DISCLAIMER: I do not own Gilmore Girls; that's all Amy-Sherman Palladino, Dorothy Parker Drank Here Productions, Hofflund-Polone and Warner Bros. Television's doing. All trademarks mentioned herein are the property of their respective owners.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is the third of six of my so-called 'drabbles' (this one is even more over than the first two!) that are rewards for my long-time beta Danielle, who gave me the prompts and couplings she wanted me to write. Her prompt was to see me write a Paris/Shira story using the prompts finger foods, form-fitting gowns, indecent. Now I know you're thinking "Shira? Nate, have you gone crazy?" Well, not really. See, I kind of thought of Shira as definitely the same as Paris, but only older, more calculating and an incredibly smart woman who was far from the trophy wife that she was presented as from the show. Also to a point, this story is loosely based on Danielle's own Paris/older woman story, Surfacing, where she was wooed by an older woman the same age as Shira. It's no irony that Danielle based Olivia Hughes, the character in that story, on Leann Hunley, the actress who played Shira in the series.
Please note that this story suggests elements of domination and the darkness between women, including the infamous evil and dark and twisty side of Paris that made her the character she was in the first place. If you're coming to read my usual style of writing where Paris is vulnerable yet open, this is not your kind of fic to read. In this story, Paris is flirting with the edge of immorality and as Shira is a married woman seducing Paris into her arms. That alone should give you an indication of where this story is headed.
Right now I'm leaving the ending closed just in case this story is not well-received. However if the feedback is well enough, I will consider adding it to the circle of stories which includes Longing and Innkeeper.
Thank you again Danielle, and may your days be wonderful.
SPOILERS: Late June before season six (2005) in my usual DenialVerse, with Rory never told by Mitchum that she's a horrible journalist, Paris nowhere near having her parents accused of tax evasion, and not much going on beyond some light drama. Paris broke up with Doyle before the end of her sophomore year.
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.
The Wallflower & The Wildcat
By Nate
Paris was never the kind to be intimidated. She had faced down the worst matrons of Hartford society and always came out with flying colors, no matter what. She could always bullshit herself out of any situation that required her to wear a dress and talk to people she outpaced by at least 75 points of IQ.
But she couldn't turn down Rory. No matter what she tried to argue, the girl had made her attend a party her boyfriend was accompanying her to. No matter that Doyle was a distant memory in her life and she always loathed wearing a dress with material thinner than that of a spider web.
She thought her night would end up being hell.
That is, until she bumped into Shira Huntzberger while she attempted to make some kind of meal out of thankfully kosher cocktail sausages, crackers and caviar. Oh, how she hated caviar.
Everyone else in Hartford found Shira to be an annoying gold-digger who was out for only herself and her own selfish needs. The Dallas-bred woman was seen as glomming onto Mitchum and being a lousy mother.
But to Paris, she was a kindred spirit somehow. They were both on the edges of the Hartford society scene, both loathing it but participating out of necessity; Paris because of her inherited wealth, while Shira chalked it up to the cost of being the wife of a media baron.
That, and they shared a common loathing of the circumstances of Logan and Rory. Neither wanted them to be together. Though their reasons were different, they were united in that determination.
Hiding out on a balcony munching and groaning as she swallowed $1,000 fish eggs on Ritz crackers, Paris felt the cool April air flow through her form-fitting pink gown, glad for the privacy of the home looking out onto expansive gardens. She was surprised when the door opened, and out walked the only woman who agreed with her when it came to Logan and Rory.
The older woman offered her an easy smile and closed the door behind her while holding two drinks in her hands, one almost half-finished already. Paris knew all the tall tales about Shira were untrue, the surgeries and Botox. Although she did get her tummy tucked once after she decided to stop having children, beyond some flirtations with a few homeopathic remedies, she was a natural woman.
Right down to the subtle Texan accent the Dallas-bred girl dropped when she was in casual company. Handing the young woman a glass, she introduced herself in a tone that made Paris tremble pleasurably.
"Thought you could use this, Paris dear. Sorry you got stuck with chicken strips and caviar to munch on; obviously the caterers don't seem to understand there are more than Gentiles here celebrating."
Paris held up her hand. "I'm afraid I have to refuse--"
"Hon, you don't turn down a SoCo kamikaze. I got this all mixed up special for you. I get all worried, y'know." She handed the girl the drink, making sure the lowball glass was well in hand before letting it go.
The older woman was thankful for one part of Rory being pushed into her life; it meant she got to see the daughter of her friend Sharon more often than she used to.
Friend in the loosest sense possible. She loathed how overtly controlling Mrs. Gellar was to Paris and had seen her from afar for the last ten years. Now with the woman long gone to the Bahamas she was free to admit in her own eyes that Paris Gellar was a beautiful and intelligent young woman who would be much more appropriate for her son than Paris's friend.
But she knew Paris would never be attracted to Logan. Hell, if I was her I'd turn his ass down too, she thought. Touching Paris's hand softly, she felt that familiar tremble from being in the presence of the intense blonde.
"Worried about me? Mrs. Huntzberger, I assure you that I'm fine tonight," she said, trying to avert the woman's attention. "Thanks for the drink. I hate caviar, but if I have something to wash it down quickly, it's tolerable." Proffering the glass she took a swig and set the rest in the glass on the stone railing, savoring the sting and sweetness of the perfectly mixed drink.
She swallowed it down, narrowing her eyes at Shira as the woman regarded her with a hot stare. "Damn, that's good."
"It is." Shira slid a seductive grin onto her lips. "And hon, don't call me by that name. It's so stuffy and ill-fitting. It's Shira when we're all alone."
"I have to be respectful," she argued, only to see the older woman shake her head in the negative.
"You have to be none of the sort. Besides, I find you very beautiful; you should be flattered."
Paris's breath caught as she felt Shira take her hand and encourage her to face her eye to eye. She stumbled over her words, pushing stray hair behind her ears. "That's not true. You're just saying that because you hate Rory."
"I don't hate Rory," Shira corrected her. "I just don't like her dating my son. She's a bright woman and she just doesn't understand that I'm pushing her away 'cause she doesn't need to be with our family."
Paris guffawed a bit. "Funny way of showing it."
"Paris, you have to understand that I have to keep the party line in front of Mitch and show I like her. It's all just for appearances. I hate seeing her waste her time on my idiot of a son, who should learn that when he finally gets into the job he'll have to work on firming up circulation numbers and firing dead weight columnists. Lord knows we could also winnow some of the moldy comic strips we keep in the Bugle in Baltimore."
"I thought you didn't know a thing about the business," Paris said, astonished as Shira winked at her, moving her towards the corner of the balcony while she took the last swig of her drink. "Mitchum and Logan compare you to Alexis Carrington more than Katherine Graham." She was impressed by the small bit of knowledge she showed.
"Hon, I went to Southern Methodist and ran the Daily Campus with an iron fist; we were the top college paper in the nation back in '86-'87, which was easy since I pretty much leaked all the shit to the Big D papers to bring down the smug sons of bitches in the SMU booster club and that tacky football program. I have a journalism degree, but I just don't use it lately." She enjoyed running her fingers alongside those of Paris and felt the tingles of attraction she tried to deny often when it came to the younger girl. "I have to say from afar that the way you run the Daily News is impressive. You know how to muster the troops and you do a damned good job of reporting yourself. You're a classic muckraker and I read your paper from cover-to-cover. Hell, you finally got my son to actually pay attention to his calling."
Paris was flattered, enjoying how Shira looked at her. "I'm impressed. You're not just a pretty face."
"And you're more than a reporter." They found themselves pulling together involuntarily, the closed window and lack of anyone else nearby bringing out their latent lust. Paris felt an attraction towards women she hid because of appearances, while Shira was pleased to always find a new piece of eye candy she could take advantage of when Mitchum forgot to pop the Cialis.
Except this time it went beyond the surface. She had eyed the young woman up all night, hiding in the shadows and taking in how flowing pink formal gown fit her. Her mouth watered at the deep cleavage the editor offered, while Paris had to admit for a forty-something woman that Shira was built beautifully. Firm breasts, long legs, killer blue eyes and a beautifully kissable mouth. They both felt the cool air affect their bodies in interesting ways. Shira found her eyes sliding down to Paris's breasts, but then began to direct the topic elsewhere as they eventually sat down next to each other on the balcony's patio set.
The chill surrounded them, but Paris and Shira found a long and easy conversation between them, along with a connection that the other woman had to admit was hard to come by with a friend in many years. There was a kindredness they shared. The time, along with the party, seemed to drift by. Shira called for a couple more drinks, just enough so Paris got a pleasant buzz, but was far from intoxicated. The hard liquor had loosened her lips and let her free to speak about how sometimes she felt alone in the world, intimidated by the actions of Rory and Logan in her life and on the paper.
"You know what you do then?"
"Hmm?"
"You remind everyone you're head bitch in charge. When the NCAA came in and wanted everything we did sportswide at the Campus I made damned sure that I had immunity and I and my reporters wouldn't see reprisal for turning them in. No one never did. I only trust you with that information 'cause I know you have a steel cunt. You're not gonna let some faculty dicksucker get their way with you."
"Shira, steel cunt? There's better analogies."
"There are, but you hide everything." She slammed down the glass on the table hard, laughing. "God damn, you are hot."
"OK, I know the alcohol's talking now--"
"But you are. Look at you. You're built like a curvy model. Not a fucking stick figure at all, but an honest to goodness woman with a beautiful complexion, a dream rack, and very long legs. I mean really, Rory's kind of boring. It would be interesting to make love to you, dear."
Paris was surprisingly receptive of Shira's advances. She directed a flirty look towards the society woman and with all of her nerves gone, dared to slip a foot out of her shoe and place her toes against Shira's left ankle. She also sucked a little on the ice that remained from her final drink, letting the cold water drip onto her lips. "So I'm beautiful." She let the touch course through Shira's spine. She shuddered and closed her eyes, reveling in the small touch.
But the woman was still steady. "Paris, I'm gonna admit something here I never have before." She brought herself close, purposefully displaying her alluring cleavage towards the girl while returning the ankle brush.
"What? You're bi?"
"Not that..." She smelled Paris's soft fragrance of talc and vanilla. "Of course I'm bi. I just happen to conveniently be married to a newspaper guy. But what I mean is..." She brushed a very flitting kiss across Paris's lower lip. "I think you're an incredibly sexy young woman and it's a shame you've been stuck either with too boring, too crazy, or too old."
"Shira--"
"No, don't stop me now! I mean it. You are like a fine wine, your sexuality becoming more powerful every day. I think you're very attractive, and if it wasn't for the alcohol I would finger you right here and now."
"Then don't." Paris made it so as if she was going to close the conversation, pulling away, extremely turned on and feeling bold from how Shira was looking at her. "I know you wear that tight little creme Hermes number because you want to have the attention." She was predatory, her thought process muddled by how hot she found Shira in the tight number, which showed off her built form quite well.
Shira meanwhile was disappointed, yet not surprised. "I didn't think you'd take me up on the offer--"
"No. Not out here, it's too cold," she said suggestively, her toes raking over perfectly manicured violet toenails. "I'd rather be anywhere else but here. This party sucks."
"Yes," Shira agreed, "I kind of wish I could find an excuse to get out of here. My husband's gonna come looking for me in about ten minutes."
"I can fake being drunk," Paris suggested, daring her toes to move further, while Shira did some of the same under the table with her other foot.
"But I need to get you somewhere alone," Shira husked, intense dark blues burning against the natural blonde academic across from her. "I know of nowhere we can go at this point. I don't want to risk us being caught in a room upstairs."
Suddenly, Paris got up from her seat, taking Shira's hand and pressing her into the stone wall of the house, out of eyesight through the window. The older woman was taken aback as Paris pressed herself into her. "I have a cabin on the grounds of the Manor overlooking the reservoir. Nobody will find us there." Placing her hand against Shira's waist, she smiled to find that the beguiling woman had nothing stopping Paris at all. "Or I could just take you here right now and leave you to seduce me later on."
Shit, I didn't expect this! Blushing, Shira tried to pull her hand away. "Paris, we can't--"
But Paris was persistent, pressing herself against the woman, her hand moving down towards the skirt of the dress to lift it up. "What are you afraid of, Shira? You flout around with any pretty little thing and claim them before Mitchie does. Once they feel what you can do, they can never deny that the taste of a woman is incredibly more satisfying than that of a man, young or old. That one little kiss you just gave me sent a shudder up my spine that I haven't felt since I was with Asher Fleming."
"I have a question about that, by the way." Giggling, she dared to ask the question that received a reprisal from Rory. "Did you really kill him from awesome sex?"
"What do you think?" Biting on her lip, she dared to press her own ample chest against Shira's. "We weren't having sex when he died, but I think that his last orgasm inside of me might have played a factor. The way his lengthy cock just tightened against me and sprayed against my walls, I think I might have had a la petite mort myself. God, that was great sex." She felt even more emboldened as her hand slid along Shira's bare thigh. "If I made him die a happy man, I'm proud of it."
"Oh, dear." Shira's eyes widened hard as thin hands drifted up her thigh. She felt her oxygen supply almost run out, the heated brown eyes of the young woman upon her giving her heart fits.
Fingers slid across the curve of her luscious ass. A smile appeared on the light pink lips of the other woman as the hand moved between and took in the forbidden flesh of a woman she had no right to touch.
"I hear this secret about you all the time," Paris wondered, as if she was in her reporter mode. "You never wear underwear at all. Not even a bra."
"You want to know the truth?" Shira's accent peeked out in her suggestive voice. "Only when I have to see those buttoned-up bitches in my organizations or at the country club. Otherwise..." The toned older woman enjoyed how much the intellectual woman got to her. "On weeks when Mitch and the kids are away, I only wear a thin and indecent robe when the staff's around. When they're gone, not a stitch of clothin' within twenty feet of my person."
"And even then," Paris surmised, "Just a thong if you..well, you know."
Shira nodded in assent. "Incorrect. A sheer thong. Lord knows I hate it when I get to that awful time, but I just lock myself away and ride it out. Thank God for the little pills that reduce that reduces that bit o' nastiness." Digits slid across her lips, exploring and wondering.
Paris's eyes widened when she discovered Shira was hardly dry at all. A lusty little moan slid through her throat and hit her ears like a finely tuned concerto.
"Par..." Internally, Paris noted that the media scion's wife kept a neat and incredibly short presentation to welcome her sinful lovers. "Your lil' lake cabin has electricity, right?"
"Mm-hmm." Paris didn't understand the question at all, until a little lick of her ear and suction of her lobe later...
She moaned when Shira dared to press a finger against that forbidden place she never let any of the boys anywhere near. Through the thin layer of the dress, she was thankful at the last minute that she determined the dress was too transparent to dare wear another layer beneath. "Oh, godamnnnnn..." she drew out as long and perfectly curved and manicured nails circled the incredibly sensitive puckering.
"My lady, it's time to show how fucked up you get on four drinks. I feel like leaving now. You got me all hot." She left a small kiss upon Paris's lips, and told her to sit down slumped in the chair. "I have to run upstairs and grab a few things, and after that you're really gonna have a nice time detoxing with me tonight." She smiled and pressed herself one last time against the future doctor. "Promise you that it'll be worth it for the both of us to do such incredibly indecent things to each other."
"What if Rory finds out?"
Paris could never get enough of Shira's smirk. Even when she was in a completely innocent state of mind, the smile suggested pure and corrupted evil. She tore down a strap of the almost transparent dress, exposing the remaining portion of the top of Paris's right breast. Pressed against the metal chair, Shira bent down and kept Paris still so she could force down her mouth on the delectable beauty mark-pocked olive flesh. She held Paris's hands in hers as teeth sunk in slightly and she applied suction against it, while her other hand pressed against Paris's damp center, barely hidden by an opaque layer on the front of the dress. She held back her involuntary reaction to yell, until Shira released after forty-five seconds, examining her work for a moment. Paris looked at her with shocked eyes, her heart contained just below the sinful sexual bite outlined in red while Shira made her slide it back up without any sort of cleanup, leaving her saliva to dry upon her heated skin.
Fierce brown eyes took in the young prey. The predator sized her up, knowing that the both of them had plans for Rory and Logan which would hopefully result in their disintegration.
Shira bent down purposefully. Her god-given tits on full display to the girl, she knew her nipples were peeking through the small space within the dress. She had Paris right where she wanted her.
Now she was marked. Any chance of a date with another man would expose her to scrutiny.
Paris was smart. She would not capitulate and reveal that Shira was taken with her and was knowingly using her for many purposes. Smiling at the woman, she was given her final instructions.
"Tell Rory to kiss your ass and that you haven't withered. She may've softened you, but deep inside, you're still a cutthroat bitch, through and through." A deep stare. A heated look. "You're gonna be my analogue one day, Paris Gellar. You don't know it yet, but all of your potential isn't even out there for all to see." Paris felt her heart rate at triple time as Shira touched her one last time until they would meet in the limo once again after putting on a show of being blind drunk. "You're academically strong. But now it's time to bring out that raging sexuality I know you have out of hiding."
Paris closed her eyes, gulping down, knowing that Shira was asserting a one-night stand with her would be unacceptable. This would take a few months to all play out. But for now, they had to commiserate.
Even if it meant playing with the dark side, Paris was ready. All of her time with Asher, and stretching Doyle to his limits had prepared her for this night.
"I better not go home on cloud nine," she asserted. "Practice what you preach, and leave me in pain." She faced down the woman. "I want you to show me how my body can bend, how far I can take it in, and I want to leave with bruises and wounds."
Shira pursed her lips. Never in her entire extramarital existence did she ever have someone so willing. I have a playmate, she thought as Paris smirked, deadly and precise. Her body was already tight with all the anticipation she had for what was to happen an hour from that point. She held the latch of the patio door and eyed Paris up one last time.
"You know what you're in for," Shira said, firmly. "I am not gonna to treat you with kid gloves. When you wake up in the morning, you're gonna be one well-fucked and incredibly corrupted and indecent woman. No more of this nervous little Jewish girl bullshit you've been livin' for so long."
Paris's demeanor never wavered at all. "We're both going to break those two up. Might as well have fun with each other while we do so."
Shira turned around, then gave her one last devastating smile before she turned to close the door. Paris couldn't deny that the woman's firm ass would receive plenty of play later that night and as she was left alone to gather her thoughts, she knew she had an intense attraction to one Shira Huntzberger.
Deeply, she knew it was wrong, that she was committing multiple sins in order to provide a stable foundation for the rest of her life which included Logan Huntzberger forever in shame. But she knew the facts, crystal clear.
Shira was an incredibly sexual woman with a powerful drive that Mitch could never tame. She also would win the majority of property in any divorce proceeding and could also live quite comfortably on her own.
Herself? She was diving back into her former darkness by pursuing the woman and saving her friendship and love life. She had tried to play nice and kind and attract with honey.
Honey time was over. Paris Gellar always got what she wanted, and now she had an ally in the woman who would hopefully leave her memories of sane sex with her former beaus far behind. She wanted to feel well-fucked, and Shira was the key to her feeling like her old self again.
Sipping on the last of her drink, she prepared to look shit-faced as she could. Narrowing her eyes, Paris sat back in the chair, her leg bouncing up and down, knowing she just signed a deal with the woman called 'the Diablo of Dorchester Drive'.
She was confident once again, feeling the drink burn down her lungs. She uncrossed her legs, sitting unladylike in the chair, her legs open and the cool June air slithering up her dress and cooling her soaking pussy down.
Already, she felt a tongue upon her clit, feasting upon the long-fallow flesh. She moaned, feeling the need to slide her hand up the indecent slit Shira had not yet taken advantage of.
I have a couple minutes, she thought to herself. She knew what would happen if she dared mentioned to Shira she had enjoyed herself in the interim time between her departure.
It would add fuel to the fire. Shira would have to go those nine miles to the cabin imagining her deft fingers getting herself off. And when she got to the cabin, the first thing to go would be the $1,000 pink silk gown clinging to every one of her thick curves like a second skin, beyond the mile-long slit trailing up her right leg.
If there was one thing to give Shira that notice that she was committed to seeing everything through, it would surely be her full womanly scent filling the air of the Huntzberger Escalade limo on the way down the mile-long road to her cabin.
Paris remembered how originally adverse she was to actually purchasing the dress four years ago, when Louise encouraged her to purchase it for prom. She did so, loving the article's timeless beauty, but at the last moment going with a more conservative cut when a teasing phone call to Jamie turned into a jarring exercise when the conservative Princeton boy joked that she would 'look like a common tramp' if she dared to leave the house in the slinky gown. It had hurt her and although at the time forgotten in the dizzy happiness that was the night and the helicopter ride, turned into one of the many issues that forced her to realize when Asher came into her life that Jamie would crush her spirit.
So many years later, she was now in the gown, a last-second decision made more for her own comfort than sexuality, knowing the stuffy nature of the mansion and her body's chemistry which activated her abnormal sweat glands, with the lack of underwear an aesthetic choice made to let the gown hug her well.
She made sure no one would notice before hooking the tip of her high heel against the front right leg of the chair to keep herself steady. Seeing nobody through the dark curtains holding back the view onto the balcony, she pushed the material of the slit aside to expose both of her slender legs to the air, darkly tanned and incredibly alluring. She hitched the gown as high as possible up until only a few scant centimeters separated her hips from the upper limit of her bared skin.
Paris's usual guilt was gone, replaced with images of Shira nude against her with fingers pressed against her mound, the sound of her raw voice forming within her mind as she pressed her thumb against her hardened clit and two fingers inside of herself without any ceremony. She whispered the name of the attractive woman into the unbalanced air of the Hartford night, pressing her lower lip into her teeth in concentration to seal her mouth from the elements to carry a scream. She began slow, but quickly moved to hard and fast, desperate strokes. Her breath became unsteady, her eyes closed as she felt the involuntary need to press her other hand against her breast. She touched the sensitive tissue through the thin material of the gown, feeling her nipple harden within her hand. Circling the nub she imagined manicured fingernails erecting one of her most erotic spots to a painful state. The bodice of her dress was tight and the coolness of the air exacerbated the tightness she felt through her entire being.
The hair upon her mound dripped her juices downwards onto the bottom of her dress as she kept stroking, faster and faster, pressing her hand in deep and widening her legs open to welcome the digits further in. She relaxed further into the chair, her ass rising off the surface. Eyes closed, she felt illicit and incredibly alluring, her held back moans frenzied further. The dress began to feel confining as sweat built up on her brow and also soaked her underarms. She wanted to curse out loud, to leg go of herself. Instead she continued to stoke herself, letting the comedown relax her when it eventually came. Still, she slid a couple whispered calls for "Shira" push out in weak moments.
She felt the press of the woman against her, the cut of her dress, the form of her breasts and the erotic tone of her natural voice. She wanted to hear the Texas in that woman's voice full-force on her hard orgasm, and could only imagine that in her youth that Shira got the stories she needed through a wink of an eye or a squeeze upon her ass. But she had no thoughts of Shira's youth. She wanted to discover the wrinkles the woman hid and make her shudder in her wake.
She tightened up. Closing her legs around the side of her hand, Paris pressed her clit hard against the heel of it, a furious up and down motion as she began to realize time was sliding away. The other hand was in the dress, manipulating the nipple directly as she felt the tightening of anticipation. Her body tightened. Harder, harder...her mind focusing on pushing the come through her.
"Shit...oh shit...come on...Shira..." Quickly she bit her lip before she could scream aloud.
In a flash, the tension was released as she spilled out over her hand in a cough and a gasp. She closed her eyes and rode out the minute-long fulfillment, her body seeming to relax from only that one individual action. Her body had been stressed since Rory told her she had to go.
Now she felt ready for hours upon hours of sleep. But she knew it was only the first act in what was to be a long night. Soon she regretfully pushed the gown back over her legs and prayed that nobody would be suspicious of the deep spot upon the back of her dress. She slumped over in the chair and unable to find any kind of napkin, purposefully decided to let her hand dry in the air.
If I'm right, they'll think I'm drunk, she thought just before the balcony door opened, where Logan and Rory argued that they could drive her back to New Haven.
"Nonsense," Shira said, putting on that fake tone of voice that was now suddenly alien to Paris. "Have fun together tonight. I'll make sure she gets back home in one piece."
"But Shira--"
"Rory." Her voice was firm and clipped. "She didn't even want to be here in the first place." Shira lifted her up and took her into her body closely. "I don't blame her for getting drunk. You know your friend hates these things."
"Whatever." Scoffing, Rory slitted her eyes, regarding the woman as cold and callous. "I wanted her here for support."
"Mother, you're in no condition to determine if she's fine."
That's when Paris spoke up. "Go suck an egg, Huntzberger. Shira's a cool woman. You should show her some more respect." She put on her best drunk laugh and slapped Shira's shoulder with her right hand, still soaked with her arousal. "I'm sure she'll make me go to bed and take gooood care of me."
"Paris--"
She pointed at him with her other hand. "What, I can't get hammered once in awhile? Crimeny, get your panties out a bunch, Logan. Your 'bros' and you do it all the time."
Shira was stern with her son, pushing him out of her way. "I'll take it from here. Good night, son." With daggers staring them both down, Shira kept Paris's arm draped over her shoulder for stability until they reached the front door and a maid handed them both their purses, with Shira's other bag already in the back. The SUV pulled up to the front drive and Shira helped Paris get in, slamming the door and pushing up the privacy shade, her driver familiar with the Gellar's valley cabin.
Once the engine started up and they were out the front drive though, Paris dropped the act...somewhat. She was still numb, but smiling at her lovely new lady friend, who noticed one thing right away.
"So, how did it feel?" Taking Paris's hand, she brought it to her mouth and could smell the dried cum upon the fingertips. "Couldn't wait?"
Paris smiled at Shira. "I can't stop thinking about you, Shira." The woman pressed a kiss upon her damp forehead, very turned on by her scent. "I can't wait for you to show me how it feels to be ridden hard. My God, it was like I was in another world when I came."
"Well, I promise you, Paris, that you will not find disappointment tonight." She then took Paris's other hand and pressed it against her own lap, while licking the tips of Paris's fingers. "I can't wait to get this pesky evening gown off and see ya in the raw." She kept herself close to the young woman, and let the taste of her lover fill her mouth. "My Lord, Paris."
"Stop calling me that," she whispered. "You earned the right to call me Par." She husked the name into the woman's sensitive ear and pressed her lips upon the lobe. "So what's in the bag?"
"A bunch of surprises," she intoned. "Nothing you'll know about 'til we get in the cabin."
"Promise me it'll make me shudder?"
Shira nodded at her newly found young mademoiselle. "I don't promise..." She slid her teeth along Paris's chin. "I deliver." Then she pulled away, leaving Paris incredibly numb and hot, her eyes closed and every part of her body on heightened anticipation at what they would do in that small little room for the remainder of the evening.
All Paris knew was that indulging her dark side anew gave her an energy she hadn't experienced since she left Rory stunned on the landing below those steps in her sophomore year. This time hopefully the ending would go well, but from the electricity shooting through her arm from Shira's hand atop of hers, Paris had a feeling she would leave Shira's arms the next morning a much changed woman.
The End