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Song of Songs 4:9

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Becky locks them into Ginger's room as surely as she locked herself into her marriage. But her marriage has never felt like this. She doesn't feel trapped here. She's finally making a choice. No rules, just consequences. But she won't think about those now.

"Set me free," she asks Ginger. She doesn't turn away from the door, can't do this if she has to look at Ginger while she asks for it.

Ginger unhooks the top of Becky's dress. Rose's dress that Becky's wearing. A wedding dress. Ginger's fingers brush her skin.

"Please," Becky says. She leans forward, needing the support of the door to hold her up when Ginger pulls the zipper down.

Ginger pushes the dress off her shoulders, kisses her neck. If there was no going back before, there is certainly no going back now. Becky feels like a bride. This feels like a wedding night in a way her wedding night with Eric didn't.

Ginger kisses all the way down Becky's back, a straight line down her spine. She stops just above where Becky can feel the dress still covering her. She doesn't move away; Becky can feel the heat of her breath against her skin. Ginger said life is about freedom, not surrender, but surrender is all Becky can feel in this freedom. Surrender to something she never knew she wanted. Surrender to an experience that is making her feel things she's never felt before.

Ginger pulls Becky's right hand away from the cinderblock of the wall, tugs lightly at the sleeve of the dress. She does the same with the left, until the whole top of the dress is folded down. She stands, then, pressing close to Becky's back. She kisses that same spot just below Becky's ear. Her hands slide down Becky's sides. They pause at her waist, then go on, pushing the dress down over Becky's hips, her stomach. It falls to the floor once it's past the beach ball of the baby growing inside her.

No going back, and Becky doesn't want to. She's never felt so free. She made her own choice to be here. Her body has never felt the things it's feeling now.

"Careful," Ginger murmurs as Becky turns. She holds Becky's elbow as Becky steps carefully over the dress. Away from the door. Toward Ginger. Toward the bed.

Ginger smiles at her. Soft. Tender. "Can I get you out of the rest of this?"

"Please," Becky says.

Ginger kisses her, those perfect lips against hers. She puts her arms around Becky and unhooks her bra. Becky's breasts, heavy and sensitive, fall out of it when Ginger takes it off. Becky lets out an involuntary sigh.

Ginger pushes Becky's hair back, kisses her neck. "Better?"

Becky nods.

Ginger bends, kisses Becky's throat just below her chin. She kisses down over Becky's collarbones, between her breasts.

Becky gasps for breath, gasps again for the sheer, shocking pleasure of it when Ginger kisses her nipple.

She looks down, so she can see what she couldn't when Ginger was behind her. Ginger's knees bending, Ginger's mouth against her skin.

Ginger kisses her nipple again, full lips against oversensitive flesh, and then down the center of her stomach. Skin stretched tight, stretch marks showing, and Ginger just keeps going, kissing it like she's kissed more of Becky's skin than anyone else ever has.

Ginger hooks her fingers in the waistband of Becky's panties. Her knuckles skim all the way down Becky's legs to let her panties drop to the floor around Becky's feet. She stands, and Becky struggles not to be disappointed. She may not have as much experience as Ginger does, but she knows what Ginger could have done at her feet.

"Come on," Ginger says. She takes Becky's hand like she did in the bar, waits for Becky to carefully step out of her panties without tripping, and walks her to the bed. She throws the comforter and top sheet back.

Becky follows the gentle suggestion of Ginger's hands and sits down on the edge of the bed. Ginger kneels in front of her. She lifts one of Becky's feet onto her thigh. White shoes against the shiny black of Ginger's skirt. She draws the shoe off, rubs her thumb down the top of Becky's foot. She does the same with the other.

It's a relief to be off her feet and out of her shoes. It's something sharper, more exciting, to be sitting naked on a bed with Ginger kneeling in front of her. Becky doesn't think about how many people Ginger has been like this with, how much more experienced Ginger is. She does her best to stop thinking at all, and lets her body follow the touch of Ginger's hands on the inside of her knees.

She spreads her legs for Ginger. For herself. For the way Ginger's hands trailing up the inside of her thighs feel better than anything she's ever felt.

Ginger looks up at her, serious. "Tell me if anything hurts." She rests one hand over Becky's stomach. "I only want this to feel good."

Becky blinks, nods. She didn't ask, but her doctor has assured her at every visit that she can still have sex.

Ginger rubs her hand gently over Becky's stomach, then slides it down the curve of it. She gets to the bottom, just before she'll touch where Becky can feel herself aching for it, then stops. "Your feet are swollen. Putting them up will help."

Becky starts to tell Ginger that she doesn't care about her feet right now, except then Ginger lifts them, one at a time, and hooks them over her shoulders. She looks like something that could be on that website of hers, the black dress with one shoulder bare, kneeling with Becky's legs over her shoulders. Becky's starting to understand why it was such a success.

And then Ginger leans forward and licks up her thigh. No one has ever done that to her. There was some foreplay with Eric, but nothing like this. Nothing like Ginger's lips and tongue moving up the insides of her thighs.

Becky grabs for the pillows on the bed, leans back on them so there's space for Ginger, so she has something to support her. She needs it, because Ginger goes all the way up her thighs, and then Ginger's mouth is between her legs, and Becky is so wet and swollen already and it feels so good.

Her stomach is in the way; she can see the back of Ginger's head, Ginger's shoulders under her legs, but nothing else. Everything else is sensation. She's so sensitive, right on the edge of an orgasm. Ginger's mouth feels so good, her hands are still on Becky's thighs, that one bare shoulder under Becky's right leg.

She has no idea what Ginger is doing, could never plot it out or replicate it, but she knows how it feels, knows that Ginger knows what she's doing. Becky gasps, lets out a moan she can't stop.

Ginger's hands tighten on her thighs, which right now just feels good. Maybe she'll have bruises later to prove this happened.

And then Becky finally, finally stops thinking, because everything feels so good and Ginger is making her come and she's moaning like a whore and nothing, nothing has ever felt like this.

"Stop, stop," she has to say, because Ginger hasn't stopped touching her and it's too much now.

Ginger moves her mouth away, but she keeps her hands on Becky's thighs. Becky struggles to sit up; she shouldn't be on her back for long, and the pillows in this seedy motel are too flat to keep her propped up. Ginger stands and helps her sit up, and then she bends down and kisses Becky.

Becky kisses back, leaning up, wrapping her limp arms around Ginger's shoulders. It's such a good kiss that it takes her a moment to realize that what she's tasting on Ginger's lips is herself. It should horrify her. All of this should horrify her. It doesn't. It's strange, but it doesn't feel bad. Nothing about this feels bad, except her still swollen feet which she forgot about but is starting to remember now.

"I want," she says. "Can I see you?"

Ginger smiles at her. "Of course." She turns around, looks at Becky over her shoulder. "Unzip me?"

She's looking at Ginger's back, the dress that's so tight against her skin. So tight over her ass. Becky doesn't reach for that. She takes hold of the zipper and draws it down. It sounds loud in the silence broken only by their breathing. The path of the zipper leads halfway down Ginger's ass. Becky pulls it all the way down, then puts her palms on Ginger's ass, fingers curving around toward her hips, and leans in to kiss the small of Ginger's back.

Ginger looks down over her shoulder. "Do you like that?" She covers Becky's right hand with hers. "You can touch me however you want."

Becky slides her hands down, to better feel the curves of Ginger's butt in her hands. "Do you like it?" She leans in and presses her face to the bare skin of Ginger's back. "I want you to like it."

"I do." Ginger turns around. Her dress is starting to sag off her body. "I like your hands on me." She pulls at the sleeve on her right, tugs it down and shimmies the dress off her hips. She's not wearing a bra under it; only the dress itself was keeping her breasts in place. Without it, they spill out, and Becky has such a clearer view of them bare than she did through the wet cloth of Ginger's baptism.

Becky lets her gaze roam down. Ginger's wearing panties that are nothing more than a scrap of lace. But of course she would have sexy underwear. Her whole career is built on it.

Ginger picks up Becky's right hand and brings it up to her breast. "However you want," she says.

Becky gently squeezes the flesh in her palm, looks at the dark circle of Ginger's aureola, the peak of her nipple. "Do you like this?"

"Yes," Ginger says, and the sigh she says it with marks it as the truth.

Becky leans forward, wanting to get closer, wanting to taste her. But then she stops.

Ginger rests a hand on the side of Becky's head. "You don't have to do anything you want to."

Becky looks up at her, meeting her eyes. "I want to," she says, "but I'm pregnant. I have to pee."

Ginger looks surprised for a moment, and then she laughs. Becky hasn't seen her really laugh before. Ginger takes a step back. "Go on. I'll wait."

In the bathroom, Becky looks at herself in the mirror while she washes her hands. She should look different, shouldn't she? But she doesn't, much. It's still her, her hair a little mussed, her cheeks a little red.

Ginger is waiting in the same place, standing in front of the bed.

Becky looks at her from across the room. They look at each other. Then Becky crosses the room and walks behind Ginger. She hasn't gotten to see her bare back. She takes the band out of Ginger's ponytail so Ginger's hair spills down over that smooth skin, over her shoulders. She brushes Ginger's hair to one side so she can kiss Ginger's neck, just like Ginger did for her.

Ginger lets out a little sigh, and another when Becky kisses halfway down her back. Becky would go farther, but she's worried about losing her balance. Instead, she presses up against Ginger's back. Her breasts press against Ginger's shoulder blades; her stomach overflows the small of Ginger's back.

Becky puts her arms around Ginger, rests her hands on Ginger's stomach. They stay there pressed together for a long moment, Ginger's head tipped to the side so Becky can rest her lips against her neck.

"Will you take off your boots?" Becky asks.

"Yes," Ginger says. "You can ask me for anything." She doesn't move out of Becky's arms to do it; shifts her weight to one side and then the other so she can unzip the hidden zippers at the side and slip them off. She's shorter without them.

Becky slides her hands down Ginger's sides, until they're at the waistband of the tiny scrap of lace serving as her panties. She hooks her thumbs under them and pushes down. Her hands go with them down over Ginger's hips and thighs, and then she lets go and they fall down.

Becky slides her hands back up, letting herself feel Ginger's thighs, her hips. Then she moves them in, and Ginger moves for her, parts her legs enough for Becky's hands to slide between them.

Smooth skin, and more smooth skin. Of course Ginger is shaved; she would have to be for her pornography career. Then softer skin, swollen and soft and wet. Becky wants to see it.

Becky steps back, and Ginger turns toward her.

"Okay?" Ginger asks.

"Yes," Becky breathes. It's so much more than okay. "I want to see you." She lets herself look, eyes roaming down Ginger's body from her loose hair to her breasts to the apex of her thighs to her bare feet.

Ginger stretches, poses with her breasts thrust out. "What else do you want to see?"

Becky wants to see it all. "Get on the bed."

Ginger steps back, sits down onto the bed. She makes shifting back to lie down look sexy, seductive. "Like this?"

"Yeah," Becky says. "I think-" She follows Ginger onto the bed, crouches over her. It's comfortable enough for a little while, and using her hands to hold herself up gives her an excuse to use only her mouth to touch Ginger's skin.

She starts by kissing her mouth. Ginger kisses her back, opens her mouth so their tongues can meet and taste each other. Becky gets a little lost there with how good it feels. How right it feels.

She remembers to move on eventually. Then she kisses Ginger's neck. It felt so good when Ginger was kissing hers that she hopes it feels good for Ginger too. She kisses down over Ginger's collarbones, and then there are her breasts. Becky doesn't let herself think about it too much before she kisses over the flattened curve of the right one until she gets to the nipple.

"That feels good," Ginger says when Becky lingers there. "You can lick it."

Becky doesn't think about it, just does it, the flat of her tongue across the peak of Ginger's nipple.

Ginger lets out a soft moan. "That's good, Becky."

Becky has to keep back a sudden rush of tears. She doesn't want to cry. She wants to make Ginger feel good. She wants to make herself feel good with how right this feels.

Becky opens her mouth over Ginger's nipple, sucks it in. Ginger moans louder, and again when Becky lets it go and does the same to her left nipple. Becky's breasts have grown with her pregnancy; Ginger's are so different. She could stay there tasting them, seeing what Ginger likes, for a long time, but she wants to do more before her body gives way.

She kisses under Ginger's breasts, and across her perfectly flat stomach. Then below, and Ginger spreads her legs within the cage of Becky's body so Becky can see everything there is to see.

There's a smooth expanse of shaved skin, and then a wide stripe of dark pink. Becky doesn't think about what she's doing, doesn't want to think, wants to revel in the freedom to let her body choose what she's doing now. She puts her mouth on Ginger.

"Oh," Ginger sighs. Her hand comes down and brushes over Becky's hair. "Becky, I can't believe." She lets out a short laugh. "God, I can't believe you're doing this."

Becky raises her head. "If you don't want me to," she snips.

"I do," Ginger says. The wording makes Becky's mouth snap shut. "Go on." Ginger guides Becky's head back down between her legs.

Becky feels like a bride again. A first time. A wedding night, consummation.

She puts her mouth on Ginger. She tastes and touches with her lips and tongue. Ginger lets her for a bit, then gently presses with the hand in Becky's hair, tells her where to put her mouth, when to use her tongue, when to close just her lips over Ginger's flesh.

It's a surprise, at least to Becky, when Ginger comes. Ginger arches hard into her mouth, her thighs tense and shake on either side of her, she cries out to God.

Becky lets out a surprised huff of air, sits up when Ginger's thighs stop shaking.

Ginger's hair is spread out all around her, and she has a lazy, satisfied look on her face. She lifts herself up, cups both hands around Becky's cheeks, and kisses her.

Becky's eyes flutter shut, and she leans into it, wraps her arms around Ginger. Their breasts press together. She's sensitive enough that she can feel it clearly, but it's a broad enough pressure that it doesn't hurt. It just feels good to press against Ginger and feel Ginger's skin against hers.

Ginger's hand slides down Becky's back, all the way down, and then squeezes. Becky gasps into Ginger's mouth at the feeling. No one's touched her quite like this before. Well, of course not, because she's never been pregnant before. But that's not the only difference. Nothing has ever felt the way it feels to touch Ginger and to be touched by her.

And then Ginger's hand slides over her thigh, around her body, under her belly, and between her legs. Becky gasps again.

Ginger smiles against her mouth. "I'm going to make you feel so good, baby."

She already is; Becky doesn't say that, waiting to see what Ginger's going to do.

What Ginger does is move her fingers against Becky. She slips them into Becky, draws them back out, rubs at all the places that feel good.

Becky can't keep kissing Ginger. She tips her head to the side, letting Ginger kiss her throat while she gasps into Ginger's neck. It feels so good, Ginger's fingers and her breasts and her mouth and her other hand coming up into Becky's hair. It feels so good. It rolls over Becky like a slow wave, carrying her along with it until it crests and breaks and she moans into Ginger's skin.

Ginger draws her fingers away slowly, stroking one last burst of pleasure between Becky's legs, before she kisses Becky again, stealing Becky's breath and making her tremble with too much feeling.

They rest for a moment, foreheads pressed together. Then Ginger kisses Becky's cheek, right where Becky can feel her skin is still flushed.

"Lie down," Ginger says, and she guides them down onto their sides on the sheets, heads on the same pillow, facing each other.

"I feel," Becky says, and then she shakes her head, not sure how to finish the sentence.

Ginger reaches out, takes the clip out of Becky's hair and runs her fingers through it instead. "Like a virgin touched for the very first time?" There's a hint around her mouth that says there's a joke there that Becky doesn't understand.

"Yes," Becky says. It's exactly how she feels.

The expression on Ginger's face softens, and she kisses Becky gently. "Okay," she says. "That's good."

It is.