Oil

There was a plastic cover, on the mattress. It seemed to stick to Lois' bare back as she laid down, arms loosely at her sides. Unsupported, her breasts migrated toward the sides, the handfuls settling into little mounds that moved as she breathed.

Maria crawled onto bed, the small pitcher of oil in her hand.

It was clear, colorless, and runny; smelling slightly of coconut and eucalyptus. "Perfectly edible," the woman had said. She held the pitched above Lois' chest, and the reporter tried to focus on the white ceramic pitcher, and not the Japanese diver painted in the erotic scene above...

The first drops were cold. Fat and heavy, the splattered between the molehills of her bosom, and began to slide in long runners into the valley of her belly. Maria measured it out, carefully, then set the pitcher aside...and got to work.

Her hands went to Lois' breastbone, carefully sweeping left and right to push the oil up and over, down and around those pale mounds. The flesh was left shiny in the wake of her hands, and the smell of the oil filled Lois' senses. It was almost like an erotic massage, at first; Maria scooped and kneaded her breasts, never so hard they hurt, always relaxing her grip as soon as Lois gave the least vocalization of discomfort. But she rubbed the tiny nips into hard life between her callused thumbs and fingers, pulled the bubbies up until she almost lifted Lois off the bed, then let them fall back, to watch them shake and shudder and settle once more.

She moved on—those strong fingers scraping down Lois' arms and over her shoulders; gently lifting and massaging her neck. The dark-haired woman stared into Maria's eyes as those thumbs ran, ever briefly, over her throat, along the line of her jaw—wondered what those hands could do, if there was anything Lois could do to stop them—and in that moment Maria bent her own head down to meet her.

Lois opened her lips to received the seeking tongue.

The dark-haired woman brought her hands up to tangle in the pink-and-scarlet hair as their lips locked and tongues coiled. It was like one hot breath shared between them. Lois dragged herself upwards into Maria's embrace, smearing her chest with oil, feeling the cold barbells of her lover's pierced breasts against her own tits.

Maria flopped over, onto her back, with Lois above her. Lois let go of her hair, stood arched over her. Instinctively, Maria's legs had hooked around Lois' thighs. The dark haired woman ran a hand down between her breasts, to watch the oily sheen, and laid her hand over Maria's heart. Felt it beat, beneath her palm. She looked into her lover's face, and smiled at the slow blush spreading across her cheeks. Her hand slipped lower.

She rubbed the oil from her own body onto Maria's thighs, her pale hands sliding slickly up and down the insides of the woman's legs—but her goal was one thing, right in front of her face, and she worked towards it, slowly and steadily. Groping and oiling every inch of skin until at last her oily hands ran over Maria's outer lips.

Lois massaged the vulva, slick hand running from the perineum all around the slit to the little landing strip of pubic hair, pulling and massaging at the little mound of flesh between her legs, but not...quite...slipping in.

"Lois..." Maria said, and she looked up. It was the first time her lover had said her real name. She had something in her left hand. "Surprise."