b1a4; nice girls
girl!cnu/girl!gongchan. nc-17. 552 words. chanmi accidentally fucks woori on the floor.
They end up on the rug, that first time, didn’t get further. It’s strange finally having Woori’s naked body in front of her. The undressing sort of happened too quickly for Chanmi to be fully aware during it, to savor it or whatever, but the presence and knowledge is still so acute; these expanses of skin close in front of her, hot and electric, all hidden corners and treasures - they’re right there. Hers to explore. It sets her breath heaving, the weight of it, the stark reality of this moment, like dawning on her.
Woori’s fingers are digging at the shag. She’s flat on her chest, legs bent a little so her butt sticks up, Chanmi on top of her, right hand snaked down over her waist and around her hip and between her legs, middle and index finger on either side of her clit, pressing, shaking, squeezing, whatever. The curve of Woori’s ass against her front, vibrating almost; sometimes a sliver of air between them, sometimes pressed flush, hot and sticky. Woori’s hair falling over her shoulders and down on the carpet, except for few thin strands lying up over her back. She’s getting damp at the temples, Chanmi can see. Her back, broad and thin, everything underneath coming up to the surface when she moves. Chanmi feels every brush of her nipples against it, how hard they are, how much it feels, almost so much it hurts.
She presses her mouth to hot shoulder, tries to keep it shut but it keeps falling open, bites down on the shoulder blade whenever Woori shifts so it juts out. Must just have her mouth on something, must have her mouth occupied, and has to hold herself in check so she doesn’t bite too hard, actually bites, maybe would even draw blood. There’s something so clenched inside of her.
Woori’s face is clenched too, mouth clenched shut, eyes clenched shut, brows clenched low over eyes. Chanmi knows from her breathing - the starting and stopping, short gasps, h h h, longer pauses and harsher gasps, accelerating, rising - knows, not consciously, but like in her body. Brief satisfaction drenched in the rush of her own hot blood, not worded, and maybe never doubted, just a note; what she can do to Woori, that she can do this. Knows it’s not far, knows to follow, faster, up up up. Pants almost as hard as Woori does, doesn’t even think about trying to mask it. Their feet touching, legs touching, thin thigh skin brushing. She hasn’t even been touched yet but still it pounds in her cunt, feels so swollen, like she’s ready to burst. Woori jerks and jerks against her fingers.
She stays, after it’s over, flat with her face in the pile. Like she’s embarrassed.
“Sorry,” Chanmi ends up saying, sitting beside her, because this wasn’t really supposed to happen, at least not like this. Not quick and clenched, not on the floor, not with Woori ass up grinding into Chanmi’s hand. Woori is a nice girl, Woori is going to marry a nice boy and have nice children. Five or six or so. She’s not supposed to grind into girl-hands. Their nakedness suddenly feels cold and misplaced.
“I,” Woori mumbles then, maybe cracking a little. “I really fucking wanna eat you out right now.”
They end up on the rug, that first time, didn’t get further. It’s strange finally having Woori’s naked body in front of her. The undressing sort of happened too quickly for Chanmi to be fully aware during it, to savor it or whatever, but the presence and knowledge is still so acute; these expanses of skin close in front of her, hot and electric, all hidden corners and treasures - they’re right there. Hers to explore. It sets her breath heaving, the weight of it, the stark reality of this moment, like dawning on her.
Woori’s fingers are digging at the shag. She’s flat on her chest, legs bent a little so her butt sticks up, Chanmi on top of her, right hand snaked down over her waist and around her hip and between her legs, middle and index finger on either side of her clit, pressing, shaking, squeezing, whatever. The curve of Woori’s ass against her front, vibrating almost; sometimes a sliver of air between them, sometimes pressed flush, hot and sticky. Woori’s hair falling over her shoulders and down on the carpet, except for few thin strands lying up over her back. She’s getting damp at the temples, Chanmi can see. Her back, broad and thin, everything underneath coming up to the surface when she moves. Chanmi feels every brush of her nipples against it, how hard they are, how much it feels, almost so much it hurts.
She presses her mouth to hot shoulder, tries to keep it shut but it keeps falling open, bites down on the shoulder blade whenever Woori shifts so it juts out. Must just have her mouth on something, must have her mouth occupied, and has to hold herself in check so she doesn’t bite too hard, actually bites, maybe would even draw blood. There’s something so clenched inside of her.
Woori’s face is clenched too, mouth clenched shut, eyes clenched shut, brows clenched low over eyes. Chanmi knows from her breathing - the starting and stopping, short gasps, h h h, longer pauses and harsher gasps, accelerating, rising - knows, not consciously, but like in her body. Brief satisfaction drenched in the rush of her own hot blood, not worded, and maybe never doubted, just a note; what she can do to Woori, that she can do this. Knows it’s not far, knows to follow, faster, up up up. Pants almost as hard as Woori does, doesn’t even think about trying to mask it. Their feet touching, legs touching, thin thigh skin brushing. She hasn’t even been touched yet but still it pounds in her cunt, feels so swollen, like she’s ready to burst. Woori jerks and jerks against her fingers.
She stays, after it’s over, flat with her face in the pile. Like she’s embarrassed.
“Sorry,” Chanmi ends up saying, sitting beside her, because this wasn’t really supposed to happen, at least not like this. Not quick and clenched, not on the floor, not with Woori ass up grinding into Chanmi’s hand. Woori is a nice girl, Woori is going to marry a nice boy and have nice children. Five or six or so. She’s not supposed to grind into girl-hands. Their nakedness suddenly feels cold and misplaced.
“I,” Woori mumbles then, maybe cracking a little. “I really fucking wanna eat you out right now.”