Inside, Caroline started dancing. Just dancing, each step throwing off all it could of her lengthy dress and showing off her lean legs, her lissome body.

Max couldn’t believe what she was seeing. Not only was her bestie dancing, for no reason, to no music, but she was good. Russian ballerina good. Black Swan good. Whatever steps she was moving through, she knew just when to jette and when to pile.

“What are you doing?” Max asked.

“Being happy!” Caroline replied.

“Yeah, I’m happy, you don’t see me being the Swan Queen too.” Of course Caroline was a ballerina. She’d probably personally had the Met Opera playing at her rehearsal.

Max, Max had been into kung-fu, not that her parents had been able to afford the class at the YMCA.

“You should!” Caroline enthused to her, throwing herself into a series of undulations that made Max wonder if she’d ridden Brad with those stomach muscles. “I bet you’re a great dancer!”

“Why bother? There’s no way I could pull off the pink tutu. You’d look great in it, though.”

“It’s not like we’re on stage! It’s just for fun!”

“I bet it’s fun when you’ve seen Swan Lake eight million times. Me, I just know this…” She did whatever it was called when she stood on one leg, the arch of her other leg planted against her calf, and one arm flung up over her head like a half-moon. “So I’ll just hold this pose, okay, and you keep… pirouetting.”

Actually, now that Max wondered about it, it might’ve been a yoga thing.

“This isn’t pirouetting,” Caroline explained patiently, mincing over to Max on her tip-toes. “And you’re too tight.”

“Never been accused of that one before,” Max quipped.

“You should be loose—don’t,” Caroline warned Max before she could make another smutty joke. “But your belly is all taut and tense…”

“Knew I shoulda eaten more hot dogs this week.”

“And your shoulders are set too high and your legs are just so stiff. How can the music move you if you’re not loose?“

“With a phat beat and a hook that goes hard,” Max deadpanned.

“You are capable of so much more than just… shaking your ass and having big tits,” Caroline encouraged, slipping her arm around Max’s shoulders.

“But I’m really good at having big tits. I’ve got all the nice bras for it and everything.”

Caroline hugged her with that puppy dog affection of hers, which felt both friendly—because Caroline was the rare person who didn’t want to fuck Max, just be pals with her—and like, well, Caroline wanted to fuck her.

The tips of her fingers slid around Max’s body to rest on the slope of Max’s left breast, and even through her leather costume, it wasn’t so snug that Max didn’t know when she was being touched.

“You have such a beautiful body, Max,” Caroline said, turning the other woman to face her. “And I bet it could look just amazing in motion, if only you had a little more confidence in yourself. And I don’t mean that showboating kind of confidence where you’re almost making fun of yourself. I mean… I mean… if you could look at yourself the way I look at you…”

Caroline leaned in, kissing the short girl on the top of her forehead. Then she ran her fingers through Max’s sweat-mussed hair, shaking it out and petting it straight down Max’s shoulders. She smoothed it as much as she twisted her fingers in it, giving Max a few curls that she had to lick her fingertips to make stay.

“Your hair is just great, Max—all dark and lustrous and flowing—but you let people focus on your boobs and then they think you’re nothing but boobs, when you’re so much more! If you ever showcased all of yourself, you wouldn’t just have people drooling after you. You’d take their breath away.”

Max giggled nervously, not entirely sure what Caroline was doing or why it felt so nice to have the blonde lavishing attention on her. This should’ve been the sort of thing that annoyed her, but the combination of Caroline’s warm praise and her constant touch somehow left Max defenseless. She couldn’t think of a snide remark to ruin it. She just had to let it feel… good.

“I thought you were my project,” she muttered under her breath. “When you first came in here, you didn’t know how the dishwasher started—you thought we had to fill it to the brim with dirty dishes to get it to turn on automatically. And you didn’t know how to use the washing machine either. When I said you didn’t separate the whites and the darks, you sat me down to watch Black Panther. I’m still not sure what that was supposed to prove…”

“I have learned a lot from you,” Caroline admitted. “But are you really saying you’ve never gotten anything out of me?”

At that moment, Max wondered she hadn’t gotten nearly as much out of Caroline as she wanted to.

“God, you have the best hair, Max. Even with that cheap shampoo you buy that makes the shower smell like MSG—I mean, look at this!” She held up a lock of Max’s hair and swished it back and forth across Max’s lips. “You really think it’s just your tits that guys are interested in?” She patted the lock of hair against her own lips. “I just smell you. Did you stop using that shampoo?”

“I heard that you can go without one day a week—it lets your hair cells heal or whatever. And it saves money, obviously.”

“No shampoo and your hair is still—” Caroline brushed the ends of Max’s strands along her nostrils, inhaling, body trembling as she internalized Max’s scent. “I can’t blame Brad at all. You are a good girl, no matter what he says. I think he just calls you a whore because he thinks you like it. Do you like it, Max?”

“Like what?” Max asked, feeling as drunk as Caroline was high. The closeness of Caroline—being pawed and fawned over by her—how was she supposed to be anything but intoxicated by it?

Caroline laughed, like Max had made a joke that’d gone straight to her nitrous-infused brain. “C’mere,” she said through her trilling laugh and pulled Max into a warm, tight embrace.

Max’s breasts nestled underneath Caroline’s higher set breasts—the sweaty tang of them drifted into Max’s nostrils and she felt herself twitch.

“You never really relax, do you?” Caroline said, her voice silky smooth. “You put on a big show of being a slacker, but you’re still so worried about money and the business and our jobs… you just put on this big performance of being a cynic to pretend you’re not worried. Only you don’t have to now! We did it, Max! We made it! Brad is going to take care of us!”

“I thought he already did,” Max quipped.

“I want to help you relax, truly relax, like a girl with mon-ay.” Caroline pulled down the zipper of Max’s catsuit what little it wasn’t already unzipped, then slipped it off her shoulders.

Even as it happened, Max could hardly believe it. She wondered of protesting, but she didn’t know what her protest would be—how she could say that she didn’t want this when everything that was happening was something that she liked. Being touched. Being seen. Caroline.

Slender little Caroline skinned Max out of her catsuit and made her feel like, for all of her thickness, she was a small pet being taught to do a trick. She lowered Max’s naked body onto the edge of a makeup chair, knelt between her legs, and opened up Max’s legs with both hands.

“Oh wow!” Max chirped, feeling the sweet caresses of Caroline’s hands roll up her thighs and into her clit.

She’d never been touched that way; especially not by a woman. Men were crude and direct. Even Brad was overwhelming. His touch, for all its expertness, stuffed her with feeling, overcame her, wrenched her to where he wanted her to go. And he was still the best: wanting to make her come (like a whore).

Other men just wanted to get inside her, or between her tits; anywhere they could rub their cocks until they shot out their hot sticky slime. But women… she’d sometimes experimented with women, when she was a lot younger. So young it was almost innocent. By the time they knew what they were doing, they didn’t want girls to do it, they wanted boys. Or at least girls other than Max. But Caroline’s touch was as innocent as those pajama parties—she just knew what she was doing. Even if Max didn’t.

Max still didn’t know as she stretched her legs out, reaching down too with her hands, grasping Caroline’s blonde head as if to keep it from moving into her open lap, but she didn’t exert an iota of force to prevent Caroline from doing what she was so clearly doing. Caroline’s tongue came out, wiggling over Max’s pussy, and Max moaned as the most unlikely sensations followed on the heels of that snakelike touch, turning all of her cunt and her clit into sheer radiation. “Oh God, Caroline… you’re a good girl! You’re a good girl!”

She didn’t know if she was telling Caroline why she should stop or just praising her as she kept going. Max’s body did more things on its own: her left leg lifted and she placed the back of her thigh on Caroline’s shoulder, the calf hanging down Caroline’s back. Max leaned down in her chair until the edge of the makeup table pressed stiffly into her spine. It was uncomfortable, but what Caroline was doing soothed everything else. Even the wondered that she was a whore to be enjoying this—the echo of what a good girl Caroline was—became palatable when Caroline kept licking her and tasting her and making her feel so good…

Max took a hand from Caroline’s head and moved it between her legs, willing to add to what Caroline’s tongue was doing. She found her clit even easier than usual—it was plump and seeking from what the lust Caroline had inspired did to it—and Max stroked it as Caroline drank sweet honey from her womanhood. Then Caroline sucked on her finger too and next, somehow, Max was coming, really coming. She hadn’t done it to herself, she hadn’t even gotten Brad to do it—somehow Caroline fucking Channing had gotten her off.

Max slumped back, drained, really drained, worn out and exhausted and unable to even think about doing anything but moaning and twitching and shuddering. She wasn’t recovering from her orgasm. There was no recuperating from a thing like that. She was trying to savor it still.

Then Caroline stood up, tall and proud, beaming with a victorious smile. “And now it’s your turn, Max-a-million,” she cooed, stripping out of her dress and sitting on Max’s lap with her small pert breasts and her long hard nipples and her pussy, God, she wanted Max to have her pussy, to do with it what she liked. Do with it something like what Caroline had just done to hers.

Max was more confused than ever—in some Zen state of confusion, where she wasn’t even able to form questions, just blissfully ignorant. When Caroline touched her, she let herself be moved like a doll. When Caroline brought Max’s lips down to her bosom, she sucked. When Caroline drew Max’s hand down between her legs, she felt out the unfamiliarly familiar heat of Caroline’s sex. So much like her own, but made totally different by the fact that it was another woman’s cunt, not hers.

But in that strange lack of confusion, Caroline’s nipple throbbed against Max’s tongue and her finger fell into Caroline’s slit like iron gonna a magnet. The walls were smooth as satin—so much more silky than her own pussy—and the lips of that other woman’s cunt closed shudderingly around her finger.

Caroline’s snatch milked at Max’s finger the way Max’s mouth suckled lovingly at Caroline’s swelling nipples. If it had been awkward, or uncomfortable, or strange, maybe it would’ve stopped there; Max’s misgivings overcoming how weirdly right this felt. But it was as easy as putting a quarter into a slot machine after you’d already put one in.

Soon, Max was kneeling on the floor, lapping anxiously at Caroline’s sex and finding that all the nerves in the world couldn’t keep Caroline from tasting delicious. Then she was tantalizing her to a quivering climax, one that lasted well into skin rubbing against skin and mouth sucking mouth, tongues trying desperately to discover a victor between them.

Even exhaustion and sleep didn’t end their passion. In her dreams, Max relived everything she’d done and everything that’d been done to her. It made no more sense than it did when she was awake, but it felt as good as ever. And that made perfect sense—when she woke, she was in Caroline’s arms, her thick thighs entwined with Caroline’s long, coltish legs.

Nothing could feel bad under those circumstances.