Lady Lucia
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Annabelle & Bridget, Part Ten
🕑 Added 2024-09-13 02:27:23 +0000 UTCMy eyes widened at the time limit suddenly thrust upon me.
If it were water, I could probably knock back a glass this size in a matter of seconds. Wine was a whole different story. However, I didn’t have any time to think about it, and I definitely didn’t want Bridget abusing my nipples in such a way. I started drinking as quickly as I could, wincing slightly at the bitterness and trying to ignore the feeling of Bridget’s hands on my chest.
“Nine . . . Eight . . . ” She paired each number with a squeeze.
I could feel the wine entering my system surprisingly quickly. Not that I was instantly tipsy or anything; it was more an unfamiliar warmth caused by how I was chugging what was supposed to be a sipping drink. Also, was Bridget’s counting getting faster? I couldn’t stop to complain about it, or I’d never finish the glass before she reached zero. Closing my eyes, I pushed myself to speed up as well.
Bridget kept going, not at all trying to hide how the space between her numbers was getting smaller. “Five. Four. Three-Two-One.”
Managing to empty the glass in time, just barely thanks to Bridget giving me less time along the way, I let out an uncomfortable cough after the last swallow. I could taste the wine in my nose, and felt a little bit lightheaded as well. Hesitantly opening my eyes, half expecting Bridget to pinch me anyway, I did my best to will away the eyewater caused by the cough. There was no risk of crying; I just didn’t want to appear even more vulnerable than I already was.
“Good girl,” Bridget said. Rather than pinching, her fingers brushed over my nipples in the way that she had done earlier with one of my breasts. “Now, kiss me.”
This time, I didn’t hesitate. Maybe it was the placebo effect of my inhibitions being lowered mere seconds after polishing off a glass of wine, or how I was subtly turned on from Bridget’s groping. That, and the fact that this was the second time my former rival had demanded such a thing from me. Kissing Bridget meant that I was brave, while shying away from doing so meant getting reprimanded and/or punished. So I went for it, leaning in and locking lips with her more firmly than the tentative peck from earlier.
Bridget didn’t hesitate, either. Rather than teasing away and making me do all the work like she had before I had been sent to get them a snack, she dove right in. Giving my breasts an effective squeeze, she began deeply making out with me.
I wasn’t prepared for the instant intensity. Doing my best to keep up, this time instinctively lifting my arms and holding Bridget’s sides, I kissed her back as I tried and failed to stay grounded. Just a few days ago, I had never done anything with girls aside from a dared peck. Now I was making out with the last girl in the world I would expect to be intimate with, and so soon after doing the same with yet another girl I shouldn’t have been exploring with. I couldn’t deny that Bridget’s lips felt nearly as good as Annabelle’s, and she definitely knew what she was doing with her hands. Was the warmth in my core still from the wine, or from the pleasurable sensations on my chest?
The only thing that was really keeping me tethered to reality was the fact that I was nearly naked and Bridget was fully clothed. That, and the fact that we were doing this in the middle of a well lit room with Annabelle watching. I could only be so clouded by lust when I was constantly nervous and unsure about how so many things had snowballed and developed so quickly.
Even so, I melted into the kiss and pulled her in slightly as she drew more and more passion from me. I even caught myself fiddling with the hem of her top; my subconscious apparently felt compelled to have Bridget match my state of undress, since that’s generally how things went when it came to intimacy.
It could have been ten seconds or ten minutes before Bridget broke things off herself. Nudging my nose with hers to signal that we were actually done, which I probably needed, she pulled back and murmured, “Mere . . . You’re so hot when you’re obedient.”
Those words were familiar. Annabelle’s, maybe? I couldn’t remember. For the moment, I was just catching my breath and realizing that my cheeks were flushed now that I could breathe again. As for my voice, that was nowhere to be found. My throat was a little dry from the wine, not to mention that I really hadn’t been hydrating that much since arriving so many hours ago. But mostly, I couldn’t think of anything to say. This was Bridget. There should have been any number of snarky comments on the tip of my tongue, yet I was supposed to be treating her like she was on Annabelle’s level in terms of how I addressed her. What, then? Thanking her for saying something like that? I couldn’t bring myself to do that; the Meredith from before all this was still there, somewhere in the back of my mind. I had lost enough of my dignity to Bridget already. Surely I could hold onto some shred of the girl who was supposed to be better than who I had tried to keep Annabelle from.
Thankfully, Bridget didn’t wait for a reply. She pulled back, leaving me once again cold and exposed, and circled behind me. Placing her hands on my shoulders and turning me slightly to face the redhead on the sofa who I had blurred out since the beginning of the make-out session, Bridget murmured in my ear, “Arms down, Mere.”
As if being faced with Annabelle all over again wasn’t enough, I also had to deal with the fact that her hand was up the skirt of the dress. Ever the confident girl–or shameless, perhaps–she didn’t bother changing positions now that we were both looking at her. “That was quite the show,” she smirked. “And you’re right, Bridget; Mere is much more pretty when she’s obedient.” Her voice was controlled, and she didn’t look like she was close to the edge. Just idly touching herself throughout all that, maybe? It was difficult to tell.
“She’s a decent kisser, too,” Bridget said. She gave my shoulders a light squeeze, “But I don’t want to have all the fun. Do you want a turn, babe?”
“You’re not going to get jealous, are you?” Annabelle asked.
Bridget scoffed. “Jealous of Mere? Never.”
As I blushed more deeply, Annabelle said, “Mere, come. Last I checked, you owe me an orgasm.”
