DISCLAIMER: As much as I would love to say that I own Paris, I sadly do not. She and Rory belong to Amy Sherman Palladino.
SPOILERS: My timeline is a little messed up, but work with me here. Just imagine that Paris and Rory still have suitemates.
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.
SEQUEL: To A Little Satisfaction.
A Little Satisfaction, Take Two
Had I put as much mental energy into my outfit this morning as I do my schoolwork, I would have realized that wearing these pants with this shirt and jacket would deliver only aesthetic pleasure. Had I been thinking ahead, I would have remembered that these pants are exceptionally tight and every time I would walk, the middle seams would rub against me. Had I been thinking, I would have considered that the rubbing seams and my exceptionally unsatisfied state would lead to a very horny and uncomfortable Paris Gellar.
I can't go on like this for much longer. I really think it's beginning to affect my sanity. He's a sweet guy, I swear; but after being with him for so long and being able to count the number of orgasms I've had with him on one hand, enough is enough.
I walk into the dorm, glad that I decided to come straight here instead of seeing Doyle like I might normally have done, and head for my room. Rory is sitting on her bed, her eyes closed. I wonder if she's fallen asleep, but she looks at me as I set my bag down beside my desk. I fall back onto my bed and close my eyes.
"I'm exhausted," I say.
"I figured as much. You barely slept at all last night."
How does she know? "I didn't keep you awake, did I?"
"No; actually, I haven't been sleeping well myself. I woke up a few times and noticed you were awake."
I sit up and wonder why she hasn't been sleeping. Surely it can't be for the same reason as me. Can it? I untie the laces of my boots and tug them off, and having that pressure removed off of my weary feet feels amazing. I sigh as I massage them and happen to look over at Rory. Who is staring at me. More specifically, my chest. Now what would straight and narrow Gilmore be doing looking at my cleavage? As I call her name to bring her out of her reverie, I wonder: what would Rory think if I told her my dilemma?
I'm bad, I know; but sometimes I love to see her squirm.
"I'm sorry, what?" She looks incredibly flustered.
"I was just asking what was keeping you awake. You must be tired, I haven't seen you this spacey since the last all-nighter you pulled, and that was at least a month ago."
"Just can't seem to shut my mind down sometimes."
Oh Rory, if you only knew about the daydreams I've had about you all day today.
"I know what you mean," I say. I'm quiet for a minute, and then: "I'm thinking about breaking up with him." I go to my closet and slip off my corduroy jacket, immediately hanging it up "He's starting to bore me," I offer, and begin on the buttons of my shirt.
"Okay, fine, you caught me. There's more, only you can't tell anyone. Not even Lorelei." I feel myself getting extremely agitated, as I did back in our early years together at Chilton. I would die if anyone found out about my situation with Doyle, especially after the lengths I went through to snag him in the first place.
"I promise," says Rory, but in a way I don't believe her.
I spin around and head towards her and I watch as her gaze shifts from my face to an area slightly south. This irritates me. Why isn't she taking this seriously? Why is she instead looking at my body, which she's seen a hundred times? It slowly begins to dawn on me, but I ignore the thought. "I'm serious, Gilmore. It can't leave this room." I feel bad for getting so intense on her, and I know I shouldn't be so paranoid. Rory never actually betrayed me in school and I really do trust her. I don't have many friends at all, and Rory is probably the only girl I'm close with.
"I promise, Paris. This isn't Chilton anymore; you're my best friend at Yale and I'm not about to jeopardize that." The look of sincerity on her face makes me feel all the more guilty about freaking out, but at the same time, that sincerity is tinged with innocence.
"Thank you, Rory. I'm sorry I got all intense on you there. Anyway, things are just not satisfying with Doyle." I have my back to her once again as I return to my closet, and I have slipped off my shirt as I drop that specific word.
I can practically hear her gulp as she considers how to respond. I smirk and hang up the shirt and wonder if she's looking at my bare back. I feel a familiar tingle creep between my legs and I try to shut it out.
"I'll bite. In what way?"
"Sexually, Rory." I grab my bathrobe and put it on so that I can remove my pants. We don't often change in front of each other; it's always been an unspoken agreement. But I can't help but wonder what Rory would look like if she were standing before me clad in a bra and panties. The thoughts are enticing. I tie the robe and head back to her bed, where I sit beside her. "There's just something so dry about him, Ror. I know I don't have the best track record when it comes to sex and boyfriends, but I don't need to be a sexpert to know that I'm just not getting what I need from him."
"What's that?" She looks hesitant, as if she's afraid of the answer. Well, I've never been one for subtlety, so brace yourself, Gilmore.
"An orgasm! I am on my last thread here. You know I don't like to leave things unfinished and that's all that keeps happening and I end up walking around like some hormonal harlot, my inner perv just waiting to be released!" Like now, for instance. I can't help but notice how long her fingers are. Images of her hand buried betwixt my thighs causes a slight blush to creep upon my face. I shake it away to catch her glimpse at my breasts again.
"I understand how that goes, but you know that. But sex isn't the only thing that makes up a relationship, Paris. There's so much more than that." She looks me in the eyes as she says this, and I realize that she's sincere in trying to help me. However, her friendship, as much as it means to me, is not enough to calm my hormones.
"I know, I know. But right now, not even the most intelligent conversationalist could be interesting enough to keep me from wanting to get off! I'm going to have to do it, Ror; I can't just have someone use me until they get off and leave me stranded! I mean, what happened to foreplay? What happened to kissing and teasing and sucking and licking? I can't take having to do it myself anymore."
That does it. Her eyes widen so slightly that I don't think she even realizes it happened. I can just imagine the wheels turning within that pretty brunette head of hers, considering what I just said. Rational Paris decides to come out of hiding, and I wonder if perhaps I'm reading into things and making her more uncomfortable than anything.
I place my hand on her knee and say, "I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I got a little carried away. I'll try to spare the unfortunate gory details next time."
She smiles and seems to relax a bit. There doesn't seem to be any trace of what I thought was there. I know that my hand feels hot where it rests upon her leg, but she doesn't seem to be experiencing anything similar.
"Hopefully there won't be a next time," Rory adds, and I laugh while I confirm in my head that this has all been a naughty fabrication of my imagination. I must be getting really carried away if I'm imagining my best friend wanting to fuck my brains out. Time to push this nonsense out of my head.
I stand up. "I know. I should have all future date possibilities give me a complete sexual history with references before I commit myself. Too bad Madeline and Louise aren't here; I could just go to them."
Rory laughs loudly at this. Her nose crinkles a little, and I can't help but get a little soft for her and acknowledge how cute that was. "Would we ever be interested in the same type as them?" she asks.
I raise an eyebrow at this.
"Tristan doesn't count. I mean it, would we ever want to date someone that would date someone like Madeline or Louise?"
Her logic is too cute. I smirk and raise an eyebrow.
"Logan doesn't count. Okay, maybe he does. But I'm working on him."
I laugh and set to getting my things in order for my shower. "Oh come on, Ror. I know Logan isn't cutting it for you. He may be the perfect boy toy to bring home to the grandparents, but he's still not doing it for you, is he?"
I wonder how she's reacting to that statement. I wonder if she's blushing. Could I be on to something? I head back to her bed. I take down my hair and shake the blonde locks free. "Come on, Rory, I just spilled all to you. It's your turn."
She seems hesitant to be as blatant as I just was, but she finally opens her mouth. "Fine. Logan's a bit cocky. And I don't mean to make bad puns, but he is. He has no idea how to use it!"
I raise an eyebrow. "From what I've heard, he does know, and he uses it frequently."
"Maybe it's me then maybe his package just doesn't do it for me."
"It happens, Ror. Maybe that's the case with me too. I'm sure Doyle'll make someone else very happy some day, but right now my libido is speaking loud and clear and I have no choice but to listen. You should listen a little more closely to yours; you deserve better. I think you're getting sick of taking multiple showers a day as well."
I couldn't help but end on that remark. I spin on my heels, grab my things, and lock myself into the bathroom before I say anything else that will make our situations worse. I turn the shower on and untie the robe. I hang it on the hook along with my towel, and set to unhooking my bra and my panties. As I suspected, I've left a nice patch of wetness.
I step into the near-scalding water and allow my body to soak in the heat. I can feel the slickness between my legs that has nothing to do with the shower, and I decide to tease myself a little before taking care of that sweet ache. Yes, I may be exceptionally sexually frustrated, but that doesn't mean I'm not going to make my self-pleasuring as arousing as possible.
I begin my shower routine. I squirt some of my expensive shampoo into the palm of my hand and begin to wash my hair. I close my eyes and enjoy the feeling of my nails scratching at my scalp. My thoughts once more return to Rory, sitting alone in the room we share, and I wonder what she's thinking. Has it dawned on her that this is the second shower I've taken today? Is she thinking about me, clouded by steam, stroking myself to climax? I can't help but think of these things. As much as I try to convince myself that my libido is taking over my imagination, I can't help but think that Rory's just as desperate for release. I could see it in her eyes; Logan's not living up to his suave reputation. I wonder what she thinks about when she touches herself? Does she imagine an ex? Does she imagine some robust celebrity? Does she (dare I think it?) imagine me? I rinse out the shampoo and prepare for the conditioner and blush as I imagine the content of my latest daydreams.
I think it's safe to say that everyone thinks back to past experiences and redesigns them to be more fulfilling, less embarrassing, or however they want them to be. I'm no different; lately I've been remembering events of my high school life and tweaking them a bit to make them a little less awkward to remember. The initiation into the Puffs, for example. My professor had mentioned something regarding secret societies and that naturally brought my thoughts back to that night in Charleston's office with Rory and Francie and the others.
Except now, when I imagine it, I'm not covered in that embarrassing pimple cream and my hair is neat and brushed. I'm wearing cute, girly pajamas. Ideally, if I could change that night, I'd have grabbed Rory and gotten her the hell out of there. That's where my fantasies begin.
We've rethought being there and have headed back to my house. In the comfort of my room, we share an awkward silence and then laugh about the Puffs. Instead of laughing at my ruffled appearance (as I know she must have, I looked terrible), she comments on how lovely my silk pajamas are and how the color brings out my eyes. And I mention how nice she looks in hers and we both blush at our compliments. I essentially keep pouring them on her, softening her up so that I can kiss her. And when I do, she doesn't freak but instead kisses me back and tells me that when I showed up at her house with the Puffs all she wanted to do was pull me into bed with her.
As I continue my daydream, I begin to wash my body. I imagine slowly pulling off Rory's clothes and laying her on that big lonely bed of mine. I kiss that beautiful body of hers everywhere I can, and as I get close to kissing those sexy breasts of hers, she flips me over and undresses me. With my loofah I trace the path that her mouth takes, first my neck and then my breasts. I let the loofah fall at this point and instead use my fingers. My breasts are heavy in my hands, and I try to imagine that these hands are Rory's. I think of her kissing them, licking them, enjoying them as they should rightfully be enjoyed. Doyle is so rough with them and doesn't give them nearly as much attention as they deserve. I believe that Rory would; she doesn't strike me as the type of girl to rush foreplay. I can see her spending hours enjoying a body.
I toy with my nipples and fantasize about Rory teasing them with her teeth and tongue. I feel them harden further under my ministrations, and my inner muscles involuntarily contract between my thighs. I suppress a moan as I allow my fingers to travel lower, sliding down the wet flesh of my stomach and come to meet at the apex of my thighs. I toy with my hair, envisioning Rory tangling her fingers in it. I can feel the moisture gathered between my legs and I know it has nothing to do with the spray of the showerhead. My body tingles as I tease my way lower and I can't take it much longer. I need this.
I wrench my eyes tightly shut and pretend that Rory is the one running a finger down the incredibly damp slit of my sex. I pretend that it is her slowly circling my clit, raking her nails around it, stroking it with careful pressure. My legs shake and my body cries out for release. My face burns with the arousal that is reddening my skin, and I work faster, knowing exactly what to do to give myself that breathtaking release that I've been desperate for.
As the muscles in my entire lower region tense and get ready, I use my free hand to grab the shower head that thankfully detaches and aim it directly at my clit, and I come so hard that I nearly fall.
I bite my lip to keep back the moan, but it manages to escape my lips nevertheless. I feel lightheaded and put the shower head back and lean against the cool tiles of the wall. I can't help but smile like an idiot after that orgasm. It was a good one. Hell, it was great. But I can't help but be slightly bitter that I am the only one who can bring upon a smile like that. I should be beaming after sex.
I rinse out the conditioner and step out of the shower. I dry off quickly and slip into some comfortable clothes and I exit the bathroom, noticing out of the corner of my eyes that Rory is watching me. I suppress a smile. I wonder what she's been thinking about. I look back again and she's staring at her notebook.
I sit on my bed and brush out what few tangles are left in my hair and decide that I want to play with Rory. I've cooled my libido down for now, but I can't help but want to test hers. I get a few things together and prepare to leave the room. She's watching me again.
I reach for the doorknob and turn to her with a grin. "Thank God for detachable shower heads," I say, and leave her in a stunned silence. Just imagining the shocked expression on her face has me wanting to splash cold water on my face.
After I feel I've made a good enough dent in my homework, I put down my books and prepare for the mental whiplash that comes when Tanna has the remote. She flies through the channels and finally settles on a movie that I don't recognize. I can't complain. I'm ready to wind down for the evening, having thankfully kept any and all thoughts PG rated. Well, that is until Gilmore plopped that curvy little behind of hers down beside me on the couch.
An accidental brush of my toes against her thigh has me tingling in all the wrong places, and I do my best to keep my distance. I do not need to be doing this to myself again.
And then it happens.
Two rather good looking women begin to make love on the screen. Are you kidding me? Of all the things that Tanna could have possibly decided on, it has to incorporate the one subject that has been haunting my daydreams all day.
Watching this Sapphic love scene is making me hot. Very hot. My hand unwittingly touches my neck, which is burning all of a sudden. What's worse, I notice that Rory is reacting to this as well. She squirms beside me and I desperately want to straddle her and reenact this scene.
I hop up and quickly make a beeline for the freezer. Soy ice cream. Perhaps this could cool me down a bit. I grab an extra spoon for Rory. I don't want to be rude and hog it all to myself. And I also don't want to deprive myself of seeing her tongue lick her spoon clean.
"Want some?" She nods, but I can't help but kick myself for the huskiness in my voice. It sounded like I was practically inviting her to fuck me.
I resume my position and she sidles up close, so close that our legs are pressed firmly together. I focus on the screen and my concentration is only broken when Rory touches my arm and lets me know that I've got some ice cream on my chin. She licks her lips longingly, and for a brief moment I entertain the thought of asking her to wipe the drop away herself. But I come to my senses, wiping it with my finger and bringing it to my mouth for my tongue to clean. I probably spend more time sucking on my finger than necessary, but it's worth it to see that look on her face.
The scene is thankfully over and I begin to think that I may be able to regain some semblance of normal thinking, but of course, that is not going to be the case.
Because at this moment, Janet and her stud are having the loudest fucking orgasms imaginable. She sounds like she is having a grand old time in there, no problems in the boyfriend department whatsoever, and it's making me furious. Why can't I have an orgasm like that? Why does pretty, perky Janet get everything?
I attempt to fathom being given so much pleasure that it prompts me to scream like that. (I know it's impossible though; I grew up in the fucking Manor, I learned to have quiet orgasms). I try to imagine Doyle doing that to me, but the thought of him hovering over me just makes me cringe. Now, Rory on the other hand That girl would have some stamina to do that. I remember those heated debates we would get into, and afterwards I'd have the feeling like I was coming down from an orgasm. Oh yea. Gilmore's got it in her. The thought is not helping me now, and I feel my nipples grow taut beneath my shirt and a flush creep onto my face.
I sneak a peak at Rory and notice that tongue of hers working up and down along the surface of the spoon, and the image is ruined by a high-pitched squeal coming from Janet. That's it. I snap.
"That damn girl needs a gag! Why the hell do we have to be a part of her intercourse?" Venom laces my voice, and Janet is lucky that she and the stud haven't finished and come out of that room. I jump up, blood pumping through my veins, and throw my spoon as hard as I can at her door. I'm surprised of the impact of the metal connecting with the wood, but I could care less at this point. I close the carton of ice cream, shove it into the freezer, and storm into my bedroom.
This is ridiculous. I'm probably overreacting and displacing my frustration, but I've got to figure out a new situation. My body is crying out for a body that can please me the way it needs to be pleased. It's tired of my hands. It wants new flesh, new moves, new caresses.
I crawl into my bed and stare at the ceiling, wondering how long it will take before I can find that other person. It's been so difficult for me to find that person that I connect with enough to make that physical leap. Jamie was awkward; that first time and the times afterwards felt so foreign to me. And Asher. He happened by accident. He was a great man and there was an incredible mental connection, but there lacked that flame that drives the passion into the core of me. Asher had only an ember. And Doyle, well, he's Doyle.
Ideally, the perfect person for me is the one who just walked into our bedroom. She quiets her movements so as to not disturb me and heads to her bed. Mentally, Rory is my soul mate, plain and simple. And the more I think about it, the more her body drives me crazy. I've never considered the fact that the perfect person for me has been beside me for years. I want that girl so badly that every cell in my body is screaming her name, yet she is deaf to it. I watch as she strips off her t-shirt and bra, dons a tiny tank top and gets into bed.
But the thing that kills me is the fact that, despite her lust-induced subtle actions today, there's no way she could ever really want me like that. I want so badly to tell her what's on my mind and further express my truest frustrations, but displacement will have to suffice.
"How is it that no matter who Janet brings here, she always manages to get off?"
"I don't know, Par. Maybe she's just easy."
I snort. "We know that for sure. But really, is it so wrong to ask that she keep her moans to herself?"
"It's not wrong. Just awkward."
"And so is the knowledge that her bedroom romps are more stimulating than fucking my boyfriend!"
She is silent for a few moments, and I wonder what she's thinking. I feel bad for swearing; Rory never lets such words slip through those virginal lips and I hope she doesn't think ill of me for slipping up.
"Par, maybe you should try to get some sleep. You're exhausted; you barely slept at all and you won't feel any better about Doyle tonight. Sleep and hopefully you'll be able to get a new perspective on things tomorrow."
That's not what I wanted to hear, but it's as good as I'll get tonight. "I guess you're right. Thanks for listening to my complaining, Rory."
"No problem, Paris. Sleep well."
"Thanks. You too." Rory rolls over and I continue to stare at the ceiling. I don't know how I'll get to sleep tonight. I'm restless, horny, and angry: not a good combination for me.
This has got to stop. I've got to get some sleep. I try to relax myself by naming writers in alphabetical order. Margaret Atwood. Charlotte Bronte. Kate Chopin. I get halfway into the alphabet before I start to doze
My dream state takes me back to the night of the Puffs initiation. I'm still looking chic and pretty and now I'm at the Gilmore residence, re-imagining the kidnapping of Rory. As Francie tries to convince Rory to follow, I speak up and try to persuade her to stay. When she resists, I push her back onto the bed and straddle her. The Puffs are gone, and Rory is lying helplessly beneath me, except she isn't writhing in protest. She begs me with that sweet virginal mouth to fuck her and I happily oblige. Clothes miraculously disappear and I've got myself a face-full of Rory, and she's loving every bit of it. She moans and whispers my name and it sounds so blissfully real
And then my eyes open and I realize those moans are real. I know that I have probably been moving around a bit in the ecstasy of my dream, but my motions are nothing compared to Rory's. There's some heavy duty motion going on beneath those covers until she suddenly stops.
She's quiet, as if she's feigning sleep, and my body grows warmer by the second as I imagine what's taking place between those sheets.
The silence is deafening, and I'm beginning to wonder if this is still apart of my dream.
And then she lets me know.
That was not a shocked gasp. Or a scared gasp. That was a sexual gasp.
My blood heats up and I feel the strain build between my legs. We can't keep going on like this. I cannot let this go by.
"Rory." Her name sounds foreign coming out of my mouth. She doesn't reply. I didn't think she would. Don't chicken out on me, Rory; I don't know what I'd do.
"Rory," I say again. "Come here."
Again she remains mute. I muster every aspect of my commanding personality and turn it on full force.
"I heard you, Rory. And you heard me. Now get in my bed."
To my surprise, after several moments, I hear her throw the covers off of her body and slowly edge her way to my bed. I stare at her in lust, in awe, as she stands at the edge of the bed, waiting for more instructions. I bite my lip as I notice the firmness with which her nipples press against her tank top. "Get in."
She does so, slipping in beside me. As the heat of her body warms my flesh, my body screams out in approval. 'Yes!' it says, 'Finally!'
We stare at each other through heavy lidded eyes and then it happens: we're kissing. I'm not sure who initiates the kiss and quite frankly I don't care. When my lips meet hers, the flood gates open and I pour myself into her, eager taking whatever she will offer me. We devour each other, tongues dueling madly, and my hand immediately delved beneath her shirt. As I palm one of her breasts and feel her hard nipple digging into my palm, I moan.
This feels so good, so right. We allow ourselves to fall deeper into the kiss, giving in to the need we both feel. I can't get enough of her and I can't get it fast enough. When she tangles her fingers in my hair and I feel her hand against my scalp, I bring a leg between hers, driving my thigh harshly against her heated center. Her moan reverberates around my mouth and as I swallow that exquisite sound, I nearly cry out when she pulls back.
She looks at me so intimately that any self-consciousness that I may have felt is lost. She takes in my appearance and I take in hers. Her lips, glossy with wetness from our kiss, look even more plump and kissable than before. She looks at me with such desire that I can't imagine ever returning to Doyle, who regards me as just some woman in his bed that he has moderate feelings for. He's never looked at me like I'm ravishable. Not like Rory is looking at me right now.
Rory comes back, attacking my neck with her hungry kisses. She does everything I mentioned earlier and more: she teases me by gnawing slightly at my flesh, followed by incredible licking and soft sucking. I wonder if she'll leave a mark and find I don't care; this feels too incredible to stop. My body burns for more. I moan out her name as she finds that incredibly sensitive spot at the nape of my neck and her hands, which have been roaming my body in search for flesh, dig into my backside.
I surrender to the ragged breaths and deep moans that escape my mouth; I have no control over that now. Every aspect of my mind is focused on Rory. She slides her hand under my shirt and makes contact with my breasts. She moans softly as she caresses them, and explores every curve and slope before she hungers for more. My shirt makes its way to the floor and I sharply cry out as that mouth of hers hovers over my nipple and then claims it. I can't remember the last time that they've been this hard and I feel as though they only tighten further as she nips and sucks on the taut bud. I grind my leg against her and feel my panties become drenched as she rocks her hips against me. Every time she moans or gasps, kisses me or licks me, my clit throbs harder. I'm on the verge as it is and I still have my pants on.
"Oh God. I need you, Rory. Don't stop, please!" Did I just say that? I can't comprehend anything now due to this intoxicating desire. I feel my body teetering on the edge and I ache for her to fuck me.
She immediately responds, tearing my pants and underwear off of me. Before the cool air of the bedroom can even whisper against my center Rory is there. She takes in the sight of my naked body sprawled out for her and licks her lips. I look at her, desperation and desire crying out to her, and she doesn't keep me waiting.
Rory sprawls her body on top of mine, claiming my lips as her fingers tease at my clit. We gasp simultaneously and I feel my pelvis buck against her in response. I need her so badly right now; I can't remember the last time my need has been this intense. I thank her with eager kisses and caresses of my tongue against her and beg her not to stop. Horrifying images of Rory leaving me stranded pop into my mind, but the gorgeous brunette does nothing of the sort.
She sucks on my lip and begins to stroke my clit. She knows not to tease and instead works deliberately to bring me to orgasm. My body writhes beneath her, my climax building up within every nerve of my body, and she strokes faster. I'm so close so close
And then I come, so hard that I forget everything; euphoria fills every pore and erupts from the very core of me, and I can't imagine never having this feeling again.
As my body undulates and my muscles clench for the last time, I slowly open my eyes and gaze up at Rory. Leave it to Rory, smart and pretty and perfect Rory, my equal, to be the giver of such a powerful orgasm. She looks at me and I pull her into a deep, soulful kiss.
My tongue slowly dances with hers as I lay her down and straddle her. I feel her smooth stomach pressing against my wet core and I hurry in ripping off her shirt so that I may bestow her breasts with as much passion as she gave mine. I palm both of her breasts and at this moment her dormant desire awakens and I know she's ready to be fucked like I just was.
I manage to remove her pants and her underwear, or I try to anyway. I make it to about her knees before I realize that she's naked beneath me. Her body is incredible, better than I could have ever imagined it, and I find myself overwhelmed with the desire to discover every crevice, every bit of that pale flesh, with my tongue. But there is no time for that now.
I reach back and cup her with my hand as I whisper her name. I feel her react to the touch and I want so badly to continue to make her react in such a way. I take my time in caressing her, reveling in the feel of her slick folds and soft hair. When my finger slightly brushes her clit, she cries out.
I move to find a more comfortable position for us, and I settle for straddling her leg. I try to ignore the fact that her thigh is rubbing against me and causing a subtle desire to stir and I try to ignore it. This is about Rory.
I resume stroking lightly and a lock of my hair falls across my face. I can't have this obstruction to my view, so I toss my head to get it out of the way. A look of awe washes over Rory's face and I don't think I've ever been looked at like I was an object of such beauty. It warms me in a way that I don't expect and I aspire to make her feel beautiful as often as possible.
But there are more important issues at hand. No pun intended.
I can feel that she is wavering on the edge and I step things up; I begin to stroke her clit with my other hand while thrusting two fingers deep inside of her. She cries out as my fingers stroke against her tight walls and I can feel her clench them and draw them in deeper. I pound into her and watch with fascination as she closes her eyes and bites her lip, trying to quiet her moans. It doesn't help and soon she's moaning with ardor, begging me to finish her off. I curl my fingers and tease her clit faster and then it happens. She comes, screaming my name, and I flush in awe of the gorgeous look that crosses her face.
When I feel her convulsions slow and finally stop, I slowly take my fingers from her and lay down beside her. There should be some sort of awkwardness about what we just did, but there is none of that. We gaze at each other and kiss softly, allowing all of the tenderness that was forgotten in our intense lovemaking to come forth.
I settle my head down next to hers on my pillow and we continue to stare at each other. It's as if we've reached a silent understanding. We both know that we will never have to deal with the inadequacy of our boyfriends again.
As I pull her in for a final kiss before we drift into a relaxed sleep, I get the feeling that I won't need to claim the Rolling Stones' "Satisfaction" as my theme any longer. I can safely assume that neither of us will have to worry about being unsatisfied again.
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