Chapter 9

Slowly, Becky brought her lips to Paris’s lips. The kiss lasted for several seconds. There was no urgency in Becky’s kiss, but Paris could feel the passion.

As Becky brought her lips to Paris’s lips for their second kiss, she opened her mouth slightly. Paris opened her mouth and welcomed Becky’s tongue. Paris brought her hand up and softly stroked Becky’s face.

“Couch…Bed, bed’s a whole lot more comfortable than these chairs,” Paris quietly suggested.

“Okay,” Becky moaned into their third kiss.

In her bedroom, Paris shrugged out of her robe, then gently helped Becky undress. Each movement was punctuated by a soft kiss, a soft touch to any exposed skin. When Becky’s blouse was removed, Paris combed her fingers through Becky’s thick mane of blonde hair then kissed Becky hungrily.

Becky’s 35DD bra was designed for service, not attraction. The plain bra was easily unhooked and Paris slowly removed the garment, slowly sliding her fingertips along Becky’s arms

Paris then eased Becky to lie on her neatly made bed. Paris leaned over the prone woman and softly kissed Becky’s lips, then throat, then shoulders. Becky moaned as Paris’s lips gently kissed the tops of Becky’s fat breasts, kissing slowly, softly toward Becky’s light brown areolae.

Becky moaned, shivering as Paris captured Becky’s aright areole in her mouth. Paris gently nibbled on the areole while tonguing Becky’s erect nipple. Paris’s hands went to Becky’s jeans, unsnapping and unzipping Becky’s snug jeans.

“Mm, oh, oh yes, oh God,” Becky moaned as Paris’s mouth suckled on her left areole.

Paris’s hands gently pushed aside the flaps of Becky’s jeans, exposing Becky’s plain white cotton panties. Apparently, Becky had not thought of seduction when she’d dressed this morning.

With a gentle bite to Becky’s left areole, Paris knee walked off the bed and knelt on the floor at Becky’s feet. Paris worked Becky’s cowboy boots from her feet, then pulled the tick socks down and off. The Paris pulled Becky’s jeans and panties off, exposing a bald pubic mound. Becky’s inner lips stuck out, plump and wet with her excitement.

“Oh! What, what a pretty pussy,” Paris enthused, pulling her sleep shirt off and tossing it onto the floor.

“I uh, yeah, yeah, you remember that Jenna King?” Becky asked, then smiled at the sour face that Paris made.

“Yeah, I remember her,” Paris said. “I remember her all too well. She’s the one that ran around calling me ‘Spot’ because of my freckles.”

“Anyway, I, you remember, I kind of started developing real early,” Becky said, rubbing her hand over her smooth crotch. “Jenna started calling me ‘Brillo Becky.’ And it didn’t help one bit that my bush was dark brown, I mean, not a little brown but dark brown. Minute I could? I went and got laser hair removal.”

“Well, it is very pretty now,” Paris enthused.

Paris lay on top of Becky and kissed the girl. She wiggled her hips, forcing Becky’s legs apart. Both girls groaned when Paris rubbed her lightly furred crotch against Becky’s smooth mound. Paris again kissed Becky, then brought her lips to Becky’s throat. Grinding her hips, Paris rubbed her crotch against Becky’s crotch as she brought her mouth to Becky’s right nipple.

“Mm I, oh, oh yes,” Becky hissed.

Paris silenced Becky with another kiss, then brought her lips to Becky’s left nipple. Becky moaned out again as Paris suckled her nipple.

“You, you are so beautiful,” Becky whispered, gasping for breath.

“You, you’re the beautiful one,” Paris insisted, thrusting her tongue into Becky’s gasping mouth.

“Mmng, oh, oh God!” Becky cried out as Paris’s insistent rubbing brought her to orgasm.

Paris wiggled down and lightly licked underneath Becky’s heavy breasts. Paris could taste the sweat and skin lotion that Becky used. Paris certainly preferred the taste of Becky’s sweat over the chemical taste of Becky’s lotion. Becky’s skin was soft, velvety under Paris’s fingers and Paris’s tongue.

“I, oh, ack, oh, you, you’re going to…” Becky questioned as Paris knelt between Becky’s splayed thighs.

In answer, Paris glued her mouth to Becky’s hairless crotch. Becky’s taste was light, fragrant. Paris was used to Moisette’s heavy musk taste, but found Becky’s taste to be very pleasing. Paris used her thumbs to part Becky’s inner lips and dragged her flattened tongue from Becky’s perineum to the top of Becky’s slit, then curled her tongue and tried to force her tongue into Becky’s sex.

“Ooooh!” Becky let out a long groan as Paris’s tongue batted against Becky’s clitoris.

Paris drove three fingers into Becky’s depth as she flicked her tongue back and forth against Becky’s fat clitoris.

“I oh Jesus! Augh! Augh! Oh God!” Becky suddenly screamed in orgasm, clamping her thighs around Paris’s head.

Paris could taste Becky’s nectar as Becky orgasmed. The taste was slightly stronger now and Paris ceased her assault on Becky’s clitoris. Paris lapped along Becky’s inner walls, lapping up the taste of Becky’s excitement.

“Oh, oh my God! Oh! Augh, ack! Oh God! No, not again!” Becky cried out in a second orgasm when Paris again teased Becky’s clitoris with her tongue.

Paris wiggled forward, dragging her breasts and hard nipples over Becky’s damp body. Paris mashed her breasts against Becky’s larger breasts, mashed her crotch against Becky’s crotch, and kissed Becky hungrily.

“Oh. Oh my God,” Becky wheezed out, voice dreamy.

“Yes,” Paris agreed softly.

“You know, I, in high school?” Becky admitted as they lay, limbs entwined on Paris’s bed.

“God. I, high school?” I hated high school,” Paris admitted.

“I was so in love with you,” Becky confessed, gently rubbing her small hand over Paris’s flat belly. “I, I would have done anything for you. You know that?”

“I, you, you serious?” Paris asked, gently rubbing Becky’s face.

“Uh huh,” Becky said.

“Why, why didn’t you ever say anything?” Paris asked. “I mean, shit, if anything? You were always so snotty to me.”

“Because, God, what, what would have happened if I’d said anything? And you were all like, ‘Becky’s a dyke! Becky’s a dyke!’ With Jenna right there? Oh my God! I, I would have died!” Becky admitted. “So? It, it was just easier to be a bitch. Then? You, you can’t hurt me.”

“Becky, even if I wasn’t gay,” Paris said softly, pulling Becky’s face to peer into Becky’s eyes. “I wouldn’t have ever been mean about it.”

“I, I love you,” Becky said and kissed Paris.

“Love you too,” Paris whispered.

“God I’m starving! Those doughnuts didn’t last too long, did them?” Paris sleepily said, waking Becky from her own slumber.

Becky watched as Paris pulled her robe on over her nude body. Paris softly kissed Becky and smiled.

“You just lay here, okay? I’m going heat up some lunch and we’ll eat in bed.”

“What’d we do earlier?” Becky teased.

“Food. We’ll eat food in bed,” Paris smiled. “Silly.”

“God, my, my dad’s driving me crazy,” Becky said after Paris returned with a tray.

“Hmm?” Paris asked, putting the tray of plates onto her dresser.

“He’s just sure I’m off drinking with some guys,” Becky rolled her eyes, showing Paris a text from her father, demanding to know where she was.

“Well, after lunch,” Paris said, setting some pillows up behind Becky’s head. “We’ll go over there and show him, you’re not off running around with some boys, drinking.”

“You, he, he’s a bit of an ass hole,” Becky warned.

“I’ve got a dad too,” Paris reminded Becky.

‘I’m eating lunch at Paris’s apartment; I’ll be home right after,” Becky dictated to her phone.

“I know this Paris?” Becky read her father’s response out loud.

“Went to high school with her,” Becky dictated, then took a bite of her hot ham and cheese sandwich.

“Show me,” Becky’s father demanded, so Becky snapped a picture of Paris, mouth full of food.

“Hey!” Paris objected. “Jesus! I, I had a mouth full of food there!”

Becky’s father was either satisfied, or just didn’t feel like arguing with Becky. The text messages stopped after Becky sent Paris’s picture.

“I swear to God; he’s driving me to drink again,” Becky confided to Paris a few days later.

“Oh, please don’t,” Paris begged, lolling on her bed. “I, I love, I’m in love with the sober Becky, you know what? Becky? That’s a drunk’s name. I’m in love with Rebecca Richardson, okay?”

“My name is Rebecca and I’m an alcoholic,” Rebecca tried out the new name.

“Hi Rebecca,” Paris said.

A few days after that phone conversation, Paris and Rebecca went to the apartment manager’s office and added Rebecca’s name to the lease. Jacob Richardson did tell his daughter, when she drank again and Paris kicked her out, Becky didn’t have him to come crawling back to.

“Thanks, Dad. I love you too,” Rebecca said.

“Love you too, but I’m telling you. You’ve used me for the last time. I, no more. No more bailing your ass out of jail. No more paying off your bills. No more,” the man said, dropping a box of Rebecca’s belongings onto Paris’s couch.

A few months after Rebecca moved into Paris’s apartment, Paris received a card, announcing the birth of Ayshire Michelle Fordham. Paris sent a small cross and chain in sterling silver to Moisette’s address. She received an invitation to Ayshire’s christening, but declined to go. Instead, she sent a small book of prayers to Moisette’s address.

A few weeks after the birth of Ayshire Michelle Fordham, Paris received an invitation to the wedding of Moisette Rose Seraque to Shannon Elizabeth Fordham. The pain of their betrayal had lessened considerably by this time; after all, had it not been for Moisette, Paris would most likely still be fighting against her natural desires. Paris would probably still be living with Tommy, would still be trying to convince herself that she was not gay. And, because of Moisette’s betrayal, Paris now had Rebecca Richardson in her life, in her heart. But Paris declined to attend the wedding of Moisette and Shannon.

Paris did send a gift, a sterling silver picture frame with the birth announcement of Ayshire Michelle Fordham and the baby’s date of birth and name engraved on the frame. Using Rebecca’s name, Paris sent a second sterling silver picture frame with the wedding invitation inside and the date as well as the two names engraved on the frame.

When Rebecca picked up her one year chip, she and Paris celebrated by announcing their engagement to Rebecca’s home group. They were planning on an October wedding, autumn being their favorite time of the year.

Paris and Rebecca were grateful for the support and acceptance of Rebecca’s AA family. Jack Williams and Jacob Richardson were less than enthused over their daughters’ decisions, their daughters’ life style choices.

“Hey, Paris, that Moisette woman?” Rebecca asked one early October afternoon as she sat, sorting through their mail in the living room

“Moy SAY, not MOH sit,” Paris smiled, looking up from the pot of stew she was stirring. “What about her?”

“Moisette. And Shannon. I take it you invited them to the wedding?” Rebecca asked, showing Paris a check from Moisette and Shannon Seraque for one hundred thousand dollars.

**Author’s Note: I write these stories for my pleasure. I post them here for your enjoyment. I thank you sincerely for reading my stories.

I especially thank those that take the time to leave comments, good and bad. I also thank those that take the time to rate my words, those that ‘Favorite’ my works.

Again, this story is dedicated to the memory of Mordbrand, a fellow contributor to the pages of Literotica. Sadly, Mordbrand lost his long, arduous battle with bile duct cancer on September 10, 2022. Until we meet again, dear friend, until we meet again.

Moisette’s mother, Rose Faye Clark, later Rose Faye Seraque is the daughter of Anthony Clark. Anthony Clark is the antagonist of the first story I’d written for Literotica, the ‘Breaking The Family’ series in the Loving Wives category. Rose Faye Clark could not live up to the memories of a deceased child, Anthony’s first daughter, Lucille. And apparently, Anthony could not and would not let go of his losses.

The names ‘Moisette’ and ‘Ayshire’ are names of rose varieties.

Have a swell day. And some of you? Have a swollen day.