When I woke up the next morning, I was instantly confused. Billie was clinging tightly to me, as usual, but my back hurt. Actually, fucking everything hurt.
I blinked up at the ceiling, not seeing Bill's four poster bed, and remembered. We were on the living room floor. And I was extremely hungover.
"Kill me," Billie whimpered. "I want to die."
I tried to sit up. "Welcome to the world of tequila."
"I hate this world," she whined, and pulled the pillow over her head. "Why did you bring me here?"
"It seemed like a really good idea at the time," I muttered, scratching my head. "But I guess it usually does."
I sat for a moment, wondering if I should throw up or make pancakes, when my eyes fell on Claire's bedding on the couch. She wasn't in it. I stared, confused.
And then I remembered. "Oh, my god."
"What?" Billies voice came muffled from under the pillow.
"Nothing," I muttered. I'd tell her later, when she wasn't in so much physical pain.
I got up and padded to the kitchen, head pounding, and got a glass of water. I took a sip, and immediately spit it back up in the sink. I paused for a moment, breathing heavy through the nausea until it passed. Then I took another sip, and it stayed down.
I checked both bathrooms for Claire, but couldn't find her. Then I saw Shark running around outside, and went to the glass French doors leading out to the pool. Claire was sitting alone in the shade of the patio. I opened the door and went out.
Shark ran to me, and I patted him. Claire looked up. She'd been scribbling something in a little notebook on her lap, and as I approached she closed it.
"Hey," I said, squinting at her. "How ya feeling?"
Her face was a little splotchy from drinking, or possibly from crying. I hoped it wasn't the latter.
"I've had worse mornings," she said wryly. "But... still pretty shitty."
I nodded. "Me too. And Bill."
"Is she okay?"
I nodded. "Yeah. I mean, she probably feels worse than us. But she's alright."
"Not a lot of hangover experience, huh?" She chuckled.
I shook my head, smiling. "Nope."
We existed in awkward silence for a moment. Then —
"Claire, I—"
"I just wanna—"
We laughed quietly. "You first," I said.
She looked down at her notebook. "I shouldn't have kissed you. I care so much about Billie and I really... like you. It was a dick move, and I'm sorry."
I nodded at her apology, staring at my feet while I thought through what I was going to say. She waited patiently.
"I need you to know that if you hadn't kissed me, I would've kissed you."
I looked up, and her eyebrows were raised.
"Oh," she said, her voice low. "That's... wait why did you need me to know that? I could've gone on not knowing that and —"
I shook my head. "I want to be honest. It doesn't make my feelings right. But I want to be... transparent. You weren't the only one at fault. You shouldn't feel like you are."
Claire let out a breath. "I—"
But Billie opened the patio door and stuck her head out. She was wrapped up in the duvet. She looked terrible; well, she looked as terrible as she could look, which was still better than me on a good day, in my opinion.
Mostly she just looked sick.
"I would like to let you know that I hate you both, deeply, and I'm going to go throw up in the shower now," she announced.
Claire and I looked at one another and busted up laughing.
"Thanks for the info, baby," I choked out.
She nodded, and I felt bad at the green tint of her face as she leaned against the door frame.
"Oh, and Claire?" Though she was pale and on the verge of barfing, a sneaky little smile was spreading across her face.
Claire slowly stopped laughing and tried to catch her breath. "Yeah?"
"I'll let it slide one time because it was fucking sexy, but next time we hang... maybe don't kiss my girlfriend, okay?"
I whipped my head toward Claire, my mouth hanging open. She took one look at me and knew I hadn't told. So Billie hadn't been sleeping when Claire had kissed me last night.
Claire took a breath and nodded, slowly. "Yeah. Sorry, dude."
Billie smirked, and gave a little shrug. "Or maybe at least, like... ask me first?" She grinned at her and went back into the house.
I watched her, biting back laughter, and looked back at Claire. Her face was in her hands and her ears were beet red. "I've never been so embarrassed in my entire life."
"At least you know my girlfriend isn't gonna kick your ass," I said, chuckling lightly. Then I sighed as my stomach rolled. "I'm making pancakes. You want some?"
Claire gagged, covering her mouth. She held up her hand for a moment, and I waited.
Finally, she lowered her hand, took a breath, and nodded. "Yeah, okay."
Billie insisted on having Claire stay with us, even though she'd planned to stay in a hotel until we left for Europe.
"We're gonna be in nothing but hotels and a stinky bus for a month. You should stay in a house with real food and creature comforts for a few days."
She'd asked me first, and though I had reservations about it, I'd agreed. I wanted Claire to be comfortable. She was, after all, becoming a good friend of mine.
Both women were in the final frenzy before leaving, doing rehearsals every day with their bands and crew. Billie also had lots of final wardrobe choices to make, and other planning for interviews and such while we were overseas.
I was unbelievably bored. I had projects I was working on, but I could only put in so many hours a day. I didn't want to start any new house projects until we got back, in case I couldn't finish them. And I'd read all my books.
"You can borrow the car if you want," Billie said one morning as she got ready and I whined from the bed. "Go get more books. Or clothes."
I didn't need more clothes. I'd raided the closet, and Billie and I wore so much of the same stuff at this point we might as well share a wardrobe.
"Ooo," Billie suddenly turned. "Go get some slutty outfits and model them for me later."
I rolled my eyes. "Are you a frat boy?"
"No, just a normal woman who wants to fuck another woman who is wearing a slutty outfit. Is there something wrong with that?"
I sighed. "You'll really let me borrow the car?"
"Of course," she went back to her makeup. "Just be nice to her, and tell her that she's pretty."
I got ready quickly, and together we left the bedroom to head out to the car. Claire was laying on the couch watching SpongeBob.
"You alright, dude?" Billie asked, eyebrow raised.
"Yep, chillin'."
She was eating chips. It was 9 am.
"No rehearsal?" I asked them both.
"Not today," Billie muttered. "I have wardrobe and scheduling. Claire's off."
Claire hung her head backwards off the arm of the couch to look at me. "What're you doing?"
"I'm going book hunting. Wanna come?"
Billie whispered, "And the outfits. Don't forget the outfits." I swatted her.
Claire sighed. "Yeah, okay. Give me five minutes."
Billie and I went to wait in the car, me getting in the drivers seat, and her waiting by the passenger, ready to fold the seat forward so Claire could get in the back. She opened the door and stuck her head in.
"You gonna cheat on me today, baby?" She grinned cheekily.
"Yeah, I'm gonna give her the same treatment I gave you right here... remember?" I patted the seat.
The smirk dropped slightly off her face, and I knew she was picturing us racing down the freeway, my fingers buried inside her. "Why is that hotter than the outfits?"
I laughed. "Okay, what kind of outfits are we talking about here, Bill?"
She licked her lower lip. "I don't know. We never did try the teacher and schoolgirl dynamic. Fuck... you'd be so sexy in a pencil skirt. Damn."
I laughed again. "So, if Claire and I together in your car is hotter than the outfits... just imagine schoolgirl Claire in the backseat. Knee socks, plaid skirt..."
"Baby," she groaned, and hid her face, now red, against her arm on the doorframe. "Why do you do this to me."
"Also, in this fantasy I would really prefer Claire to be a college student, or this could get creepy. So, maybe like an all women's private college in the 50s. You know, with the little sweaters and the pointy tits?"
Billie just whimpered.
Claire opened the door and entered the garage, looking both disheveled and mildly put together. Which, as I studied her, I realized was sort of how she always looked.
"Alright lesbians, let's bounce," she said halfheartedly, putting her giant black sunglasses on.
She stopped beside Billie, lowering her head into the car to look at me. She stuck her thumb out in Billie's direction. "What'd you do to her?"
"First day of school, sweetie. She's just nervous."
"Oh, god," Billie groaned.
After we dropped Billie off, Claire and I pulled up to a cozy looking bookstore that had an independent coffee shop attached.
We got coffee first, and started browsing. Claire was sullen.
"Are you on drugs?" I asked her, peering at her pale face. "You can tell me."
Claire sighed. "I wish."
I hesitated, slowing in the classic fiction section. "Are you...okay? For real."
She leaned her back against a shelf and stared at her coffee cup. "I have, um, mental health shit. I tend to get... kinda low, sometimes? And being away from home and my dog, I don't do super well. It can be really hard to be on tour. And we haven't even started yet."
I waited, but she didn't say anything else. I reached over and squeezed her hand. She looked at fingers, her cheeks pink and her eyes watery.
"Anything you need, I'm here. I really mean that. Okay?"
She nodded, still looking at our hands. "Thanks."
"What helps?" I wished she'd look at me.
"Um," she dropped my hand and wiped at her eyes roughly. "What you're doing. Thanks."
I nodded, and turned to look at the bookshelf in front of me, giving her space.
After a moment, she asked, "What kind of books do you usually read?"
I shrugged. "Lots of different kinds. I really like this stuff." I waved my hand in front of me at the collection of classics.
"I like to read, too," she said quietly. "But I don't do it enough."
"Oh, have you read this?" I pulled down Jane Eyre from the shelf above my head and handed it to her.
She shook her head. "Never."
"It's kind of wild," I said, taking it back from her and admiring the heavy cover. "Jane is one of my favorite characters of all time. Especially one of my favorite women in a book. She's so tough, so intelligent."
I looked at Claire, and tilted my head. "You're kind of a Jane Eyre."
"Yeah?" She smiled softly, her dimple showing. I reached out and put my thumb in it, like I'd done to Billie a thousand times.
"Yeah," I smiled, and went back to my browsing.
Claire hung near me while I looked. Every now and then she'd pick up a book, read the back, and set it back down. I finally lost her in the tiny music history corner, sitting on the floor with a big volume about an old recording studio in Memphis.
I finished my coffee, and kept browsing. Soon I had a huge collection now of at least a dozen books, and my arms couldn't handle it anymore. I went back to the music area, where she was still sitting on the floor. I dropped down beside her with my pile, and laid them out in front of me.
"Shit," Claire stared. "Save some for other people."
"No," I chuckled. "Plus I'm not buying all these. They won't fit in my suitcase."
I started carefully dissecting each book, reading the blurb on the back or inside jacket, and in some cases taking my time with the prologue.
"Why do I get the feeling this is a regular thing for you?" Claire asked, looking up from a book on The Beatles.
"Ooo, how's that?" I pointed at it.
She laughed. Then she reached out and picked out a book from the pile; Jane Eyre.
"Hey, I thought you'd read this."
"I have," I murmured, going back to the prologue of a Neil Gaiman I hadn't read yet. "Several times, and I own an antique copy."
"Then why buy it?"
"It's for you," I said, shrugging.
"Oh," she murmured. "You're getting it for me?"
"Yeah," I said. I looked up at her. "Is that okay?"
"I mean, yeah," she said, and I noticed her cheeks were pinker than usual. "But... it looks like, a lot of book."
I smiled. "You don't have to read it. But in case you want to, you'll have it."
She was flipping the pages, reading bits and pieces. Her brow furrowed; she felt intimidated.
"May I see?" I held my hand out and she put the book into it.
I flipped through the chapters, looking for a specific passage. I found it, and looked up at her curious face.
"Okay, so Jane is an orphan, right? And she's been treated horribly her whole childhood, and is sent to a truly sadistic orphanage where all the adults there are also horrible to her. But Jane is tough, hard, won't break no matter what. While she's there, she meets an older girl named Helen who treats her with love and kindness and has this really beautiful attitude despite all the harshness around her. And right when Jane is at her breaking point, being punished by having to stand on a stool to be mocked and humiliated, this happens..."
I cleared my throat, and Claire leaned forward, listening.
"'What my sensations were no language can describe; but just as they all rose, stifling my breath and constricting my throat, a girl came up and passed me: in passing, she lifted her eyes. What a strange light inspired them! What an extraordinary sensation that ray sent through me! How the new feeling bore me up! It was as if a martyr, a hero, had passed a slave or victim, and imparted strength in the transit. I mastered the rising hysteria, lifted up my head, and took a firm stand on the stool. Helen Burns asked some slight question about her work of Miss Smith, was chidden for the triviality of the inquiry, returned to her place, and smiled at me as she again went by. What a smile! I remember it now, and I know that it was the effluence of fine intellect, of true courage; it lit up her marked lineaments, her thin face, her sunken grey eye, like a reflection from the aspect of an angel. Yet at that moment Helen Burns wore on her arm "the untidy badge;" scarcely an hour ago I had heard her condemned by Miss Scatcherd to a dinner of bread and water on the morrow because she had blotted an exercise in copying it out. Such is the imperfect nature of man! such spots are there on the disc of the clearest planet; and eyes like Miss Scatcherd's can only see those minute defects, and are blind to the full brightness of the orb.'"
Claire sat back as I finished, and blinked.
I smiled at her, a little shy now. "Did you... like it?"
She nodded slowly. "Yes."
"Good," I laughed quietly, and put the book back in the pile, picking up another.
"You read that... so beautifully," she murmured. "It was like a performance. Each word was so moving. You have a gift, Lucy."
I blushed. "I've read that passage a thousand times, that's all."
I kept flipping through books, more overwhelmed than ever. Her face was so sincere when she'd complimented my reading; it touched something deep in my core. Her soft gaze, her warm words... I was distracted now, feeling her eyes on me. I stopped my flipping, clutching a pocket collection of Monet's works in my hands.
"Just get them all," she said. "You don't have to take them all on tour. Billie has shelf space."
I stared at her; I had forgotten that I would soon no longer live in a tiny apartment, and there were built ins in the office. "Shit, you're right."
After the bookstore, we hit a thrift store nearby and shopped for a while before picking up Billie. Claire climbed to the backseat when she got in the car, and we headed for home.
Shark was excited to see us, but especially me. Billie was pissed.
"Just remember who rescued you, you little runt," she growled at him, kissing his face.
"But I'm the one home all day," I grinned, and she scowled. "I'm gonna put this stuff away."
"Im gonna shower," Claire said, heading to the guest bathroom. "Maybe take a nap."
"Have fun in there," Billie grinned, holding up her hand and wiggling her fingers.
Claire shot her the finger.
I headed to the bedroom with my shopping bags, and Billie followed.
"What'd you get?" she asked, stretching. She collapsed onto the bed to watch me, yawning huge as she did.
"Books," I said, yawning after her. I dumped the heavy bag out beside her on the bed.
"Jesus, woman," she said, and rolled onto her side to look at them. "They need their own suitcase."
I leaned down and kissed her. "Most will stay here, on the very empty shelves in the office."
She grinned at me. "Cutie movin' in!"
I laughed. "Get ready to be overtaken by literature."
"I love it," she kept smiling widely, and rolled onto her back. "Okay, what's in the other bags."
"Close your eyes," I muttered, poking her leg as I started undressing.
Her eyes widened, then she squeezed them shut tight. "Outfits?!"
I chuckled as I sifted through the other bag. At the thrift store, I'd found a simple black pencil skirt with a small slit in the back, and a tight white blouse to go with it. I slipped into both, buttoning up the blouse and tucking it in, while Billie wiggled around impatiently with her eyes shut.
"Okay," I said, feeling silly and more than a little too femme. "Ready."
She slowly opened one eye, then the other.
I held up my hands. "Ta da. I'm qualified to teach at a 50s college for girls."
Billie sat up and reached for my waist, pulling me to her. "Yum."
"More like weird."
"No," she shook her head, eyes wide. Hands on my hips, she swiveled me to face the mirror above the dresser. "Look."
I looked, but I didn't get it. My tits were practically hanging out, the blouse being too tight, so sure, there was that. My hair was in a messy bun at the nape of my neck, which I supposed added to the teacher look. And the skirt... was tight. Too tight.
I studied my reflection, and decided that if the roles were reversed, I'd already be stripping her. Okay, I got it.
Billies hands were running up and down my frame, and my breath hitched. I hoped she was about to strip me.
But she got up suddenly, said, "don't move," and hurried into the closet. Oh, this better be good.
I was wildly uncomfortable. A tight blouse and an even tighter skirt were definitely not my normal vibe. How did women work in these? It felt anti-feminist.
I turned back around and perched my ass ungracefully on the dresser; the skirt was so tight I could barely move. I shimmied the fabric down as much as I could, but my thighs were pressed tight together. How was she going to get in there? I shivered with anticipation.
"Baby, hurry up. Class is starting."
She laughed and I heard the sound of clothing hitting the floor, hangers getting pushed across the bar. I sighed.
After another minute, she came out. "Had to break out an oldie for this."
My jaw nearly hit the floor.
She was wearing a simple, white button up Oxford shirt, like a baggy version of what I was wearing. Under it was a red and black plaid mini skirt, and a pair of knee high black combat boots.
"Holy shit," I muttered, gripping the dresser.
"Am I late, Ms. Lucy?" she asked sweetly, biting her lip. She'd thrown her hair into long, Baby Spice pigtails, and I squirmed.
"Bill," I choked out, reaching for her. "I can't act, please just let me fuck you."
She shook her head, pigtails bouncing, running her hands down her thighs. "Nope, we're role playing, baby."
I groaned. "Some of us didn't grow up with acting parents, this is my nightmare."
"This is?" She murmured, unbuttoning the top buttons of her blouse.
I froze, mesmerized by her fingers as they worked down the shirt. Creamy skin appeared beneath them, and I could just see the hint of red lace. Then she stopped.
"Ah ah ah. What's my punishment for being late, Ms. Lucy?"
I closed my eyes. Fuck.
Defeated, I moved forward and put my hands on her waist. I gripped it firmly, feeling the heat from her skin beneath her shirt. "You're not just late... your skirt is too short."
She smirked at me. "It is?"
"Yes," I murmured, and slid my hand down her body to touch her thighs, landing on a spot a few inches above her knee. "Your hemline should be here."
She tilted her head. "And?"
"And," I breathed, trailing my hand up her thigh, stopping not at her actual hem, but several inches above it. "It's here."
"But Ms. Lucy," she grinned at me. "That's much higher than where my skirt ends."
My hand kept going, up between her legs, finding that she wasn't wearing anything under the skirt. She was dripping, her thighs already wet. I suppressed a groan.
"Billie, what have I told you about wearing underwear to class?"
She snorted and I suppressed a laugh.
"To... not to?"
"Exactly," I said into her neck, chuckling. "Bill, just turn around so I can fuck you already."
"Yes, ma'am," she busted up laughing now, turning around and leaning over the bed, her ass up in the air. I stopped and marveled at it beneath the skirt.
"Baby," I whispered. "How is your ass like this?"
She laid her head down on the bed, completely bent over, and looked up at me. She gave me a cheeky grin. "Does teacher like?"
I pushed the skirt up and spanked her, firmly. "Yes."
She bit her lip and gave me that heavy gaze. "Get the strap."
I nodded and pulled it from a drawer in the dresser. I turned back to her, and stared down at my own skirt. "Baby, I gotta take this skirt off, I can't move."
"Noooo," she groaned. "Come on, baby, just push it up. Please?"
I tried sliding it up, but it wouldn't go above my thighs. "I'm too thick, babe."
Billie rolled her eyes and pushed herself up. "Wait, let me see."
We struggled, laughing breathlessly. Then she turned me around so we both faced the mirror, and in the reflection I saw a lightbulb go on in her head. Uh oh.
She pushed me up against the dresser and smirked at me in the mirror. She bent me forward, pushing me down, until my hands leaned on the dresser, my shoulder against the mirror. I felt her hands behind me on the skirt, then heard a loud rip. I gasped.
"What'd you do?!"
She laughed. "How much was it, $4? I'll owe you, baby."
"It was $8, this is LA."
She chuckled, then I felt her hands slide up the back of my thighs, landing on my ass and gripping it.
"Change of plans, baby," she murmured. "The teacher is the naughty one today. She needs to get fucked."
A shiver ran down my spine. "I like this idea, but..." I was thinking of her ass under that plaid skirt. I wanted it.
"We'll take turns, baby. Me first." She was already buckling the strap on. She slid her hand between my thighs, where my panties were already soaked. She pulled them down over my thighs, then positioned the strap behind me and began easing it into me. "Baby, you're drenched."
"It's your fucking skirt," I moaned, leaning my head against the mirror.
Now I could see her behind me, her face focused on the point where the dick was entering me, her lip between her teeth. She was flushed, her cheeks pink, lust heavy on her face. Beneath the tiny plaid skirt, I could see the black leather harness for the strap, tight across her skin.
What a view.
"Baby," I murmured, and she looked up. I nodded at our reflection, and she gazed intently at us. A slow smirk spread across her lips.
"You're so kinky, baby."
I wanted to protest, considering this entire kinky thing was her idea, but the strap was stroking me at just the right spot, her timing perfect. I moaned deeply and my eyes fell shut. I concentrated on breathing while she picked up the pace.
Her hand slid up my back, and I felt it close around the bun at the nape of my neck. She gripped it and pulled back, so my neck arched back and my eyes opened. "Ms. Lucy, do you like it when I fuck you?"
"Yes," I gasped. I watched her in the mirror, her eyes heavy as she watched us, too. "It feels so good."
With her free hand, she reached for my blouse, ripping the buttons open. They bounced on the dresser with a satisfying sound.
Then her hand moved down my stomach, pulling the ruined skirt up so she could get to my clit.
"Am I good student?" She murmured, and I groaned, my eyes rolling up in my head. She pulled back farther on my bun so my neck arched painfully. "Answer me."
I panted, trying to focus while she fucked me relentlessly, stroking me exactly how I liked it. "Y-yes. You're my, mmm, best student, Billie."
Within another minute of her touching me, her hand still gripping my hair firmly, I was coming, yelling, pressed against the mirror while she fucked me harder.
"Oh, fuck," I groaned into the glass.
Billie panted, resting against my back, then slowly eased out of me. She pulled the ruined blouse from my body, and turned me around to kiss my chest, my throat, my mouth.
"Your turn, teach. Punish me for this hemline."