Baumgartner generations: Janie

"He had a hard nose." I felt my face turn scarlet with embarrassment at my confession, opening my eyes to look at her. "And I used to rub against that part like this." I let my clit linger over hers, worrying my hips around, fast, faster, holding onto her other thigh for leverage. Her skin was like silk. "My mom couldn't figure out how he got so dirty."

Catherine gave a low laugh. "Dirty girl."

I was ashamed by my admission, but too turned-on to stop. The feel of my pussy searing over hers was euphoric, and I knew I could ride over the edge into paradise at any minute.

"Do you like being called a dirty girl?" She hefted both breasts now, delightfully torturing my nipples. The sensation roiled through my belly and went straight to my clit in delicious, lightning-fast pulses. "A naughty little slut?" My breath rushed out in a gust when Catherine slapped my tits, opening my eyes wide. "Such a bad girl." Slap. Slap.

My nipples stung and my skin reddened as she continued to smack my breasts. I twisted and rolled, pushed and pulled, my breath rapid, my heart racing. "Rub yourself off, baby. That's it!" She fucked me back, catching a rhythm sure to send me over. "Rub that hot little clit all over my cunt. Get yourself off, Janie! Do it!"

"Oh! Now! Now!" I spread wide, leaning in and splaying my pussy against hers as I came. She grabbed my tits and mashed them together in her hands, quivering underneath me, and I knew she was coming, too, wrangling me like a bucking calf as I gave her every last bit of my orgasm.

"Oh my god!" I collapsed, my limbs going limp, letting her fold me into her arms.

"Oh. My. God."

She brushed the hair away from my heated face, kissing my sweaty forehead.

Our bodies were polished with sweat-we'd worked hard for that one. Exhaling, I hid my face against her breasts and she petted me-my hair, my back, my arms.

"Damn, I didn't even get my strap-on," she murmured against the top of my head.

"Well, we've got all night."

She laughed, kissing me down onto the mattress as we fell into oblivion, losing ourselves in each other once again.

Chapter Three

I woke up hung over and I had no idea where in the hell I was. My first clue was a pair of black panties I had wrapped around my wrist. I vaguely remembered having them stuffed into my mouth at one point, and then-had they been used to tie me to the bed post?

I rolled to my back from my belly with a groan. Oh my god, I was sore! My pussy was sore, my arms were sore, my thighs actually trembled when I tried to move…

What in the hell was I doing last night?

Then Catherine sighed and shifted in her sleep, pulling the covers up, and it all came back. Well, most of it anyway. I looked at the smooth curve of her spine, her hair spilling over her shoulders like a river of fire, and felt faint. I didn't even want to think about what I'd done or said the night before. I had to get my stuff and get the hell out of there. TJ and Ronnie were going to be worried sick. They'd probably called a million times already. Where was my phone?

I found my panties and shoes on the floor and remembered my dress was in the living room. I slipped my panties on and carried my shoes, easing open the bedroom door as quietly as I could. Behind me, Catherine sighed and rolled again, but then she was quiet. The door clicked shut behind me and I crept down the hall, past half a dozen closed doors- how many rooms do they have in this apartment? — past the private penthouse elevator, looking for the living room.

The blinds were still open wide and I blinked at the brightness of the morning, my head throbbing. I'd obviously had way more to drink the night before than I’d realized.

Shading my eyes and groping my way around the couch, I returned to the scene of the crime, hunting around the coffee table and in front of the door wall for my things.

Problem was, they were nowhere to be found.

I stood there for a moment, lost in foggy thought, trying to recall. Had I gotten up in the middle of the night to get my clothes? I didn't think so, but I was pretty hung over.

I couldn't be sure. Maybe-

"Are you looking for these?"

I probably would have screamed if my throat and mouth hadn't already been so filled with cotton.

"Who are you?" I squeaked, my arms snapping quickly closed to cover my breasts, my shoes still in hand, but I knew it was too late. And I knew, in an instant, who he was. Of course. It was Catherine's husband. If nothing else, I would have recognized him by the vanity wedding photo over the fireplace-the dark, curly hair and smiling eyes were a giveaway, although he was a few years older in person. And there he was, standing there looking scruffy and disheveled like he'd just woken up, too, wearing a navy colored robe belted at the waist and holding my clothes out in one hand like a waiter.