Rich Girls No Panties Read online

  “Oh God,” moaned Yvonne, closing her eyes and pulling away from their kiss. She lowered her head and placed it on Carter’s shoulder. “That’s it.”

  “Do you know what would be nice?” Carter said softly into Yvonne’s ear, her breath warm with her speech. She pushed her fingers continually into Yvonne, pumping her hand against Yvonne’s mound and rubbing up against Yvonne’s clit with her palm.

  “What?” sighed Yvonne, sweat beginning to accumulate on her brow.

  “Mmm,” mused Carter, grinning to herself as she pleasured Yvonne. “You and me, back at my place. We grab a bottle of white wine from my parents’ wine cellar and then hurry up to my room.”

  “Mm hmm,” said Yvonne, her mind focusing on Carter’s story as her body joyfully accepted Carter’s movements.

  “We run a warm bath,” Carter continued. “And then we strip down totally naked.”

  “Oh,” said Yvonne, entranced. She slowly stroked Carter’s bare forearm as she listened.

  “Before we jump in the bath,” said Carter. “I kneel down in front of you and slowly start to kiss your pussy, flicking my tongue against your lips, sucking softly on your clit, tracing my finger through your wetness.” As Carter said this last line, she pulled her fingers from Yvonne’s hole and slowly ran a single finger between her lips and up to her clit.

  “We have to do that,” said Yvonne, nuzzling her face into the softness of the blue dress covering Carter’s shoulder.

  “Oh, we will,” said Carter, allowing her fingers to reenter Yvonne and starting her pumping again. “We’ll jump into the warm tub, soap each other up, rub our bodies against each other. I’ve always really wanted to suck on those small tits of yours,” she said, bringing her other hand around and caressing over Yvonne’s chest through the fabric of her dress.

  “Will you rub my clit?” said Yvonne, pursing her lips out and kissing Carter’s neck softly. She remained pressed up against her friend, her head dizzy with lust and gratitude.

  “You got it, babe,” said Carter delicately. With her sopping fingers, Carter trailed up between Yvonne’s lips and to her clit, beginning a firm massage of circles. She maintained a steady rhythm, wanting nothing more than to please Yvonne.

  “Thank you,” said Yvonne, quiet and low. Her breath started to intensify and blow hotly against Carter’s neck, causing Carter’s neck to get sticky with humidity. Yvonne’s hips gently thrust against Carter at a slow pace, though she didn’t move enough to knock Carter’s fingering movements off of their cadence.

  “Do you want to fuck me?” asked Carter softly.

  “Mm hmm,” responded Yvonne, grinding melodiously, holding onto Carter’s arm, lost in the pleasure.

  “Have you always wanted to fuck me?” said Carter in the same, forgiving and low tone.

  “Mm hmm,” said Yvonne again, beginning to feel the bottoms of her feet tingling with numbness. She was swimming in her mind, her thoughts cloudy. The intensity of Carter’s massage of her clit was starting to become more than she could bear. It felt just too good.

  “I think you and I would make good fuck friends,” said Carter. She was like a professional at this, talking Yvonne toward the cliff as she pressed her fingers steadier against Yvonne’s clit and manipulated it.

  “Me too,” panted Yvonne, her head spinning. She was standing up slightly on her toes now, leaning into Carter, widening her stance. She could feel the damp humidity between her thighs, and was so lustfully obsessed with the finger job her friend was conferring on her. Carter’s moistened fingertips were adeptly pressing Yvonne’s button.

  “You’re so fucking wet,” said Carter, kissing Yvonne’s forehead. Yvonne’s body started to quiver, her pelvis pushing against Carter now and her thighs squeezing together. Yvonne moaned long and deeply, gripping against Carter as she shook and tumbled into ecstasy.

  “Coming,” Yvonne gasped out. “I’m coming.”

  “Good, babe,” said Carter. She kept her fingers resolutely pressed against Yvonne’s pussy, but it was much more difficult for her to fondle as Yvonne’s legs had clamped together.

  “Augh!” called out Yvonne, her eyes squinting and her skin sweaty and damp. “Fuck,” she said, now trembling uncontrollably. She pulled back from Carter and fell down onto the bed.

  Carter stayed standing, grinning down at her friend. She brought her hand up to her face and smelled her fingers. Then she licked Yvonne’s wetness from her fingers to take a taste.

  “Mmm,” said Carter. “Sweet.”

  Yvonne groaned and writhed on the bed, squirming into her herself, pulling her knees up toward her chest. Her dress remained drawn up over her hips as she lay there.

  “You’re so cute, Vonnie,” said Carter, reaching down and smacking Yvonne’s bare ass.

  “Oh God,” heaved Yvonne, her chest rising and falling rapidly. Her hair was lightly mussed as she burrowed into the bed sheets.

  Carter looked over to the bedside table and then reached out to grab the champagne bottle. She brought it up to her lips and took a long sip of it, ending her drink with a refreshed sigh.

  “Thank you,” whispered Yvonne from the bed. “I needed to finish.”

  “Well, that was interesting,” joked Carter. “I never expected to be fingering my best friend today.”

  “We can do it any time you want,” admitted Yvonne, now beginning to open her eyes and look up to beautiful blonde Carter standing above her.

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” said Carter, a sly grin pasted over her lips.

  “Have you ever been with another girl before?” asked Yvonne, smiling as she was happily fulfilled, and now pulling her dress back down over her hips, trying to straighten out the fabric.

  “No,” said Carter. “But I’m up for trying new things.”

  “Me too,” said Yvonne. Slowly, she dragged herself up and sat upright on the bed.

  “Why don’t we get moving out of here?” said Carter, putting the champagne bottle back down. “You totally put another wet spot on that bed.” Carter laughed and stuck her tongue out at Yvonne.

  “What?” said Yvonne, lifting her backside up off the bed and looking. “Oh jeez,” she said, now spotting the spot that Carter was talking about.

  “Let’s go, babe,” said Carter, reaching her arms out and giving her hands to Yvonne. Yvonne then pulled herself up off the bed with Carter’s help.

  As Carter made her way to the door, Yvonne caught herself staring at Carter’s ass bouncing up and down under her tight blue dress. She felt a great release of pressure deep inside of her, an intense sense of fulfillment. Carter opened the door and peeked out down the hallway. Seeing that the coast was clear, she motioned for Yvonne to follow her. Yvonne smiled to herself, straightened her hair, and left the room daydreaming about what she and her best friend might do next.

  *

  Thank you so much for reading Rich Girls No Panties! I write these stories for you and sincerely hope you enjoy them. If you liked this story, please leave a positive review on Amazon and let me know what you loved most. Reviews not only help to inform potential readers of a good book, but they also let us authors know we’re on the right track. Writing and publishing is a tireless profession, and there’s nothing more rewarding than positive feedback from readers. Thank you so much for your support!

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  Nico

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  AN EXCERP
T FROM: DORMITORY DEAREST

  *

  I NEVER THOUGHT college would be this weird. I mean, I was really excited about it leading up to the big move but I didn’t really know what to expect apart from what you see in movies. None of my close friends, of which I had few, went to the same college as me so it was like I was going off on this new adventure all by myself. Nobody knew me, I could reinvent myself if I wanted, I could be a totally new person and carve out a completely different path if I so chose. But once I got to school, I found that I simply couldn’t help but be me. Geeky, introverted, freaky me.

  Nerdy Natasha. Lucky I ended up in the same small arts dorm with all the other nerdy outcasts and not in one of the huge student ghettos filled with roving bands of bleached bimbos looking for an easy target like me to sink their teeth into. No, as an English major I had been asked by some benevolent cosmic force if I would like to enroll in the residential college for Arts & Letters students and without even knowing much about the program I dutifully accepted. The program was called ALOHA, which stood for Arts & Letters Organized Housing Association, and it was a total lifesaver for a girl like me.

  My dorm was quite small, being one of the oldest dorm buildings on campus, and was only three floors high as opposed to some of those much larger skyscraper dorms that peppered the huge campus of my midwestern farm school. It was like we had our own little sanctuary where we could just be us. All kinds were welcome but it was an overwhelmingly geeky atmosphere. I liked that. But, if I’m being honest, I wasn’t prepared for the level of geekiness. Much different than high school. These students had much more passion. More spunk.

  The beauty about my dorm, Leopold Hall, was that the entire student population within its walls were ALOHA students. It really was like we were on some island. Some island for weirdos. Totally awesome.

  So when I say that I never thought college would be this weird, I mean weird in a good way. Strangely exciting. Different. Filled with possibility and acceptance and with very limited, if any, judgment from peers. We were all just there doing our own thing. English majors and writers like myself, theater students, visual artists, the outcast art crew. It was a terrific amalgam of my university’s creative contingent and it was nothing like I had anticipated. Utopia, almost.

  And the things that happened to me, well, I couldn’t have anticipated them either.

  Each floor of Leopold Hall housed a different year of ALOHA students. So the freshmen like me were on the first floor, sophomores on the second, and juniors on the third. The third floor was much smaller than the other two floors and was all single rooms, rather than the doubles that the freshman and sophomores got. And generally that was fine because by the third year many students drifted away from ALOHA. I could see that it was a good program to start out in, to help you get adjusted to college life, but by the time you’re a junior you want to live off campus, spread your wings and all that. The way the years were laid out in the dorm worked out swimmingly. Girls on one side of each floor, boys on the other.

  And my roommate, Whitney, was a blast.

  “You know what’s awesome?” asked Whitney, sitting on the couch under our lofted beds wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt, her dirty blonde hair twisted up tightly into a bun. Whitney was an outgoing theater major and I was happy to have been paired with her.

  “What’s awesome?” I asked, sitting sideways in my desk chair, avoiding working on a paper for my English class.

  “I felt like, in high school, most boys wouldn’t even give me the time of day,” she said, something I found hard to believe considering she was a pretty girl with an affable personality. “But here in ALOHA, all these boys are totally creaming themselves over me.” I couldn’t help but laugh at her.

  “You’re a nut,” I said. Watching Whitney fuss with her hair, I couldn’t help but fuss with my own hair in mimic. While I was a natural redhead, freckled and all, I dyed my hair a more vibrant red because it made me feel fun. Following Whitney’s lead, I pushed my own hair up into a bun and tied it in place with a piece of elastic from around my wrist.

  “What?” she said innocently, stifling a grin.

  “I just don’t believe that you had trouble with boys,” I said. “You’re totally lying to me.”

  “Well…” said Whitney, looking off sheepishly. “Maybe it’s just that I’m getting more attention here at college. It’s skewing my memory.”

  “Exactly,” I said.

  “I think I’m leaning toward Justin,” she mused, almost as though she were talking to herself. “He’s kinda beefy and brooding.”

  “Eh,” I said in an unimpressed tone. “I don’t know.”

  “What do you mean?” said Whitney. “He’s cute. He’s got that James Dean thing going on. Tight white t-shirts,” she said, almost giggling.

  “You’re so damn girly,” I said. Even though I said this is a bit of a derogatory way, I actually loved how girly Whitney was. She kind of balanced me out. And I knew that she knew I didn’t mean anything by it.

  “And you could take some lessons!” retorted Whitney with a snort, crossing her arms. “If you don’t think Justin’s cute, who do you like over on the boys’ side?”

  “The boys’ side?” I asked, feeling a little put on the spot and cornered. “I mean, I don’t know.”

  “There’s a lot of nerds over there,” Whitney admitted. “Can’t tear a couple of those dudes from their computer games. But there are definitely some hotties. You can tell me, Natasha. Who are you sweet on?”

  “Whitney,” I groaned with embarrassment.

  “Tasha,” said Whitney, impatiently awaiting my answer.

  “I don’t know,” I reiterated.

  “Fine,” she said. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

  “It’s not that I don’t want to,” I said, slightly acquiescing. “It’s that I don’t know. None of them, I think.”

  “What about Michael?” she asked. “He’s an English major, just like you. I like his long hair.”

  “No, I don’t like Michael,” I said. “He’s fine, I mean, he’s a good guy. But I’m not, like, sweet on him.”

  “People are already shacking up,” said Whitney matter-of-factly. “And a lot of the sophomore boys already have girlfriends. You’re gonna miss out, Natasha.” Whitney then had a brightening thought and her face lit up. “I bet you like a boy in one of your classes!”

  “I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” I said, standing up from my desk chair and wandering over to my closet. Opening my closet door up, I fished around inside to find my sleeping clothes. With a slight flutter in my heart, knowing that Whitney’s eyes were on me, I cautiously pushed my jeans down my legs and began to change clothes.

  “The reason I’m pressing you on all this is because I care about you,” said Whitney. “You’re my roommate. We’re in this together.”

  “Thanks,” I said, pulling my jeans off my feet, standing there now in just a t-shirt sporting the university’s logo and my knickers. I retrieved some athletic grey worn-in shorts from my closet and quickly pulled them up my legs.

  “And…” said Whitney, continuing, wagging a finger at me. “You know the ALOHA trip to Stratford, Ontario is coming up for the Shakespeare Festival. We’re all staying overnight there and it’s going to be a total fuck fest.”

  “Oh my God! Whitney!” I exclaimed. “I’m not going to just pick some boy so we can screw around during the Shakespeare trip.”

  “I’m just teasing,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “But, you know, it’ll be fun to partner up with a boy on that trip.”

  “It’s not like we’ll be sleeping in the same room with the guys,” I said, turning from the closet and walking back over to her. As I walked, I slipped my hand inside my t-shirt and unhooked my bra, then deftly began maneuvering out of it and eventually pulling it out from my sleeve. “It’ll probably be you and me sleeping in the same hotel room.”

  “And just maybe I’ll slide down the hall to a bo
y’s room,” said Whitney with a grin. She was not impressed with my annoyed face. “Oh c’mon.”

  “I’m going to bed,” I said, stepping to the wooden ladder connected to our loft. Our beds were both lofted up near the ceiling, giving us a bit more space in the otherwise small dorm room.

  “Wait,” she said. “I’m sorry, Natasha,” Whitney admitted. “I’m just teasing you. You don’t have to like any of the boys on the other side of the hall. I’m just being a gossipy girl.” She frowned softly.

  “That’s okay,” I admitted, putting my foot on the first rung of the ladder.

  “Will you tell me when you do like a boy?” Whitney asked with a pleading tone. I could tell she just cared about me and wanted to be involved in my life. She didn’t have any kind of nefarious plot otherwise. She just liked talking about what she considered to be girly things.

  “Yes,” I said, feeling a softness in my heart for her. She really was a sweet friend. “You’ll be the first to know.”

  *

  But I wasn’t being completely honest with Whitney. It wasn’t that I didn’t like any of the other freshmen boys on the other side of our dorm. It was that I hadn’t really thought romantically about a boy for a long time. The last time I remembered thinking that I liked a boy was probably early on in high school. But it was kind of short lived. I just thought he was interesting and when I told some of my friends that, they interpreted it as though I liked him romantically. And I went along with it, half-pretending I had a crush on him to satisfy the projections of my friends.