A Door Opens

Lauren Emily
10 mins read
Published 11 months ago

The words on my tongue – “Hi, is Hunter home?” – evaporate the second the door opens and I see her.

I’m bi – I realized it before I knew the word, even – and normally have a type for women and enbies. But the person opening the door defies it in every way: straight up and down instead of curvy, scruffy dyed-blonde hair with dark roots standing on end as they run their hand (with chipping purple nail polish) through it, ripped Strokes T-shirt hanging off one bony shoulder. Their eyes, a mesmerizing bottle-green, penetrate: I know exactly what you’re about.

A rush of recognition hits me: this must be Kirsty, Hunter’s roommate. He’s used she/her pronouns when referring to Kirsty in texts. But we’ve never met face-to-face.

And currently, I have no words but “uhhhhh…”

“Genevieve?” questions a voice that’s both rough and smooth, like she smokes a pack a day then drinks a whole-milk hot chocolate after.

I need to sit down.

“Y-yeah, that’s me.” My stutter comes back when I’m thrown off, so I’ll be lucky if I can get in any more words. 

She half-smiles and opens the door wider. “Come in. He’s not home yet but you can hang out if you want.”

Oh, I want.

I want very much.

Hunter and I have only known each other a few weeks. We’re not serious: both of us are in grad school (different programs, different universities, thank god) and just need to release our pent-up horniness on a warm body. He’s a nice enough guy, big brown eyes, messy hair. Decent-sized cock and he knows how to use it. But I don’t see a future – to be fair, at the moment I don’t see a future beyond my thesis – and I’m sure he feels the same.

Today, however, I’m not wearing panties under my dress.

Which, now that I’ve met Kirsty, is incredibly inconvenient.

“So.” She closes the door behind her and cocks her head toward the loveseat where I’ve made out with Hunter at least once. 

I perch on the edge. Should I cross my legs? I’ve only just met her – I don’t think I want to show her the goods this early. 

Wait, I’m dating her roommate. Why am I stressing about showing Kirsty the goods at all?

Fuck. I know exactly why.

“Uh, Genevieve?” Now she’s standing in front of me, and I get a whiff of Old Spice deodorant as she waves her hand in front of my face. 

Those eyes. Goddamn.

I shake my head out of that embarrassing reverie. “I’m sorry. Went s-somewhere for a sec.”

“No big.” There’s that half-smirk again. “I said, do you want a water?”

“Thanks.” I nod frantically, glad for the distraction. “Yeah, that’d be good.”

I can’t help but watch as she makes her way to their tiny kitchen. Her ass is small but muscular, cheeks protruding from underneath the distressed denim of those absurdly teeny jean shorts. I’m starting to ache…and I don’t hate it.

Just then, my phone buzzes.

'We meeting at your place?'

Oh god, he’s right. (I’ll admit: I first hooked up with Hunter because he spells out your in texts.) Knowing his Saturday afternoon routine, I’m guessing Hunter’s either at the library or Starbucks. If I call a car, I could be back at my apartment in ten minutes and fucked in fifteen.

And yet…

'Half hour?' I type.

Shameless, Genevieve.

My phone buzzes. 


Straight men are so easy.

She’s back with two cans of pamplemousse LaCroix. “Hope you’re okay with bubbles.”

“My favorite,” I confess, accepting the cold can. Our fingers brush and I sit back down, pressing my legs together even tighter. 

Please, don’t leave a wet spot on their couch.

“Mine too.” Kirsty sits next to me. Popping the top of her can, she takes a long swig and I watch the muscles in her throat work. She glances my way. “Can I tell you something?”

You can do whatever you want. I clear my throat to stall. “S-sure.”

“You’re a lot prettier than…like, anyone else Hunter’s brought over.”

I feel air down there and look down, to see my legs have fallen open. I clamp them shut again, because now I’m definitely wet. 

Either Kirsty hasn’t noticed the effect she’s having on me or she’s noticed and is enjoying tormenting me. From the way her eyes are lingering on my braless cleavage, I suspect the latter. Her face falls a little. “Sorry, are you uncomfortable? I can get way too familiar too fast.”

I could stop this right now – tell her that Hunter, her roommate, whom I’ve been happily sleeping with, will be en route to my place soon and I need his cock inside me. Or…

I turn toward her, cross my legs deliberately, slowly, let the smile that’s been threatening to come out since she handed me the LaCroix spread across my face. My cheeks – both sets – are now warm. “No, you’re good.”

“I saw you fooling around with him once.” She reaches out a hand and tucks a stray curl behind my ear, lingering on my jaw, and it’s all I can do not to suck her long, delicate finger into my mouth. Something tells me she’d like it.

“You should have joined us.” Did that just come out of my mouth? My voice is an octave lower than usual, strange to my ears but I like it. I only get like that when I’m really into someone.

She laughs, scratchy and deep. “I’m not into him.” Now, her face is so close to mine I can make out every hair on her thick, dark eyelashes, the shape of her mouth, her smooth skin. 

Last chance, Genevieve.

Instead, I lean in and whisper in her ear, “I have twenty minutes and I’m not wearing panties.”

Now she grins for real.

What happens next blows my mind. Not because I’ve never done it, but because usually I need foreplay – lots and lots of it – to even get semi-aroused. But as Kirsty rolls on her back and pulls me on top of her with a strength that’s surprisingly brute for someone so wiry, I almost lose it on the spot.

She lowers me onto her face and I know it’s only a matter of time before I explode.

Hiking up my dress, I inhale as her tongue swipes my clit. Any fears I had of squashing her with my not-small frame float away as her mouth finds a rhythm. Despite Kirsty’s confidence I can tell she’s a little tentative and that makes me even hornier, to sit down a little harder and rub my wetness against her in earnest. I hear an appreciative, muffled moan below me as vibrations travel through my body, compelling me to tear off my dress as the cool air meets my now-completely naked skin.

“Don’t stop,” I plead as she starts eating me out in earnest, slowly and thoroughly licking, then fucking me with her tongue as I swivel my hips above her, my fingers gripping the top of the couch as hers clutch my hips. This isn’t going to last much longer, I know – the spice of my own desire fills the air and I know her face is getting wet with me. “Finger me,” I beg and I feel one, then two slide in me – a tight fit, and my walls hug around her. I feel glorious friction as I fuck her up and down.

Then, Kirsty sucks my clit into her mouth – a gentle but quick tug that results in everything going still. I throw my head back, finding my own nipples and stroking them, dragging my fingers along the soft skin of my breasts. My hair tickles my bum and Kirsty’s tickles my thighs as I tighten them around her, but I feel like I’m leaving my body, floating above the ground as the most intense orgasm I’ve had to date takes over, pure sensation, only the sound of my own cries – high-pitched, then gut-primal – piercing the air again, and again, and again.

She takes me all the way through, from the almost overwhelming waves of pleasure bordering on pain, to the sweetest of comedowns until my screams finally subside, ending with the smallest tastes of my pussy before she detaches. It’s only then I feel comfortable looking down at her, embarrassed at the sheer vulnerability I’ve shown with someone I just met.

“Goddamn,” Kirsty says, grinning up from between my thighs, her lips glistening with me, and it’s just the right thing to say because I burst out laughing, tension completely broken even though I’m nude and straddling a near-stranger.

And now a different kind of tension is building inside me. 

From the way Kirsty sits up and grabs my face between her hands, kissing me so hard I can taste every inch of my pussy, I think she’ll be into it. Still…consent.

“I want to fuck you,” I whisper as we break apart for air, lips just a breath away from one another, “but I, uh…worry I’m not going to do it right.”

She tongues her way up my neck, fingers brushing my stiff nipples as I moan for more, and whispers in my ear, “Get on me again and I’ll show you.”

We work together getting Kirsty out of her clothes. I pull her T-shirt over her head, sucking each of her small, pert nipples as I toss it on the floor. She scoots just far away from me to unzip her shorts – apparently she doesn’t believe in underwear today either and I couldn’t be more grateful. 

Taking control of my mouth, Kirsty threads her fingers through my hair and pulls me closer, as our tits brush together and I groan in anticipation, wanting to come again just from the almost-blinding sensation of skin on skin.

“Here,” Kirsty says, once we’re lying down again, me on top balancing on my arms looking down into her piercing green eyes, rimmed with smudged black liner. She takes my right hand in hers, lacing our fingers together. 

I take a deep breath. “I’m afraid I’m gonna screw this up.” 

“Trust me,” she says, jutting her chin at me so I lean down for a long, hard kiss. “There is no possible way you can screw this up.”

I kiss her neck, tasting warm pale skin as she sighs in appreciation while running my hand down her torso. Not wanting to plunge right in as I go lower, I stroke her slit, top to bottom, and make a surprising discovery.

“You’re so wet,” I breathe.

“Tongue-fucking a beautiful human will have that effect,” she says, cocking an eyebrow. Her eyes darken with lust, bottle-green gaze serious. “Fuck me.”

“Oh god,” I whisper as I start slow, sliding in one finger and watching Kirsty’s eyes close, serenity overtaking her face. Her body tightens and squeezes around me, and I add a second finger, going slowly in and out. Kirsty bites her lip and arches her back. I take in the lovely sight of her enjoying herself because of me, inhale the scent of her permeating the air.

“Is this okay?” I ask. 

“It’s more than okay,” she growls, before looking down at me. “Curl your fingers in there, baby.” My brow furrows and she grins. “Like you’re saying, ‘come here.’”

When I do what she asks, I’m rewarded with her hips bucking and a loud, scratchy “fuck!” Encouraged, I start playing more, sliding my fingers in and out, loving the way her wetness feels on my right hand as my left tweaks her nipple, hearing every breath as they grow shorter and more shallow, knowing I – who a few minutes ago was terrified – will very soon bring Kirsty to the breaking point.

“Harder. Harder!” she orders through clenched teeth and I know from the way she’s tugging my hair, sending tingles through me, that she’s close. “Come up here,” she growls, and I slide up so we’re face to face and breast to breast, adjusting my hand so it’s doing everything she likes and more. We kiss, her tongue tangling with mine, and as she sighs in my mouth I grind my still-wet pussy against her muscular leg, wanting to come together. Ohhhhhhh bounces off the walls as Kirsty squeezes the life out of my fingers and I feel the world coming apart in front of me and our gazes lock on each other as we orgasm and I realize the wail of ecstasy is coming from me.

More erotic adventure from Lauren Emily:


We Just Work Together
I Dare You


Camp Ardenne

Short Stories:

Attagirl: Table for Three
Body Paint
I Dare You: Pas de Deux
Good Boy
Peaches for Three

Warm Me Up
The Upper Hand
The Wedding
You Are Now Connected

Written by
Lauren Emily

Lauren Emily lives (and loves) in Chicago, and is the author of the novel SATELLITE.