smell changed, picking up a more intense note, saltier, I don't know... hard to explain. I just know my mouth started watering. But what really drove me crazy was seeing her completely soaked and the sound we made—that wet sloshing of fingers sliding over flesh. That was what really lit me up.

We knew what lesbian or bi meant, but in our heads, it didn't quite fit. It was more like "sister stuff," like a girly version of "bro stuff." In the end, we just enjoyed getting off together and nothing more... or at least that's what we thought. There was something there, sure, but we didn't know how to name it yet.

I was there, legs spread wide open—that was my style—while she preferred a more discreet approach, legs closed, rubbing one thigh against the other. She had these habits that were just hers, like touching her asshole in the middle of the game. Me, honestly, it grossed me out. Whenever she did it, I'd turn my face away. Sometimes she'd even shove her finger in deep, and I'd just think about the smell that lingered afterward. I tried it once, but I hated it.

My style was the classic chicken-roasted: legs spread as wide as possible, knees bent in the air. I developed this technique because, at my house, taking off my panties for that was impossible. Standing up? No way. So I'd flop onto the bed like that, without taking off my clothes, ready to pull everything back into place if I heard a suspicious noise.

Our ways of touching were different. She'd go slow, slipping her fingers between her outer lips and making a short motion, almost like a hook, on her clit. Me? I was a mess, using all four fingers spread out, covering my whole pussy, like a housewife scrubbing a pot.

There on the floor, each in our own rhythm, we'd glance at each other now and then, half-laughing, half-focused. The room was stuffy, and the air felt thicker, heavy with our scent. The sound of fingers sliding, of heavy breathing, of moans slipping out unintentionally. She bit her lip, squeezed her eyes shut, and let her head fall to the side. I felt sweat trickling between my breasts, my thigh muscles tense, my belly quivering with each new thrust.

Time there flowed in its own rhythm, like the world outside had hit pause. It was just us, eyes closed, feeling the heat building, breaths ragged, and that wave of pleasure swelling, about to crash.

But... Hey, what!

I was in my frantic rhythm, abs clenched, hand speeding without mercy. That's when I heard a noise in front of me. I didn't even open my eyes. It had to be her shifting or climbing onto the bed. I was already at that point of no return and didn't want to lose focus.

Then I felt it.

Something wet, hot, and insanely soft brushing against the entrance of my pussy. In the first second, I thought it was the rug on the floor rubbing. But then came another touch, more defined, slower.

I opened my eyes.

And there she was.

Her mouth between my legs, eyes locked on mine in the dim light, tongue sliding slowly against my already drenched skin. My first instinct was to shove my hand in my mouth, muffling a choked moan. The second was to hold back the scream that almost escaped. Then came pure shock. Because, yeah, I'd thought about this before. Of course I had. But it had never happened. Our max had been comparing who got wetter, and that had already left us a bit awkward. But now... now she was there, eating me out.

And I let her.

Her tongue was soft, exploring every inch with a care I'd never felt alone. First, she grazed the edges lightly, no rush, spreading my wetness, testing my reaction. Then she moved up slowly, almost lazily, until she found my clit, where she paused for a moment, just breathing there, feeling my body shudder.

Then came the first real touch.

A small, shy lick, just the tip of her tongue. Then another, firmer, and another, and another. The rhythm was so slow it was like torture, each movement sparking a different shiver across my skin. My thighs trembled, and I felt my belly twisting in delicious anticipation.

She alternated between tiny circles and long, gentle strokes, in no hurry at all. When she started sucking lightly, I almost lost it. My body craved more, wanted to buck forward, grab her head, and beg her to go deeper, harder. But I couldn't make noise.

I bit my lips hard, my breathing reduced to ragged gasps. My hands, with nowhere to grab, slid over the sheets, over my own breasts, pinching my rock-hard nipples. Her tongue picked up just a bit, the suction firmer, and that's when it hit.

The orgasm crashed over me like a silent wave, swallowing me from the inside. My whole body pulsed, my skin tingled, but no sound came out. Just a trembling sob, muffled by my palm. I clenched, held my breath, felt every fiber of my body dissolve in that insane heat.

And her?

She stayed right there, looking up at me with that Shrek kitten face, satisfied, her mouth glistening with my taste.

All I could whisper, out of breath:

"You crazy bitch…"