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Sunday Afternoon
By Demeter


Lindsay's wriggling her fingers experimentally, the suggestion enough to make Cindy squeak. Laughing somewhat evilly, Lindsay refrains from any tickling action though. She smiles, aware of the fact that Cindy's very much in her hands now; they both know it. Finally she starts painting Cindy's toe nails with the same intense focus and concentration she shows on the job.

And elsewhere, Cindy thinks, flushing with remembered and anticipated pleasure. Lindsay has finished her task pretty quickly, her hand caressing Cindy's bare leg, traveling up to her knee and stopping just short of the hem of her skirt. Cindy shivers.

"You do realize you have to be still until this has dried, don't you?"

"Well, you're not helping," Cindy complains, her breath catching when Lindsay's fingers continue their journey underneath the fabric.

"You say this isn't a good way to help you pass the time?" She sounds almost offended.

"It is. A good way," Cindy mumbles breathlessly between kisses, arching into Lindsay's hand. "You do realize that this kind needs a second and third coat, don't you?"

"That's what I was hoping," Lindsay says.

Cindy is quite sure she's never enjoyed waiting for nail polish to dry this much.

The End

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