Sunset ^beta

She was right. The cloud *did* look like a rabbit. Staring up, she saw the sky was mostly clear, save for a few wispy, white clouds like the one Margaret was pointing at. Huge, green catalpa leaves shaded the part of the field her colorful quilt was laid out in. The afternoon was gorgeous; warm summer air cut by a gentle, cool breeze washed over Joyce and reminded her just how lucky she was to be here.

A few weeks earlier, her best friend Margaret had finally broken it off with her fiancé, Edwin. Joyce had never liked the "man," if you could call him that. He was rough with her, demanding of her time and energy, and had a short temper after a few drinks, which was most evenings. The two had been on and off since they were in high school and now, a few months post-graduation, Joyce was thrilled to see her closest friend smiling and enjoying life once again. In fact, the day she cut him off for good, the weather seemed to turn in their favor. Replaced by the full, pink blooms of redbud trees, the dreary, dull nights of winter were far behind them now.

She gazed at Margaret when she could, stealing glances as the day wore on. The floral pattern in her blouse matched some of the patches in the quilt they sat on and Joyce recognized the shirt as one Margaret had made herself. Soft pink flowers dotted the fabric, making it feel like the perfect springtime accessory. Joyce had always preferred the shirts Margaret made herself to ones bought at the shop; they fit her better and seemed to cinch her in all the right places, not to mention her impeccable stitches. Her blouse was tucked into a light green skirt she wore, crisp white canvas shoes tied neatly around her feet.

Margaret kept her hair short. Dark curls fell just above the nape of her neck and a matching pink headband was wrapped around her head. Loose, curly bangs sat propped up and voluminous, framing her face perfectly. A shiny white pearl earring glinted as rays of sunshine leaked in through gaps in the leaves. Her skin was bronzed and warm, darker than Joyce's own, though they had similar body shapes and often found themselves sharing clothes.
Especially in the last few weeks.

Earlier in the month, Joyce was startled by the sound of banging on her front door while she was doing her dishes. Dropping and breaking the glass she was cleaning, she grabbed a sharp kitchen knife and cautiously moved across her small bungalow to the front door, nervous to see who could be pounding on it like that. Peeking through her peep hole, she saw the familiar, petite figure of Margaret and while normally, she would be thrilled at the sight, she could immediately tell something was wrong.

The normal, jovial smile that usually traveled everywhere with Margaret was worrisomely missing and her left eye was swollen, almost to the point it was shut. Setting the knife down on a nearby table, Joyce quickly unlocked the chain and deadbolt on her door, yanking it open to face her best friend. Margaret looked *so* relieved when she saw Joyce's face and immediately, the two women were embracing in Joyce's doorway and sobs from Margaret echoed across her dim front yard.

Joyce had always gotten a bad feeling from Margaret's fiancé. Even in high school, Edwin was a known womanizer and had been unfaithful to Margaret on more than one occasion. She began to notice in their senior year that Margaret began applying heavier makeup than she had before and had taken a liking to turtlenecks, even when the weather grew warmer. Joyce butted in as soon as she noticed, asking Margaret why she would put up with someone like him.

"He doesn't mean it."
"Oh, he's not always like this!"
"He has his good days."

Joyce saw through it. She put the picture together in no time. Edwin was a large man who towered over both of them and was an easy 100 pounds heavier. Though she could tell Margaret *wanted* to talk to her and open up, Joyce could practically see how taut her friends skin grew around the hooks that Edwin had sunk into her. Their senior year should've been one of the best, but Margaret became more withdrawn and stopped going out to social events, leaving Joyce on her own to attend dances and soirées. She didn't mind, though, she just wished for Margaret's happiness, even if it was at the hands of an abusive oaf.

Joyce would spend the summer with her parents, eager to start school again in the fall. She was set to attend a local community college and would move into a small bungalow she inherited from a great aunt on her own for the school year. Just days after graduation, Margaret and Edwin moved into their own apartment near downtown, not far from the campus Joyce would be frequenting. Not long after this move, Joyce stopped hearing from her friend. Before, the two chatted on the phone for hours at a time and spent nights together doing each other's nails and hair. Now, Joyce was lucky to get a nod from her in the grocery store, leaving her to wonder if she had done something wrong. Even her parents noticed, asking quietly over family dinners what had happened between her and Margaret. She gave them vague answers and quietly mourned the closest friend she had ever had.

Now, squeezing Margaret closer to her chest, Joyce scanned her front yard and fence line for any lurking eyes; she wouldn't put it past Ed to have followed her here. Not seeing anyone, Joyce pulled Margaret through the door and into her house, triple locking it behind them. This was the first time she had seen Marge in months and she looked totally shell-shocked, similarly to how her dad had looked growing up. Margaret stared at her silently with wide, weepy eyes and Joyce gazed back, gnawing on her bottom lip to keep the smile that was creeping up her throat at bay. She was worried for her friend, of course, she looked terrible, but she couldn't help but feel elation as she started to realize that this could be *it.* She might leave Edwin for good. At that moment, Joyce decided her schooling could wait and her primary focus shifted to helping Margaret.

That was a little over two weeks ago and so far, the two had done a good job of hiding Margaret away. Edwin didn’t know where Joyce lived as far as the two knew, so they did their best to keep her out of sight while they came up with a plan. The transitionary period had been.. bittersweet. Her friend was obviously very hurt and going through a lot, but really? When you examined each day, it felt like a prolonged sleepover, rife with youthful bliss. They listened to records and spoke of current events. Joyce talked Margaret's ear off about the literature she was reading in college. Joyce made her bed every night with two extra pillows and doted on Margaret constantly until her eye had mostly healed. After which, Margaret refused to be tended to without returning the favor, picking up chores around the house that Joyce had not asked her to. Life was simple. There was fear, yes, knowing that Edwin could be lurking around any corner, just waiting, but they refused to let it rule them. They enjoyed this time together. A deep sense of dread crept into Joyce as the days went on, though. It was too good to be true, as far as she was concerned. Something was bound to happen, he was sure to show up eventually. And then he did.

She was alone, thankfully, getting her car serviced at a local shop. Joyce stepped up to the counter to pay for the work, her short heels clicking against the tile. The mechanic narrowed his eyes at the sight of such a young woman acting as independently as her, but took her money nonetheless, offering a receipt with a semi-forced smile. She returned the expression, grinning facetiously at him before turning around, tucking the paper’s into her purse as she did. When she looked up, she was surprised to see Edwin standing just feet away from her, staring down at her as if he had been waiting for her. She was affronted, furrowing her eyebrows and scoffing as she moved to push past him.

"Nuh, uh, bitch. Where is she?" Edwin stepped in front of her, blocking her exit. He was imposing, but Joyce stood her ground. She didn't say anything, instead offering a shrug and a confused look as she tried to step around him. She narrowed her eyes in disgust as bile began to churn in her stomach. She stared directly into his eyes, glazed and wild with fury, and forced her wavering voice to firm as she spoke.

"I said I don't know, Ed."

A stinging jolt stunned her. Before she could even react to what had happened, the mechanic who checked her out moments ago was crossing the floor and sending his fist into the side of Edwin's bulbous head. She reached for her cheek, which felt hot to the touch. Tears of anger welled up in her eyes as the realization set in: this was no longer just Margaret's abuse. Something had to be done about his asinine behavior. Moving towards the door, she glanced back at the commotion taking place on the shop floor and saw the mechanic apologetically motion for her to leave, so she did. Rushing to her car where she pulled the visor down, she examined the palm shaped print stamped on her face briefly before reversing and flying out of the parking lot.

Her heart was racing. She wasn’t sure exactly what she should do or who she should tell. She had to stop herself from blowing through stop signs as she absent-mindedly sped through different neighborhoods. Eventually, she decided her best bet would be to go speak to her father, Richard. Joyce loved her father deeply, especially now that she wasn’t living at home. He hadn't been the greatest to her growing up, but had changed his ways as she got older. She was nervous he might take things too far and involve police without Margaret’s knowledge, but she hoped she could reason with him. Pulling into her parents driveway, she checked her face again. The deep red, welted handprint stuck to the side of her cheek would surely be enough to convince her father to listen.

She stepped out of the car and smoothed her skirt down, locking the door behind her. Taking a deep breath, she approached their front door and walked in slowly, careful not to scare her mother. Her father was seated in his favorite chair in the living room reading the daily paper and the sound of soft, cozy jazz played over a gently crackling fire. She did not see her mother. At the sound of her entrance, Richard folded the paper to look at her, a huge smile overtaking his face when he realized his daughter was dropping in for a surprise visit.

As Richard stood and walked towards her, Joyce turned her head away to hide the quickly bruising skin. He approached her and pulled her in for a hug, not yet noticing her avoidance. Pulling away, he placed his hands on her shoulders to look at her and she knew she could no longer hide. Steadying herself, she turned her head to face him. His smile dropped immediately.

“Who the hell did this?!” The panic in his voice scared her.. she had never heard him sound so worried and angry all at once. So desperate. With a deep sigh, she answered.

“I need your help, Dad.”

The two of them sat down and Joyce explained everything to him. The abuse Margaret had been facing, how she had run away, how Joyce was harboring her. How Edwin had publicly assaulted *her* today.

Her father was livid, as she expected. He threatened to call the police, also as she expected. But she stood fast and strong and her plan worked. She had come in and leveled with him, convincing him that it would be better to handle things… internally. It wouldn’t do anyone any good if the rumor mill started up about charges being filed, now would it? He was surprisingly receptive with her, up until her final question. Knowing it would be a risk, she batted her eyelashes and tried to play up how ‘totally scared’ she was.

“Um.. Before I go, I was just thinking…”
“Yes?”
“I think we might feel a little safer with some protection..”

Richard furrowed his eyebrows. She could tell he wasn’t liking the direction she was taking, but pressed on anyway.

“I just think think that.. Well, you know.. You taught me how to shoot when I was 12, dad. We would be safe with it, only for emergencies.”

He scoffed, obviously amused that Joyce had the gall to even ask.

“Absolutely not. You are not having a gun in your house alone,” he was trying to sound authoritative, but he knew she made solid points.

“You and mom left me alone with your guns when you went to see Aunt June last summer,” her combative answer made him glare back at her, milling over the options. Without answering, he turned and disappeared into his bedroom for several minutes. Joyce took this opportunity to feel her face again, the stinging sensation now replaced with a dull soreness. Looking into the mirror-polished window at her reflection, she could see that it was beginning to fade in intensity but would certainly leave a nasty bruise. She was startled by her father emerging from her parents room clutching a small item in his hands.

“Do not tell your mother. Do not let Margaret use it. Do not play with it. Keep it unloaded. Emergencies only.”

The message was clear. She nodded at him quietly before hugging him tightly. Taking the small caliber handgun carefully, she waved at her father before walking out of her parent's house, surprised by how dark it had gotten. She tucked the weapon into the glove compartment of her car and pulled out. Destined for her own home now, she was less than enthusiastic about having to break the news to Margaret about how things had gone sideways today.

The sun was rapidly sinking behind the horizon as a cold front began to set in. As she drove down the road leading to her bungalow, she saw a truck parked a few houses down that carried a sense of familiarity, though she did not recognize it outright. Seeing as she had grown more and more paranoid since Margaret moved in, she took note of it. She pulled into her driveway and parked the car, reaching over to grab the gun from her glovebox. Ensuring the safety was on, she tucked it into the waistband of her skirt and found her house key.

When she reached her door, however, it was unlocked and slightly ajar. Her heart sunk. She cautiously opened it and stepped inside, careful with her footing. She walked through her undisturbed living room and to the kitchen, where she found an overturned chair and a broken glass on the floor. Fully clutching the gun now, a curtain on her back door was blowing in the wind, which caught her eye. As she crept towards her backyard, she was horrified with the sight.

A massive figure stood over a cowering Margaret. There were small drops of blood on the ground already and Joyce knew she could no longer wait. Turning the safety off, she pulled back the hammer and discovered the weapon was unloaded. Realizing the revolver was useless, a heavy feeling settled in her stomach, like a ball of lead in a glass of water. She put the gun down and pressed her body against the wall to hide her shadow while she figured out a new plan.

She could hear Margaret weeping. The sound made her chest cave in. It made her feel hollow, like there was no point in existence. The sickeningly wet crunch of Edwin fists pummeling her followed. She could no longer take it. Now was the time to act.

Sneaking as quietly as she could, Joyce slipped out of the open door down the side of her house to where she kept her gardening tools. Grabbing the heaviest, largest shovel she could find, she walked quietly and swiftly across the yard, short heels sinking into soft dirt as she did. Margaret noticed her, their eyes locking for just a moment before an animalistic defense mechanism took over Joyce and she lost control of her movements.

The sound of his skull cracking was quieter than she had expected it to be. Her shovel connected with the back of his head and sent him falling to the ground immediately. Margaret rolled out of the way, eyes bruised and lips swollen, though not as beaten as Joyce had suspected. The two stared at Edwin who was motionless on the ground. His pupils were dilated and Joyce was pretty sure that was a sign of brain damage, not death. Still, he wasn’t moving and Joyce couldn’t see his chest rising so she sat down in the grass and stared at the lifeless body in front of her, panic stricken.

It was Margaret who reminded her she was even still a human. She stepped outside several minutes later with her dark curls tied back, different clothes and sturdy boots on, and carrying several items. She dropped the supplies on the ground and reached her hand out to Joyce, who took it thankful for the help. She couldn’t believe how resilient and strong Margaret was. She had just had her life almost taken from her and still, here she was leading the charge. Now, she sent Joyce inside to clean herself up. She did just that, washing her face and hands before putting on pants and some old, canvas shoes.

She joined Margaret back outside and was surprised to see how far into her plan she was. Edwin’s body was wrapped in several bed sheets and tied up with ropes at several points, a makeshift handle tied between all the knots. It was impressive. Joyce tried to push the thought of using her mother's bedsheets for this out of her mind, promising herself she'd replace them later. The world was spinning, so many possibilities could come of this. Joyce tried to think of how they would get out of this situation, but chose to follow Margaret’s lead as she began to speak.

“We need to get him out of here tonight. Can you drive?” Margaret was steady with her words, completely calm and collected, the total opposite of Joyce. Joyce felt... not real. Like she was watching her body move from a hidden corner across the yard. She nodded through the haze of her thoughts.

“Good, okay, good. I’m going to bring his truck around, we’ll put him in there.” Margaret started walking off before Joyce could answer. Desperate for an inkling of normalcy though, she sprung forward and grabbed Margaret’s wrist. Margaret whipped around, a brief glimpse of anger flashing over her face before she realized Joyce wasn't trying to harm her. Joyce felt her breathing grow heavier as the two stared at each other. She pulled Margaret into a tight embrace and grabbed fistfuls of her shirt as she buried her face in Margaret's neck and let out deep, guttural sobs. After a few moments, she knew she was wasting time and so, with a sniffle, she let go of Margaret who slipped out of the backyard and down the street towards Edwin's truck.

She pulled the large truck around and right up to Joyce’s wooden, busted back gate. Using all of their combined strength, they dragged his still corpse through the yard and to his own tailgate, flushed and out of breath by the time they got him there. A slug-like trail of flattened grass sat behind them. Knowing it would be a hard task to pick him up outright and put him in the car, the two stood him up and pushed him back into the bed of his truck, almost like a plank of wood. Once he was in, Joyce wiped the sweat from her eyebrow and closed the tailgate. She was glad the night was growing chillier, the feeling of the cool air on her sweaty skin grounded her.

Margaret left first, leaving Joyce to clean up the yard and her house before she would take her own car out of town. She spent the whole drive out to Thunder Gulch in a petrified silence, worried Margaret had been held up somewhere by authorities. She hadn't, though, and when Joyce arrived at the agreed upon meeting spot, the two set the last steps of Margaret’s plan in motion.

Thunder Gulch was beautiful in the daytime. It had several steep cliffs that dropped off into a deep, unforgiving river. At night time though, it was outright spooky. Massive pine trees loomed above them and the sounds of water crashing beneath them echoed throughout the valleys. Still, they were not finished here, so Joyce put her nervousness aside and helped Margaret move Edwin from the bed to the front seat, another arduous task. She could have sworn that for just a moment, she saw a tiny puff of a breath from under the layers of fabric, but she chose to ignore it and the two laid him down across the front row.

After helping secure him with the seat belts, Margaret disappeared, leaving Joyce alone. The moments by herself were terrifying. Everything felt so surreal. Was it actually happening? How was it happening? There’s no doubt they would get caught. She found herself quickly spiraling in the seconds of silence before Margaret returned. She approached carrying a large rock, one that looked almost too heavy for her to hold. She had driven his truck near the edge of one of the less frequented cliffs at Thunder Gulch, positioning it in a way that with the help of this rock, would soon send him careening into the slowly churning waters below.

Margaret sent Joyce away, instructing her to get back into her car. There was no need for both of them to see this and she had unfinished things to say to Edwin. Joyce didn’t argue, though she was less than excited about the time she would be spending alone in her car. Climbing back into the driver's seat of her small sedan, she felt like the sides of her car and the tall trees around them were closing in on her. She felt her own skin begin to cave in as her breathing picked up. On the verge of hyperventilating, she returned her focus to Margaret’s distant shape working under the moonlight. She moved methodically, like this plan had been in the works for longer than a few hours. Like she had meticulously thought out each step of it. Joyce couldn’t blame her, though she did still feel shaky and empty knowing she had taken someone’s life.

The taillights of the truck drew her attention and suddenly, Margaret was half-jogging back to her car as the truck moved slowly behind her towards the edge of the cliff. Time seemed to move in slow motion. She could see Margaret clearly running and yet, it took her a thousand years to actually reach her door. Yes, she saw Edwin’s truck approaching the edge of the cliff steadily, and yet? It hadn’t moved an inch. The sound of her passenger door opening startled her back to her senses.

Margaret climbed into the car and for the first time tonight, Joyce had a moment to really, truly look at her. Her skin was slick with sweat and it made her dark complexion look almost.. celestial. Deep, like the recesses of the cosmos themselves. Her eyes were wild and their normally pale green tone was visibly darker under the car’s dim, warm light. Her hair was wild, small strands had escaped the bun she had confined them to, frizzled from the winds. The damage Edwin had done wasn't deep, so while she did have a few cuts on her face and a slightly swollen eye, she was no worse off than Joyce herself.

Margaret seemed to be examining her, too, looking her up and down and drinking in the sight. She had never looked at Joyce this way, never shown this level of palpable hunger and desire before. They’d been friends for ever, spent countless nights in bed together, danced at parties and left lipstick stains on one another. But this… this was different.
Their noses were practically touching and though there was slight apprehension in her movements, Joyce decided to take the chance and act on the feelings she had hidden for as long as she could remember. Pushing herself forwards, her lips collided with Margaret’s and for a moment, both sets of eyes went wide at the sensation. Then, like falling into an old habit, the two closed their eyes and let their mouths do the heavy lifting.

It was sensational. Better than she had ever imagined. Margaret’s taste was sweet, though sweat had made it’s way onto her lips, providing a salty, sharp taste. Margaret was quick to want more, reaching her hands out to grab the side of Joyce’s face. Their kisses became more and more desperate, teeth bumping on one another's, lips being tugged at, tongues running every which way. It was like nothing Joyce had ever experienced, almost chimeric.

Margaret was the first to take it further, pulling Joyce towards the middle seat before straddling her and leaning into her to kiss her neck. Margaret’s tongue running down her neck made her shiver and the feeling of teeth clamping down on her earlobe made her gasp. She liked it though, and the intoxicating sound of Margaret giggling at her made Joyce feel drunk. Margaret reached down and lifted Joyce’s hands, placing them on her hips. She thought her heart might pound out of her chest. *God, the time she’d spent dreaming of this moment.*

Margaret’s hips were soft as she pressed her thumbs deep into the skin, Margaret already eagerly and desperately grinding on Joyce’s lap. The sight made her dizzy. Slowly, she worked her hands up her hips and onto her stomach, taking in every inch like she was making a topographical map to commit to memory. In a way, she was. She would never forget this moment.

Margaret helped her out, unbuttoning her blouse just inches from Joyce’s face. The white, lacy brasserie that sat beneath was nearly overflowing with her breasts and Joyce began to salivate at the sight of them. Like a horse drawn to water, she pressed her face into the soft skin of Margaret’s breasts, leaving a trail of small kisses up and down the seams of the bra and on her chest, collar bones, and shoulders. Margaret was enjoying herself; her head had fallen back and she hadn’t stopped pressing her hips into Joyce.

Joyce dragged her tongue across the fabric of the bra, teasing Margaret now. Every few moments, she would allow her tongue to cross over onto her skin and Margaret would let out a reactionary moan. It sounded like the most godly of choirs. She wanted to listen to it all day, every day. Deciding to take it one step further, but realizing they should get home soon, Joyce took a moment to quickly pull the cups Margaret’s bra down, exposing her breasts right in Joyce’s face. The large, round areolas looked delectable. She wanted to slurp them up and never let go. So, she did.

Margaret grabbed fistfuls of Joyce’s hair as her tongue swirled around her nipples, hardening them with her lips. Strings of spit pulled off as she moved to the other breast, holding both of them closely together in front of her. She was so soft, so cushiony and yet, Joyce wanted to tear her apart. After she’d spent a few minutes tasting what she would surely get more of later, she decided it was time to head back, to leave the scene. At Margaret’s dismay, she pulled the cups of her bra back over her achingly hard nipples and planted one more soft, intimate kiss on her mouth before speaking.

“We need to go, dear.”
Margaret pouted, obviously upset, but she understood.
“Hmmph. Okay. But I’m not done with you.”
Joyce smiled and let out a small chuckle, mumbling something under breath.

The windows were just a *little* fogged up inside her car. Her legs shook as Joyce slid back over into the driver seat and turned the ignition. The sight of the now empty cliff made her stomach churn, but she shifted gears and began driving out of the dark, dense forest and onto the highway back into town. Margaret scooted in right next to her, pressing the whole left side of her body against Joyce’s own before she turned the radio on, finding a nice, upbeat station for the two to enjoy. Like a spilled drink, the creeping feeling of Margaret’s left hand running over Joyce’s thigh left her squirming, only intensified when Margaret slipped her fingers in between her legs, pressing against her through the fabric of her pants. If she weren’t so focused on getting home, she might have crashed the car.

The rest of the ride was… mostly uneventful. Margaret had the sense to only suck on Joyce’s earlobe a bit more, causing her to tense up. She kept her hands to herself, though, which felt like a win. A sense of relief washed over Joyce as she turned onto her street and saw Edwin’s truck was longer parked near her home. As soon as she pulled into her driveway, Margaret bounded from the passenger side of the car, excited to get inside. Joyce followed with the keys, unlocking it as quickly as she could under the pressure and urgency of Margaret’s pleading voice. As soon as the door cracked open, Margaret was spilling over Joyce, almost falling down in the haste to get inside. It was clear why she was in such a hurry, as the second the door locked behind them, Margaret had shed her blouse and was reaching behind her back for the clasps on her bra.

“Hey, let’s slow down, okay? We have time now, my love.”

Margaret nodded, but took a deep breath and pouted her lips out. She extended her hands to Joyce and pulled her closer, tugging at the buttons on Joyce’s shirt. She rolled her eyes but did not protest, letting Margaret pull the shirt open to expose her before pulling the cotton sleeves off her shoulders. Margaret embraced her, wrapping her arms around Joyce’s neck. The two began to sway.

*Who would have thought?* That one day, she would be dancing with Margaret in the privacy of her own home, Margaret’s eyes staring up at her, full of adoration and love. Who could have guessed that her own hands would protect the delicate skin of Margaret’s back as the two danced together, half-naked to no one's song except that of their own breathing and shuffling. It healed something inside of Joyce, staring at her. Something about the way she gazed back at her made her feel so content. She knew that no matter what, as long as she had Margaret, they would be okay. She put her chin on Margaret's shoulder and rested it on her unruly curls as the two shared this moment in an agonizingly sweet silence.

The feeling of Margaret’s tongue on her neck is what pushed her over the edge. She pulled Margaret over to the couch, gently pushing her back onto it before taking this chance to straddle *her*. She let her thighs slip around Margaret’s unclothed stomach and leaned her head in slowly and carefully until her lips met Margaret’s and the two were entwined in another bout of heavy, sloppy kisses.

She was unsure how much time passed like this; it could have been just a moment, it could have been millennia. Regardless, stars shot through her vision as Margaret’s tongue snaked its way from her mouth, down her jaw and throat and over her chest. Her careful fingers unlatched Joyce’s own bra and suddenly, Margaret's eyes lit up at the sight of her breasts falling out of the bra. With a smile, she dove in, sucking and gently biting Joyce's nipples while staring up at her lustfully.

Joyce wasn't sure how they got undressed, only that one minute she was straddling Margaret as she licked her sensitive, swollen nipples and the next, they were both completely nude and Margaret was sitting in her lap, back pressed against her. She leaned back and let her head fall into the crook of Joyce’s neck, her throat painfully exposed. She stared down at the mountainous curves that cascaded from Margaret's chest to her legs, at the curly hairs sprung up around her warm, throbbing core, and the slow rise and fall of her chest. Joyce felt the warmth of Margaret’s skin as she explored her body, grabbing full handfuls of her luscious breasts before letting her hands touch lower and lower, squeezing her hips and thighs. Finally, she began to oh, so lightly brush her fingertips across the hairs of her pubic region, teasing her.

“I really love you, Joyce.”
“I love you, too, Margy.” She hadn't used the nickname for her in months, years maybe, but had always cherished it; she'd given it to her when they were young. Hearing the name must have sent sparks through Margaret, because her breathing picked up and she found herself flipping over and kneeling on the ground before Joyce like a sinner would their saint, her hands delicately pushing her thighs open to reveal Joyce's pulsing, soaked pussy.

Margaret stared at it like she wasn't sure what to do. After a moment of unease, Joyce licked her pointer and middle fingers and used them to spread her sticky flaps open, exposing herself for Margaret, all while staring down at her expectant eyes. When her fingers exposed her clitoris, it was like something clicked for Margaret. With no hesitation, she plunged her face into Joyce's cunt, spitting and sucking on every fold. It felt *amazing.* Then, somehow surpassing that pleasure, the broad stroke of her tongue followed by the determined sucking of her clit made her moan out in ecstasy. Margaret seemed to be unnaturally natural at it, like it was foreign and familiar to her all at once.

Once she had had her fill of Joyce for now, Margaret gave one last sloppy, stringy kiss in between her legs and pushed Joyce's right leg back, bending her knee. It exposed her, opening her hole up in a way that made it ache for Margaret’s touch. Instead of her fingers, though, Margaret lined her own dripping pussy up with Joyce’s, balancing with one of her knees on the couch. It was *so erotic.* Joyce had never pictured something like this before, didn’t even know it was possible.. the warm, wet feeling of skin sliding around.. hardened, stiff clits bumping into one another's.. Margaret’s forehead pressed against her own as she grinded into her. Joyce couldn't keep quiet, moans and whimpers escaping her mouth at any opportunity. The whole thing was romantic and sensual.

Margaret was relishing in the feeling too, grabbing firmly onto Joyce's hips and using her grip to steady herself as she slowly and methodically worked herself into a frenzy. Carefully, Margaret pulsed her hips in and out of Joyce's, Joyce eventually working with her to grind her own hips into Margaret’s. The whole ordeal was slow and wet, practically dripping, as the two rubbed their swollen, quivering cores against one another’s. The sounds of them mixed together like an orchestral performance; their breathing was intertwined and small whimpers and groans came from each of them.

When she couldn't take it anymore, when she was *just* at the edge, Joyce stopped herself from going over, but did not deny Margaret the pleasure. She pulled at her legs, yanking her knees up towards her face. Before she knew it, Margaret’s thighs were wrapped around her head like earmuffs on a cold, winter morning. Margaret’s knees held onto Joyce’s head, clasped together tightly as Joyce ran her tongue broadly across Margaret’s puffy folds. She tasted *so* good, like the most delectable, delicious meal Joyce had ever eaten. She kept her tongue flat and slowly licked each lip, stopping to suck on different areas. With her eyes open, she could see Margaret’s lustrous and voluminous breasts, her arms bracing the back of the couch, and her face, stuck in an “oh” expression. Joyce let out a deep, long groan into Margaret's pussy, vibrating her and causing Margy to scream a little herself. Her breasts bounced as she began to grind into Joyce’s tongue. She loved that Margy was using her face like this, it made her want to please her even more.

Margaret came before Joyce even touched her hole. White, creamy cum seeped out of her pussy and onto Joyce’s chest as Margaret’s legs and cunt both shook. Joyce pointed her tongue and slurped it up, reveling in it. Her orgasm tasted even better than her kiss had. Soon, she was using her tongue to slide in and out of Margaret, drinking her up with every stroke. She flicked her tongue against Margaret’s clitoris and wrapped her arms around her thighs, preventing Margaret from squirming away. Joyce opened her up like a flower, exposing her bud before taking it into her mouth and letting it bloom again and again.

Margaret couldn't handle it anymore, she needed a breather. *Fine by me,* Joyce thought, holding up a finger as if to say ‘one second,’ before walking out of the room. She dug through her closet for a box and pulled out a piece of purple silicone in the shape of a phallus. She’d bought it for herself but hadn't used it…why not now? Returning to the living room, she found Margaret hung over the back of the couch, ass up and pussy visibly throbbing, almost like she was trying to clench around an invisible object. She looked so exposed and as Joyce approached, she just couldn't help it.. She carefully placed her middle finger on the opening and pressed, listening for the sounds of Margaret’s pleasure. Then, she pushed it deeper, only up to her knuckle, causing Margaret to let out a little “mmmmnph.”

It made Joyce want more, so she pushed more of her finger into her throbbing cunt. Margaret began to whine, already overwhelmed. She wasn’t afraid to show that she wanted, perhaps *needed* more, however, so she pushed her own pelvis back onto Joyce’s hand, forcing her finger all the way inside of her.

“More, please,” she begged breathily, almost as a whisper. Joyce obliged, pulling her finger out of Margaret before sucking her juices off of it. Then, she slowly inserted her middle and pointer fingers, curling them up into her. She placed her left hand on the small of Margaret’s back, caressing her skin as she picked up speed with her right hand. *In and out, in and out*. The slick walls of Margaret's pussy clenched around her fingers so tightly Joyce grew more excited to use her new toy on her.

Kneeling down inches from her, Joyce spread Margaret’s folds open and spit messily across the hairy cunt. Then, pulling the toy out and getting it nice and wet with her own mouth, she placed the tip of the hard silicone at Margaret’s opening, pushing it in just enough that she could hear Margy’s breath catch. With a wet squelch, she watched as it disappeared inside of her and listened as both herself and Margaret let out moans. Margaret pitched forward, alarmed by the size. Undeterred, Joyce pulled it almost completely out before shoving it in again. Each pulse made Margaret whimper. It didn't take Joyce long for her to flip Margaret over. She needed to see her face while she whined.

Helping her turn over onto her back, Joyce continued using Margaret’s hole, fucking her senselessly with the toy. Margaret’s head fell back and with each thrust, her tits bounced and Joyce stared. Using one hand to fuck her with the toy and the other to rub gentle circles around her clit, it wasn't long before more thick, white cum began to gather at the base of the cock. Margaret was shaking; her legs, her pussy, her chest, even her breathing had taken a hit. She sat up and leaned forward onto Joyce, draping her arms over her shoulders in a lazy hug. Her breathing was heavy in Joyce’s ear and she could feel her quivering skin beneath her own.

Be it adrenaline or pure willpower, Joyce found the strength in that moment to lift Margaret off the couch bridal style. She carried her back to her bedroom, laying her down on her bed before leaving to get her a glass of water. When she returned, Margaret was laid out on one extended arm, smiling sleepily at her.

“I had so much fun today,” she said. The words sort of surprised Joyce. Yes, that had been fun, but she hadn't forgotten what they'd done just. few hours ago… Maybe she would with time? She hoped that would be the case. She crawled into bed exhausted from the days epic highs and lows and the two drifted into a deep sleep.

And so far, that had been the case. It had been a few weeks since they'd dealt with the Edwin situation and so far, no one had come knocking for them. No one reported him missing, not even his employer. He wasn't close with his own family and since they had just split, Margy had no reason to know where he could be. It hadn't been that long yet, but the days were getting easier, especially now that she and Margaret were living together officially. They’d been able to start doing normal things; they went grocery shopping together, she helped Margy enroll for classes at her school, and they had even gone out for a picnic to enjoy the turning weather. Sometimes though, even in the middle of a nice day like today, it saddened Joyce to think about what they’d done. It made it hard to focus on certain things; she knew Margaret was talking, but her thoughts were so clouded she couldn’t hear the words. She tried to shake the odd feeling from her head and focus on the present, taking a deep breath to ground herself. Then, unaware of Joyce's moral plight, Margaret pointed to a wispy cloud in the sky and said,
“Joyce did you hear me? That one looks like a rabbit.”