SIGN UP FOR OUR NSFW NEWSLETTER
Kink / LGBTQIA+

My Dark Knight: An Erotic Short Story

I clenched my jaw on the straw and hold the drink so tight its forming to my hand, scared that if my body language changes this fast pulsating pressure will stop. Scared that my girlfriend’s best friend’s fingers will leave my cunt.

Written by Charlieshe

Art by Yu Dori

Me and Bri have been together for years. We’re the cliché poster childen of the hereto-conforming lesbian couple. She is the football-player-tall masc top and I am the young femi-chearleader bottom. Her prudish friends despise me because I am younger and full of life, I suppose. They’re all in boring-ass relationships where they dry fuck once a month to keep it active. Not like we are getting it on that much either at this point… There is a fine line between being best friends and lovers when you try to fit the mold of the perfect lesbionic couple.

And there are rules to follow when you’re in the relationship-spotlight of the lesbian community. The fem must provide, nurture and cradle. The masc must support, be strong and always be in control. Those tend to be the killjoy of spontaneous, genuine sexual enthusiasm.

Since the beginning of our relationship we’ve both had a sweet spot for public sex, more precisely public finger-fucking.

But since the beginning of our relationship we’ve both had a sweet spot for public sex, more precisely public finger-fucking. Once every blue moon we’d share eye contact in a social setting of some sort, the eye-contact, and we would know immediately that in the next minute she’d be slipping her fingers under my dress, in my already very humid underwear, if I was wearing any. I would have to keep a poker face the whole time, sometimes even entertaining small talk and basic conversations with acquaintances or friends. She wouldn’t stop until I’d cum.

This particular day we hadn’t touched or desired each other in weeks, not to say months. We had an afternoon movie date planned with her whole lesbian crew, the ones that tolerate me of course. They chose the one too-many superheroes movie, how original. I follow, I make my social amends, I don’t make a fuss, I abide; rules of the perfect girlfriend.

The theatre isn’t too full — it’s a weekday — we are 10-20 at most scattered across the venue. I am stuck between my girlfriend and her not-such-a-fan-of-me best friend, Jane. Great.

The movie is pretty standard: the man is manly and the secretly-rich-lonely-softboy-superhero storyline makes our masc “boyfriends” dream and weep. They will also save the day, get the hottest, prettiest catch, provide and prevail in their sweet melancholic dreams tonight.

In the midst of a loud, tumultuous battle I suddenly feel a tight grasp on my right thigh. Finally, some entertainment! I don’t even blink, I know the game all too well. I love to play it and I am good at it. I stay calm but my breathing accelerates just so slightly, following my heartbeat. I am thankful I decided to wear my comfy mom jeans today, there is plenty of space to infiltrate.

As the movie’s cacophony of violins and trumpets continues, I concentrate on my task: unbuttoning my pants slowly and discreetly to make space for this curious hand to reach. She is taking her damn sweet time today and I am impatiently quivering on my seat. I am hot and bothered, biting my lips as my blood rushes through my veins, rushing to my clit, really. Her hand is teasing and steady, skillfully slipping in to finally reach down and drown in my slit. She goes strong and deep, just what I love.

As I reach for my drink to play my I-am-invested-in-this-movie part, I feel a gentle hand on my other thigh. My heart stops, but the finger fucking doesn’t.

I carefully bring my eyes to my girlfriend’s gentle hand brushing my left thigh as she is fully invested in this autoerotic-manly-fantasy of a movie. I gasp, of both pleasure and surprise, as I realize the fingers I am subtly riding and holding firmly between my legs aren’t her’s. They are her best friend’s. Jane.

I gasp, of pleasure or of surprise, as I realize the fingers I am subtly riding and holding firmly between my legs aren’t her’s. They are her best friend’s. Jane.

I clenched my jaw on the straw and hold the drink so tight its forming to my hand, scared that if my body language changes this fast pulsating pressure will stop. Scared that my girlfriend’s best friend’s fingers will leave my cunt.

I clenched my jaw on the straw and hold the drink so tight its forming to my hand, scared that if my body language changes this fast pulsating pressure will stop. Scared that my girlfriend’s best friend’s fingers will leave my cunt.

Time has stopped. This unexpected and disturbing pleasure is all mine to consume, to receive. I feel powerful from the desire, yet vulnerable to her intoxicating touch, to the ongoing possibility she’d get caught red-handed with the smell of my warm cum all over her fingers. Just as I’m thinking this precise thought, she pushes all four fingers inside of me. The sound track is barely covering the uncontrollable moans I am miserably failing to hold in. With each stroke I let out a slight gasp my new friend seems to enjoy all too much. I am sweating and burning up and I know this overwhelming feeling all too well. I turn my gaze slowly and lock eyes with Jane as I am swiftly and violently propelled into cumming, in confusion, excitement, in shock.

Her hand stayed for what seemed like an eternity submerged in my fluids until I gently released her from my clench.

That day I didn’t just cum, I ejaculated all over her now baptized fingers. My lover’s best friend fucked me right in front of her, and no one knew except me and Jane. Truth is, I always knew in the back of my mind she had to be attracted to me to put so much energy in the standoffish games she played. That one day, she’d finally fall to the pressure of her desire and give me what I deserved, an all too sweet and salty release. We never talked about it, but I will always cherish this spontaneous tryst I so needed, and so earned.

Charlieshe is a queer sex worker, multidisciplinary artist, feminist and activist. You can follow her travels and adventures on instagram @charlieshe.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

*

Related stories