Demise of the Diva
Demise of the Diva
Leslie ran her hand along Rosalie's thigh, moving it between her legs to where she was soft and very wet, causing the sweet Latino woman to grovel back against the subtle invasion, her body rising and falling to the crescendo of her inner sexual beat.
"More chica, fuck me hard," Rosalie gasped in her husky voice. Leslie's hand slapped each pulsing thigh to part them wide. She wanted the interior, right in the middle where Rosalie's purple pink cunt throbbed. One finger after another slipped inside the juicy portal; while Leslie's mouth came down to cover the hard bud of her lover's clit.
"Ooo, that's right little bitch," Leslie egged her on, slapping Rosalie's thighs between laps of the growing pool of liquid in her hand. She watched the broad rear buck and the tawny breasts bounce again her chest. Leslie's squeezed a nipple and listened for the sound of feigned protest to follow, then she let the nipple go to see it remain a tight bud, a fine little knot she'd soon bite one more time, until it really hurt. She wanted to hear Rosalie's gasp of pain.
"Si! Si, si! Harder!!" Rosalie screamed. The sweating girl squeezed her inner muscles against Leslie's hand. Then she released her grip and her whole torso relaxed, only to clench one more time. She did a strange orgasmic shimmy while spouting Spanish Leslie didn't understand, then collapsed into the bed's soft cotton sheets, panting. A hot afternoon sun bathed them both, making their sweaty bodies cling to each other in a sticky pool of sexual sensation.
"Ah si, I'm in love," Rosalie, murmured.
"And I'm in love with your body," Leslie replied, as she drifted into her own world, lying back in the pile of rumpled sheets. She was thinking of Rosalie, but also thinking of other lovers, the ones that weren't available to her now.
"And why not be in love with my body?" Rosalie answered, smiling broadly. She moved around to recline on her side and stroke Leslie's naked belly, running a long red nail down the surface of her skin and leaving a tiny red line.
With a bright sunshine face, Rosalie had claimed nearly three months of Leslie's time. It was much more than Leslie thought she'd give the sweet, brown-skinned girl. Then again, Rosalie was hardly a girl, being somewhere between twenty-five and thirty; although her Latina form, the long black hair and wide dark eyes, made her look so innocent-as if she were still a child. Truth was, Rosalie wasn't sweet at all. She was a fucking hellion in bed, and she did what she damned well pleased-which was okay with Leslie, since she had no plans for a permanent relationship with this woman.
Rosalie was convenient, however, giving Leslie a good excuse to stay home at night, avoid bars and those awkward intimate moments with women she really didn't want to go to bed with. She could enjoy Rosalie's voracious appetite for sex, and her delicious body. Even the Spanish she sprinkled into their lovemaking had an exotic quality that Leslie relished. They were two grown, free thinking women who had come together because it was easy and fun-no strings, no regrets.
The phone jangled noisily, and Leslie reached out to answer it, knocking the whole thing to the floor.
"Leslie, Leslie!" She heard a man's anxious voice on the other end.
"Yeah, Yeah, I'm here," she answered, sitting up while pulling the phone from the floor by the cord.
"I tried to find you at the office, but you weren't there. What are you doing in bed at this hour?" he asked.
Leslie recognized John Longcore's voice, with its unmistakable soft low pitch he must have developed as a teacher. She feared it was likely monotonous to listen to for any length of time, poor students.
"What do you usually do in bed at three in the afternoon?" Leslie replied curtly. "I'm certainly not sick."
"Good, then you'll be able to help me right way."
"Is it better than