Contains: Lesbian, Dominance/Submission, Exhibitionism, Roleplay, Medical Play, and Public Sex.
Repurposing an old thing I wrote and never used into some extremely risky Abigail and Michelle fun! The thrill of being publicly used, the thrill of being caught, the thrill of hating your dumb girlfriend for all the shit she puts you through, and the thrill of hating yourself for relishing in whatever she deigns to give you, cute antics, rough use, frantic heartbeats and heartfelt smooches, this one has it all!
Michelle sits up ramrod straight. “What the fuck are you doing, Abbi? You can’t be back here.”
“Somebody already did all the Highlights crosswords in the waiting room, I got bored.” Abbi crosses the small room, dropping a hand to Michelle’s leg. “I figured I’d see if I could catch my hot girlfriend already in the stirrups.”
Michelle hisses between her teeth as Abbi gropes firmly against her knee, grin brightening by the megawatt. “Quit playing around,” she says.
“Oh please, you said this place always keeps you waiting an hour, minimum.” Abbi says, glancing at the clock on the wall. Her hands rove upward and upward, tracing along the line of Michelle’s thigh. “By my count, you’ve got thirty-seven minutes left.”
Michelle shifts her hips in response to Abbi’s aggressive touch, willing against all wills to drain some of the storming heat from her cheeks—no luck there, she’s red as a nuclear disaster. “H-hey…”
Abbi’s palm cups against Michelle’s crotch through her pants, nails scraping in gradual effort through the rough material of her corduroys. “Yeah?” She asks.
Michelle fidgets, letting out a dull moan as Abbi’s fingers spear inward, pressing her clothing up against her wakening pussy.
“What’s the matter?” Abbi asks. “Cat got your tongue?”
She parts her lips, urging her brain to say something smart, resourceful, quippy, anything. But before she can formulate a reply, Abbi turns on her heels, tromping over to the door and turning its lock with a sharp ‘click!’
“Abbi…” Michelle’s legs press together at the lack of her girlfriend’s touch. She squeezes her fingers down against her knee, biting her lip. “Come on, we can’t…”
Spinning back to look at Michelle, Abbi dusts a hand through her black pixie cut—a little on the shaggy side—her snub nose crinkles, and the freckled dimples on her cheeks fade as her grin morphs into a pair of sternly pressed lips. “Please miss,” Abbi says, tapping the nameplate pinned to her pilfered lab coat with a glossy fingernail. Beneath the laminated surface it reads ‘Brenda.’
Michelle wrinkles her nose, glancing towards the now-locked door. You know what? If the appointment’s at 1:00 PM, maybe the doctor should be ready at 1:00 PM, that’s all she’s saying. As “Brenda” levels that stern gaze at her, Michelle finds less and less reason to resist the pounding in her chest, and the aching pinch between her legs. She frets her lip.
“Fine,” she says. “Sorry, Brenda.”