Clara shifts uncomfortably as her friends giggle and browse through the racks of lacy lingerie. The boutique feels foreign to her, all silk and satin and things she would never normally buy for herself. She tugs at the sleeve of her sensible blouse and glances toward the exit. Five years of marriage to David has left her feeling like she’s playing a role—the proper wife—and this place threatens to crack that carefully constructed facade. She doesn’t belong here, among women who seem so comfortable with their sexuality, with wanting and being wanted.
“Come on, Clara! Live a little,” Michelle says, holding up a sheer red teddy with strategic cutouts. “When’s the last time you bought something just to feel sexy?”
Clara forces a tight smile. “I’m really not into this kind of thing. David and I are…” She trails off, unsure how to finish that sentence. Fine? Comfortable? The truth is more complicated—they haven’t touched each other in months.
“All the more reason,” Jen chimes in, linking her arm through Clara’s. “Trust me, even the most boring marriage needs a spark sometimes.”
Before Clara can protest further, her friends are steering her toward the back of the store, past mannequins wearing things that make her blush. She tries to dig in her heels, but they’re relentless.
“Just try something on,” Michelle insists, thrusting a hanger into Clara’s hands. “We’re not leaving until you do.”
“Fine,” Clara mutters, glancing down at the black lace ensemble. “Just to shut you all up.”
As her friends push her toward the changing rooms, a woman steps forward from behind the counter. Tall, with cropped dark hair and confident eyes that seem to take Clara’s measure in a single glance.
“Can I help you find something?” the woman asks, her voice low and smooth. A small silver name tag reads ‘Rae.’
“She needs everything,” Michelle laughs, giving Clara a gentle shove forward. “She’s hopeless.”
Rae’s lips curve into a small smile as she looks directly at Clara, ignoring her friends completely. “I doubt that very much.”
Clara feels her cheeks warm under Rae’s steady gaze. There’s something in the way this woman looks at her—like she sees past the cardigan and sensible shoes to something underneath that Clara herself has forgotten exists.
“I’m really just browsing,” Clara says, clutching the hanger to her chest like a shield.
“Let me show you a few things,” Rae says, gently taking the black lace from Clara’s hands and hanging it back on the rack. “That’s not right for you.”
Clara wants to protest, to flee back to her friends, but there’s something magnetic about Rae’s quiet confidence. She follows as Rae leads her to a different section of the store.
“I think you’d be more comfortable in something like this,” Rae says, selecting a pale blue set that’s still sexy but softer somehow. “The lace is French; it feels like nothing against your skin.”
As Rae hands her the lingerie, their fingers brush, and Clara feels a strange flutter in her stomach. It’s been so long since anyone has given her this kind of undivided attention, and it makes her both uncomfortable and oddly thrilled.
“I—Thank you,” Clara stammers, accepting the hanger. “I guess I could try it.”
Rae guides her to a changing room at the far end of the store, away from where her friends are still laughing and pulling things from the racks. “Take your time,” Rae says, drawing the curtain closed. “I’ll be right outside if you need anything.”
Alone in the small space, Clara stares at her reflection in the mirror. She looks flushed, her eyes wider than usual. Slowly, she begins to undress, folding her clothes neatly on the small bench. When she slips into the lingerie, she barely recognizes herself. The soft blue makes her skin glow, and the cut of the bra lifts her breasts in a way that makes them look fuller, more inviting. The panties ride high on her hips, exposing more of her thighs than she’s used to seeing.
“It can’t just be the lighting,” she whispers to herself, turning to see how the lace skims over the curve of her ass. For the first time in years, she feels beautiful. Wanted, even, though there’s no one here to want her.
A soft knock interrupts her thoughts. “How’s it fitting?” Rae’s voice comes from just outside the curtain.
Clara hesitates, her hand hovering over the edge of the fabric. “It’s… nice,” she says finally. “Better than I expected.”
“May I see?” Rae asks. “Sometimes the fit needs adjusting.”
Clara swallows hard. She should say no. But instead, she finds herself pulling the curtain back just enough to allow Rae to slip inside. The small space suddenly feels infinitely smaller with both of them in it.
Rae closes the curtain behind her, and Clara is acutely aware of how exposed she is, standing there in nothing but scraps of lace while Rae remains fully clothed, her eyes traveling over Clara’s body with unmistakable appreciation.
“Beautiful,” Rae murmurs, stepping closer. “But this strap is twisted.” Her fingers brush against Clara’s shoulder, adjusting the thin band of the bra. The touch sends a shiver down Clara’s spine.
Clara bites her lip, the air charged between them. Rae’s fingertips linger on her shoulder, then trail down the strap as if checking each millimeter for flaws. Clara’s heart pounds. She’s never been this close to a stranger and felt so utterly seen.
Rae stands behind her now, close enough that Clara can smell her perfume—a cool, unfamiliar scent with an undercurrent of musk. Their eyes meet in the reflection. Clara waits for Rae to say something, to laugh or scold her for being so awkward. Instead, Rae’s gaze is gentle, almost reverent.
“See how it frames you here?” Rae says, tracing along the seam with a single finger. “Most women don’t realize how a good fit transforms everything.”
Clara nods, afraid to speak and break whatever spell has fallen over the tiny room. She watches Rae’s hands work with deft confidence, smoothing the lace against her skin. The touch is deliberate but never lewd—a careful, professional intimacy.
The pressure of Rae’s palm, as she shifts to smooth the hem along Clara’s ribcage, is steady and warm. Clara tries to focus on the technical aspects of the fitting—the way the cups lift, the way the underwire cradles her breast—but her body betrays her. Her nipples pebble instantly under the thin lace, and the skin of her belly prickles with awareness. She’s hyperconscious of her every flaw: the softness at her waist, the faint stretch lines above her hips. She expects Rae to notice, to recoil or at least avert her gaze. Instead, Rae’s hands are gentle, businesslike, but her eyes—reflected in the mirror—are unmistakably hungry.
Clara swallows, her mouth suddenly dry, caught between the pull of the moment and the weight of her vows. Rae’s breath against her shoulder is both a comfort and a complication, the scent both alluring and alarming. Clara is hyper-aware, in a way she hasn’t been in years, of her own body: the pulse in her throat, the heat at her core.
It feels so wrong—she’s a married woman, she shouldn’t be feeling this way, especially since it’s with another woman. And yet, she can’t deny the thrill, even as guilt gnaws at her. She shouldn’t even be here, but she remains immobile, torn between retreat and the desire for Rae’s next touch.
“There,” Rae says, her voice barely above a whisper. Her fingers trail down Clara’s side, finding the hidden clasp at the back of the panties.
“Some women prefer a little less coverage,” she adds, sliding the fabric higher on Clara’s hips for effect. “But you look incredible like this.”
Rae’s hand lingers at Clara’s hip, her thumb brushing over the lace, slipping fractionally beneath it. Clara goes rigid, the sensation sharp as a needle.
She waits for Rae to draw away, for professionalism to return, but Rae is in no hurry. Her head is angled, lips parted, as if she might say something else—or do something else. Clara’s breath comes shallow now, her mind a confusion of rules and forbidden wishes.
“Is this… okay?” Rae asks, her voice soft but steady as she steps in front of Clara before looking into her eyes.
Their faces are inches apart now. Clara can smell Rae’s perfume, something warm and spicy that makes her head swim slightly.
“My friends are right outside,” she whispers, though she’s not sure why she says it.
Rae’s fingers gently return to Clara’s hip, slow and deliberate, as if her touch has every right to linger. Clara can feel her own heart, thick and frantic in her chest, pounding so loud she’s sure Rae must hear it.
“I can show you things they’ll never see,” she says softly, her other hand sliding down Clara’s back just enough to raise goosebumps along her skin.
Clara takes a half-step back, her heart pounding in her chest.
“I’m married,” she whispers, the words sounding hollow even to her own ears.
“That doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to feel,” Rae responds, as her fingertips slide over the lace of Clara’s panties.
The touch is light but feels like an anchor, grounding Clara even as her breath stutters in her chest. She leans back against the mirror, its cool surface a stark contrast to the heat building inside her.
Rae leans in and presses her lips to Clara’s, the kiss slow and deliberate. Just once before she pulls back, gauging Clara’s reaction.
Clara’s mind is screaming. This is wrong. I’m a married woman. I’m straight, not a lesbian. I should push her away. I should leave.
But before she can voice any of these thoughts, Rae’s lips find hers again. The kiss is unhurried, intentional, giving Clara every opportunity to pull away, to object. But Clara doesn’t. Her mind blurs as her resistance melts away.
“Oh god,” she thinks. “I shouldn’t like this.” But she can’t help herself.
Torn between guilt and a desire she never knew she possessed, Clara surrenders, kissing Rae back with an urgency that surprises even herself. Their encounter is messy yet hushed—lips moving against lips, hands exploring, soft gasps escaping as skin meets satin in the confined space of the changing room.
From outside, she can hear her friends calling her name, laughing, wondering what’s taking so long. But Clara remains silent, lost in this forbidden connection with a woman she just met, a feeling she never knew she needed until this moment.
“I’m going to show you what you’ve been denying yourself all along,” Rae whispers, her breath hot against Clara’s ear. Her hands take control now, no longer tentative or questioning but commanding, sliding along the curves of Clara’s body with purpose.
Clara shivers, her skin hypersensitive beneath the delicate lace that suddenly feels like too much of a barrier. Part of her brain is still functioning enough to register shock at herself, at how quickly she’s let this happen, but her body is responding to Rae’s touch with an honesty she can’t deny.
Rae’s lips trace a path down Clara’s neck, teeth grazing lightly against her pulse point. Each touch sends sparks of electricity through Clara’s body, awakening sensations she’d forgotten were possible. Rae’s hands cup her breasts through the lace bra, thumbs circling over her hardening nipples.
“We shouldn’t,” Clara gasps, her voice barely audible. “I’m married. I’m not a lesbian.” The words sound hollow even to her own ears, especially as her back arches, pressing her breasts more firmly into Rae’s palms.
“You don’t have to be,” Rae murmurs, the words vibrating against Clara’s sweat-slicked cheek. “You just have to want this.”
And God help her, Clara does want it. Wants it with an intensity that frightens her. Rae unclasps Clara’s bra with practiced ease, letting it fall away. The cool air of the changing room pebbles her nipples further, and Clara feels a rush of vulnerability mixed with arousal.
Rae’s mouth finds her breast, tongue circling the sensitive peak before sucking it between her lips. Clara bites her lower lip to keep from crying out, her head falling back against the mirror. She’s slick between her legs now, her body betraying every moral objection her mind tries to raise.
“Oh fuck,” Clara whispers, the profanity strange on her tongue. She never swears, never loses control.
But Rae’s hand is sliding down her stomach now, fingers hooking into the waistband of the lace panties.
“Can I touch you here?” Rae asks, her voice low and thick with desire.
Clara should say no. She should push Rae away, pull her clothes back on, and run from this store and never look back. But her hips buck forward involuntarily, seeking contact.
“Yes,” she breathes, the word escaping before she can stop it.
Rae smiles against her skin, sliding her hand lower, fingers brushing through the soft curls between Clara’s legs before finding her wet center. Clara gasps at the first contact, her knees nearly buckling.
“My god! She’s touching me. I’m letting another woman touch my pussy,” she thinks, but her body is already arching, pushing into the touch, desperate for more.
“Look how wet you already are,” Rae murmurs, circling Clara’s clit with a practiced touch. “Your body knows what it wants, even if your mind’s still catching up.”
Clara’s hands clutch at Rae’s shoulders, needing something to anchor her as pleasure spirals through her body. She’s never felt anything like this before—not with David, not with anyone. Rae’s fingers are gentle but insistent, finding rhythms and pressures that Clara didn’t even know she needed.
“We shouldn’t,” Clara tries again, but her voice breaks as Rae slides a finger inside her, curling it forward to stroke against a spot that makes stars explode behind Clara’s eyelids.
Rae’s lips are at her ear again, breath hot and wet. “We are,” she says simply, adding a second finger, stretching Clara in the most delicious way. “And you love it.”
She does. God help her, she does. Clara’s hips move of their own accord now, riding Rae’s hand, seeking more friction, more pressure, more everything. Her guilt fades beneath waves of pleasure, each one building higher than the last.
“Clara? You still alive in there?” Michelle’s voice cuts through the fog of arousal, and Clara freezes. “We’ve been waiting forever!”
Rae doesn’t stop. Her hand clamps over Clara’s mouth, her fingers digging into her cheek as her other hand drives deeper, curling inside with vicious precision.
Clara’s eyes roll back as Rae’s thumb grinds mercilessly against her swollen clit, the pressure bordering on pain. Clara’s muffled whimper vibrates against Rae’s palm as her hips jerk uncontrollably, caught between desperate need and the terrifying thrill of being silenced, possessed, and used.
“There it is,” Rae whispers, “I can feel your pussy clamping down. You want to cum, don’t you? You want to do it like this—with a stranger, and your friends waiting right outside?”
Rae’s words are a hot rush in Clara’s ear, a new kind of dirty she didn’t know she could crave. Her thighs are quaking now, her slick pooling and running down Rae’s knuckles as the pressure in her pelvis builds to something terrifying and wonderful. She can barely breathe and sees only colors behind her eyelids.
Rae is relentless, fingers thrusting hard and fast, her thumb never breaking rhythm. The hand over her mouth turns the sound of her cries into a wet, desperate whine.
“Clara, seriously!” Jen’s voice now, accompanied by a knock on the changing room door. “What’s taking so long?”
Clara is too far gone now to ever attempt to answer. She’s right on the edge, her body wound so tight she might shatter.
Rae senses it, her fingers curling more firmly, pressing against that spot inside that makes Clara see stars.
“Come for me,” Rae whispers against her lips. “Come for me now.”
And Clara does. Her orgasm crashes through her like a tidal wave, her body convulsing around Rae’s fingers, inner walls clenching and releasing as pleasure pulses outward from her core to the very tips of her fingers and toes. Rae’s mouth covers hers again, capturing her cry of release.
For a moment, Clara can’t think, can’t speak, can barely breathe. She clings to Rae, her face buried in the crook of her neck as aftershocks ripple through her body.
“Clara, we’re going for coffee!” Michelle calls out, sounding exasperated. “Meet us at the café down the street when you’re done… whatever you’re doing in there.”
Clara hears their laughter fade as they exit the store. She should feel relief, but all she can focus on is Rae’s body pressed against hers, Rae’s fingers still inside her, Rae’s lips pressing soft kisses to her temple.
“They’re gone,” Clara whispers, not knowing what else to say.
Rae pulls back slightly, enough to look into Clara’s eyes. “Do you want me to stop?” she asks, her voice gentle but her eyes dark with desire.
Clara should say yes. This has already gone too far. But looking into Rae’s eyes, feeling the lingering pleasure still humming through her veins, she knows she can’t lie.
“No,” she says softly. “I don’t want you to stop.”
Something like triumph flashes in Rae’s eyes. She withdraws her fingers, the movement sending a fresh jolt of pleasure through Clara’s oversensitive body. Then Rae is kissing her again, more demanding now, her hands roaming over Clara’s body with renewed purpose.
Clara responds with equal hunger, her earlier hesitation dissolving in the heat between them. Her hands find the hem of Rae’s shirt, slipping underneath to touch warm skin. Rae pulls back just long enough to tug the shirt over her head, revealing a simple black bra that does nothing to hide the hardened peaks of her nipples.
“You’re beautiful,” Clara whispers, surprising herself. She’s never looked at another woman this way before, never appreciated the soft curves and smooth skin with desire burning in her belly.
Rae smiles, taking Clara’s hands and placing them on her breasts. “Touch me,” she says. “I want to feel your hands on me.”
Clara’s fingers tremble slightly as she explores Rae’s body, learning the weight of her breasts, the texture of her skin. Rae guides her, showing her what feels good, encouraging her with soft gasps and moans.
But then Rae is moving again, dropping to her knees in front of Clara. Her hands slide up Clara’s thighs, pushing them apart gently.
“What are you—” Clara starts, but the question dies on her lips as Rae leans forward, pressing a kiss to her inner thigh.
“I want to taste you,” Rae says, looking up at Clara with hunger in her eyes. “I need to taste you.”
Clara’s vision blurs for a moment. She’s panting, barely holding herself up against the mirror. Then Rae’s tongue is there, hot and soft, licking a fat line up Clara’s slick clit. The tip pushes, parts her, makes a mess of her inside and out.
There’s no warm-up. Rae devours her like she’s starving, mouth sealed on Clara’s cunt, sucking and licking, then biting—hard enough that Clara hurts, but it yanks the pleasure higher, until her legs are squeezing Rae’s head.
“Oh god, oh god,” Clara chants, one hand tangled in Rae’s short hair, the other pressed against her own mouth to muffle her cries. She’s never felt anything like this—David has never done this, never wanted to, and Clara had convinced herself she didn’t care.
Now she knows better. The heat in her belly flares, white-hot and ruthless, and she’s coming again, spilling, her whole body locking up as she rides Rae’s mouth, gasping, swearing, almost sobbing with relief.
Rae’s tongue doesn’t let up—if anything, she’s hungrier, lapping everything Clara gives her, sucking her through the aftershocks, until Clara’s hips try to buck her off. She’s never had anyone eat her out with this kind of precision—Rae’s lips and tongue and clever fingers all working together, greedy and focused and relentless.
Clara rides the shock of her own orgasm like a wave that won’t end, the pleasure merging with the raw ache of her own guilt and need. She feels her body shudder, the orgasm rolling over again, smaller, meaner, like Rae is wringing out every last drop for herself.
When Rae finally pulls back, her chin glistens with Clara’s arousal in the dim light of the changing room. There’s a new intensity in her eyes as she rises to her feet, her movements fluid and predatory. “Now, it’s my turn,” she whispers, her voice taking on a commanding tone that makes Clara’s stomach flip. “I want you to pleasure me. Show me what you’re capable of.” The words hang in the air between them, a challenge that both terrifies and excites Clara in equal measure.
Clara’s heart races, pounding against her ribcage like it might break free. She’s never touched another woman like this before—never even thought about it until today. Her hands tremble slightly as she reaches toward Rae, then hesitates.
“I don’t know how,” she admits, her voice small and uncertain. “I’ve never…”
Rae’s expression softens momentarily. She takes Clara’s hands in her own, bringing them to rest on her hips. “I’ll show you,” she says, her voice a mixture of command and reassurance. “Touch me how you’d want to be touched.”
Clara swallows hard, feeling the warmth of Rae’s skin through the fabric of her pants. Tentatively, she slides her hands upward, over the curve of Rae’s waist, to the undersides of her breasts. Rae makes a small sound of encouragement, arching slightly into the touch.
Emboldened, Clara cups Rae’s breasts through her bra, feeling the hardened peaks of her nipples pressing against her palms. The sensation is strange—familiar yet foreign at the same time. She’s felt her own breasts before, but never like this, never with the intention of giving pleasure.
“That’s good,” Rae murmurs, reaching behind herself to unclasp her bra. It falls away, revealing small, firm breasts with dark nipples that stand at attention. “But I want to feel your hands on my skin.”
Clara stares, momentarily transfixed. Rae is beautiful in a way that’s completely different from Clara’s own softness. Her body is leaner, more muscular, with sharp angles where Clara has curves. Hesitantly, Clara reaches out again, this time letting her fingers trace the contours of Rae’s bare breasts.
“Like this?” she asks, circling a nipple with her thumb.
Rae’s breath catches. “Yes,” she hisses. “Just like that.”
Clara feels a surge of power at eliciting such a response. She grows bolder, pinching the nipple gently between her thumb and forefinger, the way she sometimes likes to touch herself. Rae moans, her head tipping back slightly.
“You’re a quick learner,” Rae says, her voice husky with desire. She guides one of Clara’s hands lower, down the flat plane of her stomach to the waistband of her pants. “But I need more.”
Clara’s fingers fumble with the button and zipper, her newfound confidence warring with her inexperience. Eventually, she manages to undo them, allowing Rae to shimmy the pants down her hips along with her underwear. Now Rae stands naked before her, unashamed and glorious in her confidence.
“Touch me,” Rae commands, taking Clara’s hand and guiding it between her legs.
Clara gasps at the slick heat she finds there. It’s different from touching herself—the angle, the unfamiliarity of another woman’s body—but also thrillingly similar. She explores carefully, watching Rae’s face for reactions, learning what makes her breath hitch and her hips buck.
“That’s it,” Rae encourages as Clara’s fingers find her clit. “Circles, not too hard.”
Clara follows the instruction, marveling at the way Rae’s body responds to her touch. She’s wet—so wet—and the knowledge that she’s caused this reaction sends a fresh pulse of arousal through Clara’s own body.
“Now inside,” Rae directs, her voice strained. “Two fingers.”
Clara complies, sliding two fingers into Rae’s heat. The sensation is incredible—hot and silky and tight around her fingers. She curls them experimentally, remembering how Rae touched her, and is rewarded with a sharp gasp.
“Yes, right there,” Rae hisses. “Fuck, you’re a natural.”
The crude language sends another jolt of heat through Clara. She’s never been spoken to like this during sex, never been told exactly what to do, what feels good. With David, it’s always been polite and somewhat mechanical. This is raw and honest in a way that makes her feel powerful.
She establishes a rhythm, thrusting her fingers in and out while her thumb circles Rae’s clit. Rae’s hips move in counterpoint, chasing the sensation. Her eyes are half-closed, lips parted as her breathing grows more ragged.
But then Rae grabs her wrist, stilling her movements. “Down,” she commands, gently pushing on Clara’s shoulder. “I want your mouth on me.”
Clara’s stomach flips with a mixture of nervousness and excitement. She lets Rae guide her down to her knees, face level with the apex of Rae’s thighs. The scent of her arousal is strong here, musky and intimate.
“I don’t know how,” Clara admits again, looking up at Rae with uncertain eyes.
“Yes, that’s it. Now show me what your mouth can do,” Rae whispers as she runs a hand through Clara’s hair, guiding her closer. “Show me, Clara. Show me how good you can lick my pussy.”
The words send a shiver down Clara’s spine. She leans forward, tentatively running her tongue along Rae’s slit. The taste is unfamiliar but not unpleasant—tangy and salt-sweet. Rae’s hand tightens in her hair, encouraging her.
“That’s it, just like that,” Rae breathes. “Use your tongue, explore.”
Clara grows bolder, letting her tongue delve deeper, finding Rae’s clit and circling it experimentally. Rae’s reaction is immediate and gratifying—a sharp gasp, her hips bucking forward.
“Yes, right there,” Rae instructs. “Suck gently.”
Clara follows each command, learning Rae’s body with every gasp and moan. She finds herself enjoying this more than she expected—the taste, the smell, the power of making another woman tremble with pleasure.
“Don’t stop. Don’t you dare stop,” Rae barks as Clara goes faster, her tongue becoming more insistent.
Clara can feel Rae’s body tensing, the muscles in her thighs starting to quiver. Rae grabs two fistfuls of Clara’s hair, grinding her slick, desperate cunt into Clara’s face. Her thighs tremble on either side of Clara’s cheeks, squeezing tight enough to bruise.
Rae’s breath comes in ragged, high-pitched cries that grow louder with each flick of Clara’s tongue. The taste of her floods Clara’s mouth, hot and salty, spurring her to work more feverishly. Her tongue lashes against Rae’s clit, lips sucking, teeth grazing, anything to steal another gasp from the woman above her.
“Fuck, fuck, I’m coming,” Rae cries out, her body going rigid. Her hips buck erratically against Clara’s face, riding out the waves of her orgasm.
Clara holds on, continuing to lick and suck as Rae shudders above her. She’s never felt so powerful, so connected to another person’s pleasure. It’s intoxicating, this ability to make someone else come apart so completely.
As Rae’s body gradually relaxes, her grip on Clara’s hair loosens. She tugs gently, urging Clara to her feet, then pulls her into a tight embrace. Her lips press soft kisses against Clara’s forehead, her breathing still ragged.
“You did so well,” Rae whispers, her voice filled with genuine pride and lingering desire. “I knew you had it in you.”
Clara feels a flush of pleasure at the praise, along with a strange sense of accomplishment. She’s just made another woman orgasm—something she never imagined herself doing. And she liked it. More than liked it—she’s already wondering when she can do it again.
“Was it really okay?” Clara asks, suddenly shy despite the intimacy they’ve just shared. “I didn’t know what I was doing.”
Rae laughs softly, the sound vibrating through her chest where Clara’s head rests. “More than okay,” she assures her. “You’re a natural. Some things you just instinctively understand.”
Clara glows under the praise, nestling closer into Rae’s embrace. There will be time for guilt and confusion later, she knows. Time to reckon with what this means for her marriage, her identity, her understanding of herself. But for now, she just wants to savor this feeling—this newfound connection to her own desires and to the woman who helped her discover them.
“Thank you,” Clara whispers, though the words seem inadequate for the experience she’s just had.
Rae tilts Clara’s chin up, looking into her eyes with an intensity that makes Clara’s breath catch. “Don’t thank me yet,” she says, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “We’re just getting started.”
Clara’s mind is racing, thoughts tumbling over each other like waves crashing against a shore. What has she done? What does this mean? She’s never been with a woman before, never even considered it a possibility. She’s Clara Monroe—straight, married, predictable Clara who does everything by the book. Or at least, she was that woman until about thirty minutes ago. Now she’s something else, someone else—a woman who just had the most intense sexual experience of her life with a female stranger in a changing room while her friends waited outside.
“You’re thinking too hard,” Rae murmurs, her breath warm against Clara’s temple. They’re still pressed together, skin to skin, in the small confines of the changing room. Clara should feel claustrophobic, trapped, but instead, she feels oddly safe in Rae’s arms.
“I’m married,” Clara whispers, but the words don’t carry the same weight they did before. It’s a statement of fact, not a protest. “I’ve never done anything like this.”
Rae pulls back slightly, enough to look into Clara’s eyes. “Regrets already?” she asks, her tone light but with an undercurrent of something else—concern, perhaps, or disappointment.
Clara considers the question seriously. Should she regret this? Probably. It’s infidelity, it’s impulsive, it’s completely out of character. But when she searches her feelings, she finds no regret—only a lingering pleasure and a hunger for more that shocks her with its intensity.
“No,” she admits finally. “No regrets. Just… confusion.”
Rae’s smile is slow and satisfied. “Confusion is normal,” she says, brushing a strand of hair from Clara’s face with gentle fingers. “Most women don’t realize what they’re missing until they experience it firsthand.”
Clara thinks about David, about their marriage. It’s not terrible—not abusive or toxic—just… empty. They go through the motions of being husband and wife, but the passion died years ago, if it was ever really there to begin with. Sex with David is perfunctory at best, something she endures rather than enjoys. Nothing like what she just experienced with Rae.
“I’ve never felt anything like this before,” Clara confesses, her voice barely above a whisper. “Not with anyone.”
“Not even with your husband?” Rae asks, though she doesn’t sound surprised.
Clara shakes her head. “We… It’s not like this. It’s never been like this.” She feels a pang of guilt at the admission, but it’s the truth. In five years of marriage, David has never made her feel the way Rae did in less than an hour.
“Most men don’t know how to please a woman properly,” Rae says, her hand tracing idle patterns on Clara’s bare hip. “They don’t understand our bodies the way another woman can.”
Clara nods, thinking of all the times she’s faked orgasms with David, all the times she’s lain awake after he’s rolled over and started snoring, feeling unsatisfied and somehow broken. She’d always assumed the problem was with her—that she just wasn’t a very sexual person, that she didn’t have the capacity for the kind of pleasure other women talked about.
Now she knows better.
“I don’t know what this means,” Clara says, gesturing vaguely between them. “About me, I mean. I never thought I was… that I could be…”
“Labels aren’t important,” Rae interrupts gently. “Desire is desire. Pleasure is pleasure. The rest is just society trying to put everything in neat little boxes.”
Clara considers this. Is it really that simple? Can she just accept that she desired Rae, that she found pleasure with her, without having to redefine her entire identity?
“My friends will be wondering where I am,” Clara says, though she makes no move to disentangle herself from Rae’s embrace.
“Let them wonder,” Rae suggests, her lips curving into a smile that makes Clara’s stomach flip. “Or you could go meet them. Pretend this never happened. Go back to your life.”
The thought sends a chill through Clara. Go back? How could she possibly go back to her bland, colorless existence after experiencing this? How could she look at David over dinner tonight and not compare him to Rae, not remember the way her body came alive under Rae’s touch?
“I don’t want to pretend this never happened,” Clara admits, surprising herself with her honesty. “I don’t want to go back.”
Rae’s eyes darken with desire. “Good,” she says simply. “Because I’m not finished with you yet.”
Clara’s breath barely steadies before Rae is on her again, lips crushing hers, all control and hunger. She tastes salt and her own slickness on Rae’s tongue. She expects gentleness, some aftercare, but Rae is already hauling her flush against the mirror, hands everywhere at once—palming Clara’s breasts, kneading her ass, squeezing until Clara feels bruised and dizzy.
“You were made for this,” Rae whispers, voice guttural with need. “You know that, right?” She doesn’t wait for a response. Her mouth is at Clara’s neck, sucking a mark just below her jaw, then lower, biting the soft curve of her shoulder.
Clara can’t think, can’t reason. The world narrows to Rae’s hands and teeth and the need still thrumming in her own cunt. She’s wet again, impossibly, embarrassingly, and shudders when Rae’s fingers dip between her thighs and circle her clit, drawing slow, cruel circles until Clara can’t keep her legs under her, until she’s clutching at the mirror for balance, gasping, mouth wide and wordless. “Rae—” she manages, and the sound is a whimper, desperate and needy.
Rae doesn’t relent. Two fingers slip inside, the angle rough, sweet, perfect, and Clara feels herself unraveling again, nerves sparking wild beneath her skin. It’s too much, too soon, but she doesn’t want to stop, not ever. She wants to chase this all the way to the end, to see what happens if she lets herself burn all the way through.
“You want to come again,” Rae says, her voice low and dangerous, so close Clara feels each syllable against the shell of her ear. “I can feel it. You want to come for me.” Rae’s fingers pump deep, knuckles pressing into Clara’s walls with every stroke. “But I’m not going to let that happen. at least not yet.”
With that, Rae yanks Clara onto the floor, their bodies tangling in a heated frenzy. She positions herself against Clara, their hips aligning perfectly, as their wetness merges and their clits grind together.
“I want us to come together,” she pants, their wetness colliding in a feverish, pulsating dance.
Rae rocks her hips, their soaked slits pressed so close Clara can actually feel the soft, swollen heat of Rae’s cunt rubbing her own. The sensation is overwhelming—slippery, hot, so intimate Clara forgets the word for shame. She’s never done anything like this, never even imagined another woman’s body against hers, but it’s as if her thighs and hips and pussy all remember what to do, how to move, how to match Rae’s rhythm.
Rae pins her wrists for leverage, trapping them above her head against the gritty linoleum. The wildness in her eyes is only inches away, and Clara can see herself reflected there: flushed, messy, hungry. Rae pushes harder, grinding their clits together until Clara’s whole lower half is shaking.
“I can feel you’re ready, Clara. Ready to come again for me right now,” Rae pants, voice shredded with need. Her fingernails dig into Clara’s wrists hard enough to sting, and—fuck—Clara likes it. The ache in her arms and the raw friction between their bodies is all she can feel, all she wants to feel.
Clara bucks, grinding her hips up to meet Rae’s on every desperate thrust. Every movement sends a slick, noisy shudder through her entire body. She’s caught somewhere between humiliation and ecstasy, and she doesn’t care which wins. Her whole world contracts to the molten pleasure at her core. She hears herself whimpering, a wordless plea, and Rae answers it by driving her hips even harder, grinding their clits together in brutal, perfect sync.
Every time she thinks she’s going to come, Rae slows, tilts her hips, and makes Clara chase it a little further. The pressure builds until Clara can barely breathe, can barely see straight. Her thighs shake, her ass bruises against the floor, and her vision blurs from the white-hot pulse behind her eyes.
“Beg for it,” Rae growls, every word a spark on Clara’s skin. She won’t let up, won’t let Clara hide from herself—she keeps moving, harder, meaner, until Clara finally sobs out, “Please. Please, Rae. Let me come.”
“Good girl. Now come for me.” Rae hisses as she lets go of Clara’s wrists and claws at her ass, pulling her closer, grinding their bodies together so hard Clara wonders if they’ll leave a stain on the damn floor.
Clara loses herself, the orgasm ripping through her so violently that her body bucks off the floor, her thighs clamping down on Rae’s hips as if she might disappear otherwise. Every muscle pulls taut, her ears ringing, her vision gone dark at the edges. She comes so hard she’s crying, tears streaming hot and silent down her cheeks. Rae’s own body follows a second later, her cunt spasming against Clara’s in sharp, wet pulses. They ride each other, locked together, both shaking and gasping and clinging together as if the gravity in the room had tripled. Every touch, every shudder, every ragged breath is magnified, distilled into a single point of white heat that erases everything until only sensation remains.
After, there’s only the sound of their panting, bodies slick and trembling on the cold tile. Rae collapses against her, boneless, hair mussed and damp against Clara’s throat. Clara stares up at the acoustic panels of the ceiling, breathing in the sharp scent of sweat and sex and whatever soap the store uses to clean the changing rooms.
Clara’s breath catches in her throat. “What happens now?” she asks, her voice unsteady.
“Now,” Rae says, reaching for the pile of Clara’s discarded clothes, “you get dressed and go meet your friends. You buy this lingerie—” she holds up the pale blue set that started it all “—and you take my number.” She scribbles something on a business card and tucks it into Clara’s hand. “And when you’re ready for more, you call me.”
Clara stares at the card, at the neat handwriting spelling out Rae’s name and number. It feels like a lifeline, a bridge between her old life and something new and uncharted.
“I’ve never cheated on David before,” she says, the words heavy with implication. Before today. Before you.
Rae cups Clara’s cheek, her touch gentle but firm. “Maybe it’s not about cheating,” she suggests. “Maybe it’s about finally being honest about what you need, what you want.”
Clara thinks about this. What does she want? The answer comes with surprising clarity: She wants to feel alive. She wants to feel desired. She wants to experience pleasure without shame or guilt. She wants more of what Rae just showed her was possible.
“I don’t know what happens next,” Clara says honestly. “I don’t know what this means for my marriage, for my life.”
“You don’t have to know right now,” Rae assures her. “Right now, you just have to decide if you want to see me again.”
Clara looks into Rae’s eyes, seeing her own desire reflected back at her. There’s no judgment there, no pressure—just an open invitation to explore this new part of herself.
She takes a deep breath, her body relaxing into Rae’s embrace. She knows she’s at a crossroads, that whatever she decides in this moment will change the course of her life. She could walk away, try to forget this ever happened, and return to the safety of her predictable existence.
Or she could step into the unknown, follow this unexpected desire, and see where it leads.
In this moment, surrounded by the lingering scent of their shared pleasure, Clara makes her choice. She leans forward and presses her lips to Rae’s in a soft, deliberate kiss.
“Yes,” she whispers against Rae’s mouth. “I want to see you again.”
Rae’s smile is like sunshine breaking through clouds. “Then you will,” she promises.
As Clara begins to dress, her hands still trembling slightly, she knows nothing will ever be the same. Her marriage, her identity, her understanding of her own desires—all of it has shifted in the space of an hour.
But for now, she doesn’t need to figure it all out. For now, she just wants to feel, to experience, to live in this moment of pure, unadulterated desire. The rest—the hard conversations, the difficult decisions, the inevitable pain—will come later.
Right now, there’s only this: the memory of Rae’s touch on her skin, the taste of Rae still on her lips, and the promise of more to come.
