The Choice

by Bradley Stoke

Copyright© 2005 by Bradley Stoke

Erotica Sex Story: Layla and Marianne are so terribly in love. But Layla has exams to take and a future to look forward to. So, Marianne is faced with the choice: either she lets Layla study for those all-important final year exams or their relationship is doomed.

Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including ft/ft   Teenagers   Consensual   Lesbian   .

The cool nylon sheets clung to Layla's back and shoulders as underneath them she gently applied her tongue and lips to Marianne's oh! so very beautiful crotch. The folds of her vulva, the labias minora and majora as she remembered them being named in her Biology classes, and, most of all, that little button, the clitoris. Although she'd never studied her own clitoris with nearly as much attention as she now could Marianne's, she was sure hers wasn't quite as perfect. How could anyone's be? The "button of love" as she and Marianne christened it, but one so beautifully intricate and so delicious to lick with her tongue or nibble with her teeth.

Despite the two girls having been so passionate through the night, their periods of sleep interrupted again and again by the re-arousal of their mutual lust, Marianne was still easily stimulated. Her crotch twitched and trembled with passion, while a trail of Layla's saliva slid down the "tunnel of love" as the two girls had re-christened the vagina. Although Layla was under the sheet, it was thin enough to let through plenty of the early morning sunshine. Even without her glasses Layla could see the details of Marianne's crotch and that contrast between the darkness, the near ebony blackness, of her skin against the slightly golden, slightly brassy, brown of Marianne's equally firm young flesh.

She could hear, and almost feel, the sound of Marianne's pleasure. That gasp she loved, rising up and up from inside the very depths of her, sometimes exploding in a suppressed and delightful squeak and sometimes a more full-throated bestial cry. Oh! She loved Marianne so much! And what was better, Marianne said that she loved her too. Despite all the men she'd fucked, far more than the single (and singularly uninspiring) one that marked the totality of Layla's other sexual experience. But she was sure she could never miss having other lovers now she had Marianne. One who was so like herself: slender, slim, smallish breasts and even the same slightly sharp chin. Of course, there was no way they could have both inherited that pointed chin, although who was to say what was in the ancestral mix of Marianne's muddled genes.

"Shit!" suddenly cried Marianne, mid-gasp. "Someone's at the door."

"That's only Mum," smiled Layla. She pulled herself up from under the sheets and wrapped an arm around her lover, pulling the sheet up to cover her nipples. Marianne sat next to her. The sheet was bundled onto her lap and her own small pointed nipples, still excited and stiff, stood out prominently on her bosom.

"Hello, dears!" announced Layla's mother, carrying in a tray with coffee, cereal and orange juice for two. "Don't forget you've got school today!"

She smiled at Marianne who warmly returned the smile. Layla was pleased that she and her mother got on so well. How would she have felt if the two people she loved most dearly in the world didn't get on? She shuddered at the thought.

"Thanks, Mum! We just got carried away!"

"I can see that, Lay! But remember your studies come first," Layla's mother commented. She regarded Marianne, perhaps too obviously evading her gaze from the needle scars on her long thin arms and the zits that still discoloured her brow after all those months since she'd come out of rehab. "What are you doing today, Marianne?"

Layla's lover scratched her cheek perhaps a little too vigorously. "I don't know, Mrs Lampton. I might go down the Job Centre. You know, look for a job."

"What happened to that other job, dear? The one in the fast food restaurant?"

"The Lunchbox? I turned up late one day, only an hour or so, and they sacked me. Just like that!"

"Well dear, that's what they're like with casual labour in these places. What about going to college? Have you thought more about that?"

"Yes, Mrs Lampton," Marianne said, idly scratching one of the pale scab-like scars on her arm. "I thought about it. After you talked to me and all. I dunno. I wasn't too good at lessons and stuff when I was younger. But I'm thinking about it."

"Well, Layla dear," continued Mrs Lampton. "Eat your breakfast and I'll take you to school. But hurry! I don't want to be late for work. Like Marianne was."

Layla nodded. She liked it when her mother gave her a lift to school. So, she was doing a morning shift today at the clinic where she worked. She should have guessed from the fact that her mother was wearing her black nurse's outfit with the metal badge across her bosom.

Less than half an hour later, Layla and her mother had descended the stairwell of the council flats where they lived and were getting into the battered old Focus, which after all these years and all those miles was still reliable enough for Mrs Lampton. Not that she could easily afford a replacement. Layla kissed Marianne goodbye, but couldn't resist a tighter hug and a more slobbery kiss while her mother watched with an indulgent smile. And then mother and daughter were in the car, as Layla's lover strode away in her battered denim shorts and that top that showed off her navel-ring to its very best advantage, her shoulder bag slung over her shoulder.

"Oh! I love her so much!" exclaimed Layla, watching her lover recede from sight in the rear-view mirror.

"I know, dear!" grinned her mother. "I could hear you all night!"

Layla blushed, her skin turning an even darker colour. "You heard? We didn't make that much noise, did we?"

Her mother nodded. "Ours is a pretty small flat. But it's love, Lay. I'm happy for you. I'm sure I was just the same when I was your age. Only, of course, not with another girl. You and Marianne make a lovely couple."

"Oh! Mum!" said Layla with glee. "I love you too! After Marianne, you're the most important thing in my life!"

"But what about your exams, Lay sweetheart. You don't want to end up working in the Lunchbox like Marianne, do you? You've got to concentrate on them. Especially if you want to go on to Medical school so much."

"I know. I know," sighed Layla sadly, nervously adjusting her wire-framed spectacles. "I've got to study. I know I have to."

"You've done so well, so far. So very well. Soon you'll be leaving the Leamington Heights Flats and go off with that scholarship that's just a few exams away. You don't want to jeopardise that. And if you love your old mother, please don't risk it. I'd hate to see you not do as well as you ought."

"I know, Mum!" sighed Layla. "You're really talking about Marianne, aren't you? I've got to see less of her until my exams are over, haven't I?"

"Well, dear," nodded her mother. "I know you're both very much in love. But she's not got examinations to do like you. I'm sure you can hold out a month or so till your studies are over. You don't want her to think she ruined your future for you."

"Oh Mum!"

Layla could see the school coming into sight. A large block, partly Victorian and partly, and rather dilapidated, more recent brutalist architecture. Not the most revered educational establishment, but Layla was almost the star pupil and her fellow students were so supportive of her. She couldn't let down them. Or her mother. She gripped her satchel tightly to her corduroy lap and brushed some dust off her cotton sweatshirt.

"I'll never let you down, Mum! Never! I love you. I'll tell Marianne we're not to see each other until after it's all over. I'm sure she'll understand!"

"I hope so," Layla's mother agreed. "I certainly hope so."

Unfortunately, Marianne wasn't quite as understanding as mother and daughter had hoped. In fact, Layla's mother probably had the more realistic view when she stressed to her daughter just how difficult it might be to persuade her.

"Given her background, you know. It's not as if she's had a mother who's supported her like I have you. It could be a tough call," she advised her daughter.

"What! A whole fucking month!" exclaimed Marianne angrily when she was told. "A whole fucking fucking fucking month?"

"And then it'll be over, Mari dearest! Than we can spend all our time together. Morning, afternoon, everything!"

"But till then I can't stop over. We can only kiss and only a little bit. I'll fucking die. I love you, Lay! I fucking love you! I can't be fucking fucking..."

Layla could see real tears of anger and frustration in her lover's eyes. She was so close to relenting. To see what she could do. Find some way they could continue to spend every night together. But she remembered her mother. And not just her mother. Only yesterday, the Maths teacher, Miss Anderton, had said she was probably the brightest student she'd ever had and was certain she'd get that scholarship she was hoping for. Straight As were just not going to be a problem for her.

"I've got to, Mari. It's important. We'll be together after the exams. It's not long!"

"But what am I to do? I live in a fucking squat you know. Full of junkies and crackheads and tarts and the like. I've just got a fucking mattress to sleep on. And it's not easy for me, either. I still want smack and stuff. You know, fags, booze and blow just ain't enough when you're coming off."

"I know. I know."

"I'm a fucking mess, Lay. You're the only fucking thing in my life that holds me together."

"I know. I know. But I love you, Mari. You've got to believe me. Just a month or so. You managed before me. You can manage a little longer."

Marianne kissed Layla tenderly on the lips, wiping the tear from her cheek.

"Oh! Layla. It's only 'cos I love you so much! Okay! Okay! You're right! I can do it. It'll be fucking hard. But I can do it. 'Slong as we stay together tonight. I'm sure there's a few things we haven't tried out!"

Layla sniffed and brushed the back of her hand across her eyes. "I don't believe that's possible!" she said with a sad laugh, happy that Marianne seemed to have come round to seeing sense.

The following morning left Layla feeling wretched and guilty as she kissed Marianne's lips one last time until the exams were over. She was inconsolable as her mother drove her to school, her face a vision of misery, her spectacles fogged by tears and her fingernails digging deep inside the stiff fabric of her satchel. Her mother was silent all the way, perhaps knowing there was nothing she could say that could at all comfort her lovesick daughter. Even their lovemaking during the night had had an air of desperation about it. Whatever new thing it was that Marianne might have introduced to their love life was forgotten as the two girls cuddled each other tight and explored the favourite parts of each other's bodies for the last time. At least for now.

But Layla was wrong if she thought it would be as easy as that.

Two days later, she was sitting on the chair where she stood her spectacles at night. Her desk was wedged tightly against the bed with exercise and text books faced open. The angle-poise lamp her mother had bought in a car boot sale was shining on an illustration of a dissected rabbit and cast its shadow on a poster of a black four-girl R&B group.

Layla's attention was suddenly taken by a familiar tring on her mobile. It was the special tune she'd chosen for Marianne. The one the two of them had spent ages choosing on the Internet until they found the tune whose lyrics best captured the love they felt for each other.

Layla picked up the phone instantly. "Hi!"

She was disappointed to hear nothing much on the other end. Some kind of grunting breathing noise. Nothing. "Hello! Hello! Is that you, Mari?" She was about to put the phone down with disappointment when she heard Marianne's voice, but it sounded distant and not really addressed to her.

"It's in, is it? All the fucking way in?"

"Is that you, Marianne?" Layla asked. And what was that strange man's voice that seemed to be saying "Yeah!" in the background.

And then Layla heard Marianne's voice more loudly. "That you, Lay? Just phoning to tell you I'm fucking Dave. That's your fucking name, isn't it? No. Sorry. Gav. I'm fucking Gav. Or he's fucking me. You wanna hear it?"

Layla flushed. "No! No! I don't want to hear!"

"Well! You're fucking going to!"

And then Layla heard strange sounds that could have been anything, but were probably the sound of a penis thrusting in and out of Marianne's sweet vagina, the one that had been promised to only her.

 
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