Amanda and The Photoshoot – 10
She stood in her own apartment in the December dark and felt the burning arrive before she had put her bag down. Not gradually. Simply there. Low and concentrated and sitting between her legs with the quality of something that had been building since two o’clock in the afternoon and had been denied and was not going to resolve on its own. Her jaw ached from the smothering. Her lips still carried the wife’s taste at the back of her throat, a continuous reminder she could not swallow away. The cord had been grinding against her clit through the soaked thong for the better part of two hours and the wife had caught her wrist before she could do anything about it and that heat was still sitting exactly where the wife had left it. …