Two girls and a treehouse equal 69
The old Moreton Bay Fig looms ahead, its massive roots twisting like ancient serpents across the sunbaked ground. The air was thick with the scent of eucalyptus and warm wood as we stepped into the familiar shade of its canopy. The tree house—our childhood escape—still perched high above, its wooden planks sun-bleached and slightly warped with age.
I grin, already feeling the rough bark under my palms as I start climbing.
"You remember how we used to sneak up here to avoid our Mums?"
I call down to Gaby, my t-shirt riding up as I haul myself onto the platform.
My bestie is right behind me, her skirt riding high on her thighs.
"Fuck yeah, I do," she laughs, pushing her dark curls out of her face. "Especially when she'd bitch about us leaving your kitchen in a mess."
"God girl, you, me, the bench and cup cakes and that flour fight!"
The tree house hasn't changed—blankets still strewn over the old table; the chalkboard covered in our ridiculous teenage doodles.
"Charlie luvs Valerie. Tony luvs Gabrielle."
The plastic tea set's still there too, dusty but intact, like time barely touched this place.
I flop onto the vinyl beanbag, stretching my arms behind my head;
"God, it's hot as hell today. A tad cooler in here. Geez, girl, I missed ya, doing bloody Pharmacy in Canberra."
"Christ, sister, and you had to do Vet Studies in frickin Perth! Still, this tree, great view of the Brisbane River."
I much preferred her cute arse wriggling under her skirt. I'd left boys behind mid-degree. Phone calls, Gaby never mentioned boys or girls.
My heart fluttered as Gaby plopped down beside me, both our fem-fit figures; me, hockey, her volleyball. Her t-shirt was clinging to her sweat-slicked skin. No bra. Bitch, never needed one from college.
She grins, nudging my shoulder. "You ever think about how we used to braid each other's hair up here?"
I snort, "Every damn day. Those days have that lingering quality."
She bites her lip, her fingers toying with a loose thread on my tee-shirt.
"Bet you could still do it. I did enjoy it."
I sit up, my pulse kicking up a notch.
"Yeah? You want me to?"
Gaby's eyes darken, just a little, "Only if you're up for it."
I don't answer with words. Instead, I reach for her, my fingers brushing the hem of her shirt as I pull her closer. She doesn't resist.
Her skin's warm, her breath quickening as I drag my thumbs over the swell of her tits through the thin fabric. She lets out a soft moan, arching into my touch.
"Ooh!"
Then, "Fuck, Val," she breathes, her voice rough.
I yank her shirt up, exposing her perfect, rounded tits. Her nipples are already hard, begging for attention. I lean in, taking one into my mouth, swirling my tongue around the tight bud.
Gaby gasps, her fingers tangling in my hair as I switch to the other one, sucking gently before biting down just enough to make her whimper.
"Mmm, yes, mmm."
"Bend down," I murmur against her skin, pushing her onto the blankets.
I straddle her, my own t-shirt coming off next, my tits pressing against hers.
Skin to skin, we grind against each other, our breaths mingling in desperate little gasps.
Boobs buffet as only marshmallow softness can. Shaping together, rubbing, pressing.
Fondling, snuggling, caressing. Fresh cupcakes minus the cream.
Spit, glorious spit, hers and mine, amps the finger linger on nipples.
I coo, "Oohh, uhh," as my buds tingle, crashing into her teats.
Her hands roam my body, squeezing my ass before sliding between my legs, her fingers finding my already soaked panties.
"Fuck, you're wet," she groans, a thumb pressing over my clit.
Grinding against her touch, "So are you, you little slut."
She laughs, breathless, "Prove it."
I don't need to be told twice.
I shove her skirt up, yanking her panties down her thighs. She's dripping, her pussy glistening under the filtered sunlight streaming through the leaves.
Her pleats are mine; they take my finger push, the prod, the opening, the folding. Adult play, termed foreplay, it's play alright, a flesh playground.
And the first finger inserted is special, don't you ever doubt it, never forget to sear it to your memory, this is the delicious moment of exponential dirty connection. For here, the first foray, my wet nail hooking into flexible mushy sliding wetness, creating a two-way vibe.
Followed by the smallest of circles over the edges of her clit cowl. Like finger whorls, delivering a pattern against her flesh hoodie where her nub of pink; peeks and hides, peeks and hides; like a hoodie, pulled down by hand, pushed back by the wind, repeated over and over.
I make her share her slick on the tip of my fingers. She tastes herself.
Nothing for this but the mutual sixty-nine, so easily established on a tree house grey blanket. Nothing dull in my eyes field.
Close up. So intimate close.
I dive in, my tongue flicking over her clit before plunging inside her tight heat.
"Val! Orrghh!" she cries, her hips bucking against my face.
I grip her thighs, holding her open as I eat her out, my tongue curling inside her while my fingers tease her entrance. She's trembling, her moans growing louder, more desperate.
I dive back in, adding two fingers, curling them just right as I suck her clit into my mouth. Her juices are leaking over my jaw.
Her fingers meantime part my lips, and her mouth is on me, her tongue lapping at my clit with slow, deliberate strokes.
"Fuck—Gabes— awesome! Ooh, yes, Aahh, yes! Aahh!"
She moans against me, the vibrations sending thrilling pulses through my body. Her fingers join the party, sliding inside me as she fucks me with them, while her tongue works a private magic on my clit.
I'm close. So close.
"Don't stop—right there— oohh! Aahh!"
She doesn't. She doubles down, her fingers curling just right as she sucks my clit between her lips.
My tongue beats her inside her slit, hummingbird fast. Your girlfriend's best friend is you and your tongue. I approach her inner pinkness with the skill of a plane about to hit a runway, flaps spread, nose down, perfect sweep. Hits as memorable as the fizz of lemonade up your nose. Sweet and tingly. Delicious and addictive.
My BFF knows the reciprocal payment. She laps me, licking up every drop.
Mutual thigh shaking. Her clit pulses under my tongue. I feel mine arch under hers.
"Orrgh! Fuck. Arrgghh!"
"Oohh, Hnggh!"
Her, me, who uttered which, who peaked first, or the unbelievable sync-gasm, neither us nor the roots of the fig tree cared.
Snuggling, twined, tits pressing, pussies smooching. Lips meet, above and below. We kiss slowly and deeply, our bodies still trembling, basking in release.
Gaby grins against my lips, "Still think this tree house is just for braiding hair?"
I laugh, breathless, tweak her teat, "Shut up and fuck me again."