Made This Way

by Foolkiller

Copyright© 2012 by Foolkiller

Erotica Sex Story: Not so good girl Jenni is secretly dating Val, the baddest boy in high school. When her date with him turns into her watching six guys playing poker, she will do whatever--and whoever--she needs to in order to have a good time, including Rachel, the girlfriend of another guy she slept with. This is a continuation of an earlier work of mine, 'Out of Gas'. You might want to read it first, but its not entirely necessary.

Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa   Fa/Fa   Consensual   BiSexual   Oral Sex   Exhibitionism   Voyeurism   .

A Jenni and Val Story

Having a Russian gangster for a boyfriend wasn't as much fun as you'd think it would be. In fact, thought Jenni from where she sat alone on the couch, sometimes it could be downright boring.

Boring, yes, and also disappointing. Jenni had been looking forward to entirely different plans tonight, plans that that did not involve watching six men—including her boyfriend, Val—play poker. Poker as a spectator sport, Jenni had discovered, was incredibly dull.

Hmm. Make that that boring, disappointing and frustrating. Jenni didn't get Val (it was short for Valentin, not Valentine; 'I am not holiday for cards and chocolate, ' he had said to her once) to herself very often, and had been really looking forward to an evening involving being naked and screaming in ecstasy while Val did wicked, sinful things to her. Instead, he had been invited to some gangster's house at the last second to hang with the big boys and she had been dragged along. At first she had thought that tonight had been a set-up, that maybe Val had planned something wonderfully perverted for her, but, no. The game tonight was just poker, not poke-her. After an hour of being treated as nothing more than a beer and chip fetcher, Jenni had retreated to the living room, where the only thing to do was sulk. Val, damn him, hadn't even apologised. Hell, she wasn't sure he'd even noticed.

Calling Val Kosvick a Russian gangster was, she knew, not really true, even if it was fun to say. He was Russian. He'd been born Valentin Kostavich Illianov in some town she couldn't pronounce and had moved to Moscow when he was eight, then emigrated to America at fourteen when his mother had married an oilfield guy from Arizona. In Jenni's opinion, he played the Russian thing up. Every second word was 'spasiba' this and 'eblivaya' that, all said with a really thick (although, admittedly, really, really sexy) accent that she knew he could turn off when he wanted to.

But he wasn't really a gangster. He drove a motorcycle and hung out with some scuzzy guys, but it's not like he went out whacking guys or beating up old ladies for protection money. he was still in his last year of high school, for Christ's sakes, (a promise he had made to his mother) and studying to be a mechanic. Gangsters did not write exams and get yelled at by the principal for smoking on school property.

But, while not a real Russian gangster, Val was definitely no choir boy (She knew several real choir boys, so she knew what she was talking about). He got in a lot of fights, and won more than he lost. Jenni was pretty sure the garage where he worked did some shady dealings, but he never talked about that and she only saw the place when it was closed. Val and his high school motor head friends (his bratans, he called them) hung out there in an empty garage bay that had been fitted out with a bunch of old bar furniture.

She spent most of her time with him there, too, but never when his bratans were there. In the corner of the 'bar bay', behind the old tables and stools, was an old dirty and stained mattress. That was where she and Val usually hung out.

In the kitchen, Val said something with his thick accent and the rest of the guys at the table (were they gangsters? bikers? stockholders in some black leather company?) all laughed. Jenni glanced up from the carpet and saw that none of them, not even Val, were looking anywhere near her. She had dressed up for tonight in a brand new red blouse that really showed off her boobs and a very short black skirt ... for absolutely nothing, it seemed. She'd forged a doctor's note to get out of class and then driven all the way to the next county just to buy this outfit. It was a lot of work to just buy clothes, but Jenni knew from hard experience that word of anything she did in town would eventually reach her father.

Jenni's father. He could never could never find out about Val, the short skirts she wore when she went to see him or, especially, the mattress in the corner of the empty bay of the garage. She was the daughter of Deacon Jason Westcott, and he used his pious morality as a shield to protect his actions and a sword to condemn any act he deemed unworthy. A man's family was a reflection of himself, he always said (something about solid pillars and roots), so any misbehaviour by a child made the father look bad. As a deacon, a pillar of the community, he absolutely could not look bad, so Jenni and all her equally imprisoned brothers and sisters, could not look bad either.

So far, Jenni had succeeded in doing just that. As far as the town and the county knew, she was the apple of her father's eye, as pure in mind and body as the white robe she wore when she sang in the church choir. She went to church every Sunday, led and participated in all the youth prayer circles, never wore any skirt above her knee and never, ever, associated with anyone her father didn't approve of.

It was a huge lie, all of it. Jenni's thoughts hadn't been pure since she'd been twelve, and her body decidedly less so since last summer, when she had chosen school bad boy Val Kosvick as the one she wanted to take her virginity. He had been her secret boyfriend ever since, keeping her identity from his friends and hers, and fucking her every way he could think of on those too few occasions when both of them could sneak away to meet.

She'd kept him a secret, too, promising her family and congregation that she would never date before she was eighteen, become involved with anyone who wasn't Christian (preferably Baptist) and, of course, that she was going to save herself for marriage.

She had even believed it, once, before she had discovered sex. it had started with accidental touches in the shower, then secret explorations in her bed at night. She had carefully asked her father—her hero, then—and been shocked by his answer of temptation, sin and damnation. To this day, Jenni couldn't understand how something that felt so good—something that God had given to Man—could be considered bad. God had made her this way, which meant that He was OK with it, and if He was, then she wasn't going to worry about it anymore than that.

Either that, or her father and everything he believed in was a complete bag of shit. She was OK with that, too.

None of that mattered now, because, with Val, she could be herself. None of the gangsters—or whatever they were—went to her church or knew who her father was. And, even if they did, she didn't think it would have mattered. The few times anyone had looked at her tonight, they had been staring at either her boobs or ass, not her face.

It gave her a thrill to have men stare at her like that. When a man undressed her with eyes, it made her feel important and powerful. Maybe it wasn't modern, moral, or progressive, but Jenni didn't care. It was fun, it was sexy, she liked it, and that was all that mattered.

And, it made being ignored like she was right now even more frustrating.

"You're Val's girlfriend, right?" someone asked. "The one he never talks about?"

Jenni turned and saw another woman, a brunette a few years older than herself, probably college age. She was pretty, Jenni thought, but not as pretty as she was. She had blue eyes and that kind of kinky, curly hair that Jenni couldn't grow herself. She was wearing tight jeans, cowboy boots, and a man's flannel shirt worn open over a tank. She was small in the chest but made up for it with an impish smile and eyes that sparkled with mischief.

Jenni smiled, grateful for someone to talk to. "I'm sorry, what?"

The woman sat down across from her. "You came in with Val, right? You're his girlfriend?"

Her first instinct was to say no, to not take the chance that the deacon's daughter might be connected to the Russian gangster's girlfriend, but she stopped herself. It was a reflex, a bad reflex, and she was tired of it.

"Yes, I am."

"I'm Rachel," the brunette said.

"Hi. I'm Jenni." She tilted her head. "What do you mean Val never talks about me? Do you know him?"

Rachel smiled. "He's friends with my boyfriend, Zane, so I see him sometimes. He's asked me some questions about what girls like and stuff like that, but he always clams up when I ask him who he's seeing. All he ever says it that it is a secret."

Jenni's smile froze. She couldn't think about knowing that Val not only asked advice about what she did and did not like, or that he seemed to be honouring his promise to keep her secret, even to people unlikely to know or care who she was. That was nice, but it didn't matter, because this woman was Zane's girlfriend. She was talking to Zane's girlfriend.

Jenni knew Zane, kind of. Before tonight, he had been the only one of Val's friends that she had met as his girlfriend. The question of whether her secret was safe with him had never entered the picture, because they hadn't really talked. All they'd done was have sex.

On the list of deliciously dirty things that Jenni had done since meeting Val, this had been the dirtiest. During pillow talk a few months ago, she and Val had talked about some of the things that they fantasized about when they weren't together. Jenni had made up some vanilla fantasy that she had read in a romance novel, but somehow Val had known she was lying. He had badgered her until she told him one of her real fantasies, one of ones that she had never dared share before, not with him or with anyone.

Not being able to look at him, her face flaming the whole time, she had quietly told Val about how sometimes she thought about what it would be like to be used, to be taken by a complete stranger and forced to do everything he told her to. The rougher and more humiliating it was, she had said, the hotter it made her.

It had been so embarrassing to say out loud, but at the same time such a relief. She had been afraid that he would call her a depraved slut and break up with her, but all he had said we that it had sounded hot. They'd had sex again then, it had been incredible. He'd muttered to her the whole time, saying half his words Russian like he always did, saying how she was his slut, and that the dirtier her mind was the more that he liked her.

It had been a problem for her since the beginning. Jenni had broken up with Val probably a dozen times, usually after they'd done something she had liked too much. She'd hear her father's voice in her mind talking about sin and temptation, and she couldn't see him anymore, that what they were doing was wrong. Val had just laughed at her every single time. He would describe what dirty thing he was going to do to her the next time they were together, and tell her that he would be there waiting when she changed her mind. He was always right, damn him, and she always did.

Three days after their talk about fantasies, Jenni had come to the garage to find a dark haired, leather-clad biker in his mid-twenties talking with Val. Val had left her with him, claiming he had an engine to clean, and less than two minutes later Zane had been pushing her down onto her knees and forcing him to blow him off.

It had been horrible, humiliating, and degrading. He had barely said a word to her, just stripped her naked and fucked her hard, and she had loved it. Val had watched them the whole time, and when Zane had left, before his cum had had a chance to dry, Val had taken his place. Jenni had thought for sure that they would wear a hole in the mattress, they'd fucked so hard.

Jenni had walked funny for three days after that. She'd told her family that it was cramps.

She hadn't tried breaking up with him any time after that, and now, here she was, chatting with the girlfriend of the man who had bent her over a bar stool and shoved his dick up her ass. Could anything be more awkward than this?

"So have you known Val for a while?" Jenni asked, trying to keep her voice and expression neutral.

Rachel shrugged. "About a year, I guess. Since he became Zane's mechanic. They'd go for drinks at Ziggy's, where I work. I got to know him." She smiled. "He's cute, and very polite. That accent of his is really sexy."

Jenni didn't rise to the bait, if Rachel's comments about Val were baited. Her school and church friends were all catty as hell, and Jenni had never had they patience for it. Besides, she wasn't jealously possessive of Val. She knew that she should be—he was her boyfriend—but she never had. She smiled back at Rachel. "You work at Ziggy's?"

Ziggy's was a strip club at the edge of town and, depending on who you listened to, either the centre for everything illegal, a blight upon the moral fibre of the town and a gateway to Satan's dark kingdom, or the only place in town to have a good time. Her church had tried—unsuccessfully—to have it closed down. If Rachel worked there, than she was...

She nodded. "I dance there. Zane works security. That's how we met."

"You don't look like a stripper," Jenni blurted, unable to not glance down at Rachel's small chest.

"I'm a dancer," Rachel corrected. "And why? Because I don't have a giant pair of fake boobs?" She shook her shoulders back and forth, causing her small cleavage to sway. "It not how big they are, it's how you use them." She changed the subject. "So how did you meet Val?"

"I ran out of gas."

Rachel cocked her head. "That smile tells me there is a story there."

Oh, was there ever. Jenni just shrugged, but her smile widened as she remembered.

Rachel laughed. "Oh, there is definitely a story there. You're not going to tell it to me, are you?"

"It's private."

Rachel didn't look offended. "Can you tell me why you and Val are such a secret?"

Jenni hesitated. She couldn't tell Rachel the truth. She'd found out he hard way that word got around, always, and her relationship with Val was far too precious to risk. Still, she wanted to, and it would be so easy. There were no strippers in her father's church, and certainly no bikers. She wasn't Jenni the deacon's daughter here. She was ... well, whoever she wanted to be.

Who was that exactly?

Rachel was waiting an answer. Jenni shrugged and sort of told the truth. "We're from really different circles. No one would understand."

"Sure, I get that," Rachel said, though her eyes said she wanted to know more.

Jenni smiled wickedly, the smile she never let the world see. "Besides, having a secret boyfriend can be really fun."

It had been, at first, and still was, at times. At others, though...

Rachel glanced over at the table of men, where Val was visible in profile, and smiled back. "I'll bet." There was a look of understanding there that Jenni hadn't expected to see. She might just have made a friend here, if you ignored the whole 'getting fucked by her boyfriend in an auto garage' thing. Jenni decided that she was going to do just that.

"So what's it like dancing at Ziggy's?" she asked, not thinking about the unique odour of sweat, bike exhaust and leather that had come from Zane's crotch as she'd blown him.

"Well, it's nothing like Showgirls," Rachel said. "I like dancing, so that part of it is fun, and the tips are fantastic."

Showgirls was a movie about strippers, Jenni knew, although she'd never seen it. Movies like that did not get seen in the Westcott household. She nodded in understanding anyway. This Jenni, the Russian gangster's girlfriend, watched any movie she wanted to whenever she liked. "Do you get to pick your own outfits?"

Rachel nodded. "We buy all our own costumes, or we make them. They have some used ones back stage, but who wants to wear something that's been up someone else's greasy crack? I don't."

Rachel, Jenni decided, was her new hero. "So what sort of things do you wear?"

Rachel put one boot up on the coffee table. It was short for a cowboy boot with a raised heel and was made of creamy white leather embedded with rhinestones. "I'm a cowgirl, usually. My stage name is 'Belle Starr'."

"Those boots are gorgeous." Her family would never let her wear them, though.

Rachel beamed. "Thanks. They're my favourite pair."

"My favourite pair is higher up," a new voice interrupted. Jenni looked behind her and froze. It was Zane, looking dark and scruffy like last time, but without the riding leathers. She couldn't help but glance at his big hands, the same hands that had pushed her shoulders down as he ordered her to go down on him, and that had later gripped her hips strong enough to leave marks as he fucked her from behind.

Jenni couldn't help the hot stab of pure lust that the memory evoked, or her involuntary squirm as she felt herself become wet. She looked away from both him and Rachel before her face betrayed her.

"I was talking about boots," Rachel scolded, although Jenni could hear her smile through her voice.

"I know."

Jenni glanced at the two of them, fairly certain she could control her face—and her other parts, too—-now. Rachel was looking up at Zane with an exasperated smile and he was smirking back at her.

"Zane, have you met Jenni? She's Val's girlfriend."

When he looked at Jenni, his face held no recognition. "Just when they came in the door." He held out his hand. "So you're the secret girlfriend Val's been hiding. Hi."

Ok, so that's how we're playing it. Jenni took his hand and ignored the shiver that went through her when they touched. "I wouldn't say he's hiding me. We just spend most of our time together ... being alone together." Her lips twitched when she said it and she could see his nostrils flare a bit.

She didn't mean to say it as a dig to their little secret ... or maybe she did. He was still a sexy man, older than Val, and dangerous looking even in his shirt and jeans. She didn't have to guess, she knew what kind of lover he was. How could she not play with him a bit after that?

"Well, it's nice to meet you either way."

Rachel stood and wrapped herself around his arm. "What brings you over here to the cast-off girlfriend area?" she asked, a bit of a bite in her voice. "Shouldn't you be playing serious, Boys Only poker?"

He shrugged. "I had a crap hand. Thought I'd see what you two were laughing about."

That answer, Jenni thought, was bullshit. He was checking to see if he was in shit or not.

"Make up, boys, hair styles," Rachel said flatly, giving him a look. Jenni knew that look. It meant that grovelling and chocolates were going to be needed before he ever got his hands on his favourite pair of not-boots again. "You know: girl stuff."

One of the hairy bikers yelled at him from the kitchen. "I'll be right there!" He tried to give Rachel a pinch on her ass—her zopa as Val would call it—but she batted his hand away in annoyance. "Later, babe," he said as he left to rejoin the card game. She just glowered at his retreating back.

Jenni looked over to where the rest of the men sat and saw Val looking at her. He was dressed up, for him, which meant that his black jeans didn't have any holes in them and that his tight (and yummy) grey t shirt wasn't spotted with grease. A sea of tattoos ran down his long, well-muscled arms. He had got them in Russia, she knew that, and they all meant something specific. She didn't know what and she didn't care. They made him look dangerous and bad, not to mention someone her father would never, ever approve of, and all of that made him look oh, so good. His hair was that shade somewhere between blond and brown, though it looked darker right now slicked back like it was. He looked both apart from the other men there—he was much, much younger than all of them—and like he belonged. He looked like, well, a sexy, up and coming Russian gangster.

When he saw her looking at him he smiled, and she smiled back before she remembered that she was annoyed with him. Crossing her arms across her chest, she gave him her worst frown and turned away.

"Men suck," she announced.

"No, women suck," Rachel said. "Men lick, if we're lucky. Usually, they just grunt, roll over and then fall asleep."

They both laughed.

"So I guess this is the cast off girlfriend area," Jenni said.

"I can't believe he said that," Rachel fumed.

He hadn't, technically, but he hadn't corrected her when she had said it, so it was the same thing.

"So why did you come here then?" Jenni asked. "If you knew what it was?"

"At first it was 'I'll just stop in and say hi'," she said, lowering her voice in a fair imitation of Zane. "Then it was 'I'll just play a hand or two, you don't mind, do you, babe?'. When they asked me what I wanted on my pizza, I knew that I was stuck here until the bitter end."

"When Val got the call, he asked me if I wanted to come or not," Jenni said. "I figured that it was better than going home." She grimaced. "I didn't realize how boring poker was."

"These guys are all big shots in the local motorcycle clubs," Rachel said. "For Val just to get invited tonight is a big deal."

He'd said the same thing to her, earlier. "Are they real, you know, bikers?" Jenni asked, lowering her voice when she said the last word. "Or just guys who ride motor bikes?"

"A little of from column 'A', and a little from column 'B'." Rachel said, see-sawing her hand back and forth. "They're nice enough guys, unless you piss them off." She tilted her head in curiosity. "Are you OK with that? Val's not in any danger or anything, and neither are you."

"No, its okay. I was just wondering."

Real bikers. Some of them, anyway. It felt dangerous, and exciting, and not a small part of her was thrilled knowing that if her father knew where she was that he'd probably drop dead in shock.

Or get all wrathful, like God at Sodom and Gommora, and nuke the place.

That The two continued to chat, and Jenni was surprised how easy it was to talk to someone that she was so completely different from. Jenni was from as wealthy a family as there was in the area (she talked about herself, but kept it vague, and Rachel didn't press her) while Rachel came from a trailer park. Jenni was an honour student and had plans to continue to a state college, while Rachel had dropped out in grade ten in order to work. The fantastic tips she made at Ziggy's fed and clothed her younger brothers and sisters.

And yet, in so many other ways, they were so alike. They both had the same filthy sense of humour, which Jenni the Russian gangster's girlfriend could let out without shame. Everything was an innuendo, everything relating somehow to sex. Jenni told what little she knew about Val's Russian swear words, and Rachel relayed some of her more audacious stripping—sorry, dancing—adventures.

Despite this sudden and unexpected bond of friendship, Jenni still said nothing about her father, family, or life beyond being Val's girlfriend. Rachel, to her credit, asked her nothing.

In that way, more than hour passed. It was ... nice, and unexpected, but ultimately still not what Jenni had expected and hoped for this evening to be.

"Still playing his game?" Rachel asked after Jenni glanced at the poker players yet again and sighed.

"I think he's glanced over here twice."

"You're dressed up pretty nice for a poker game," Rachel said. "What were you two going to be doing before all this glamour?"

"Dinner at the garage, and then a lot of sex," Jenni said wistfully. It wasn't strange to say that to her, which was a first. Jenni had friends, sort of, from school and church, but none that she could talk to like this. "It was our first chance to get together since last weekend."

"And he still came here, after seeing you in that top, with that cleavage?"Jenni smiled. "He's an asshole and he's stupid. Either that or he's blind."

"Well, he's not stupid or blind."

They both laughed.

Rachel slapped her hands down on the arms of her chair. "If we're going to be here all night, we need beer." She grinned. "Let's see how much they're into their game. Is anyone watching us?"

Her eyes promised mischief. Jenni glanced into the kitchen and saw six men focussed on their game and nothing else. "Nope."

"Good." Rachel slid out of her flannel should shirt and then, with no hesitation, pulled her tank over her head. She wasn't wearing a bra, and Jenni couldn't help but stare at Rachel's suddenly bare chest. Her breasts were definitely small, but that didn't mean that there was anything wrong with them. Rachel had the slender, supple build of a dancer and her small breasts looked perfect on her. Her nipples, though, were what trapped Jenni's eyes. They were dark red, stiff (it was kind of cool in here) and as thick around as a quarter. Jenni, to her own surprise, found herself wondering what it would be like to touch them.

She'd seen naked women in the locker rooms at school, or when changing clothes, but had never felt the need to stare before. Much. What was so different about this time?

"Most guys pay twenty bucks to see that," Rachel said. Jenni jerked her eyes away. Rachel didn't seem offended.

"It's a bargain," she said without thinking. Rachel just laughed.

"You're not going out there like that are you?" Jenni asked, shock warring with excitement at the idea.

Rachel was already slipping her arms back into the sleeves of her flannel shirt. "I will if you will," she said, her eyes sparkling. She tied her shirt tails just under her barely covered breasts and Jenni couldn't help but stare again. She was decent, barely, but the whole of her flat, slender waist was plainly visible from the bottom of her chest to the top of her low-riding jeans.

Rachel stood. "How do I look?"

'Hot' was what Jenni wanted to say. "Like a cowgirl," was what came out.

"Damn. Should have brought my hat." Rachel did a quick line dance move that involved shaking her chest and shoulders. Jenni wouldn't have been surprised if her shirt had come open but it somehow stayed shut. "Keep an eye out. Let me know if anyone even looks up at me."

Jenni did keep an eye out, but not on the men. Rachel used her heels and the hips that God had given her to sway enticingly as she walked. She had a natural grace and femininity (aided by her time as a dancer, no doubt) that Jenni envied. She had heard the word 'lithe' before, but had never really understood what it leant before now. No wonder Rachel made such good tips.

Jenni watched as Rachel, looking like an extra from a car wash video, sashayed into the kitchen, ran an arm along Zane's shoulders as she passed behind him, and then out of sight to where the fridge was. A few moments later she was returning with two bottles on her hands, her hips swaying and eyebrows wiggling in a parody of suavity.

Jenni got an idea, and decided to act on it before she had a chance to talk herself out of it.

"Well?" Rachel asked as she circled around the couch.

"One guy watched your hands to make sure you didn't slip anything to Zane, but, other than that, no one even glanced at you."

She just snorted and held out one of the bottles. Jenni didn't take it right away. Instead, wondering the entire time if she was crazy, she reached out and tucked a folded over dollar bill into the waistband of Rachel's jeans. She held her breath as she took her beer, hoping she hadn't just made a terrible mistake.

Rachel burst out laughing and plucked the bill from her jeans. "A five?" she said, playing at being indignant. "I'm worth way more than that!"

"It's all that I had."

Rachel settled on the couch next to Jenni, her eyes sparkling as she took a drink. "I'm sure you'll find a way to make it up to me." The smile she gave was broad and inviting.

Jenni had no idea what to say to that, so she drank.

Rachel lay her head against her arm on the top of the couch and looked up at Jenni, her head sideways. She slowly brushed a lock of her hair away from her face, still smiling all the while. Her eyes were firmly affixed on Jenni.

Jenni felt her face begin to flush. She was unable to look away or speak and could only smile back.

Rachel straightened and took a drink of beer, her eyes never moving. "You know, there is one thing that we could do that would get Val's attention and drive him crazy," Rachel said, her smile turning mischievous.

"What's that?" Jenni asked, breathless.

Rachel slid closer on the couch, now close enough for Jenni to touch, and took the half empty beer from her limp fingers. Placing both bottles on the coffee table, she bit her lip before continuing. "Only if you're sure."

"What is it?" Jenni asked again.

In reply, Rachel kissed her.

Jenni saw it coming. Rachel glanced briefly at Jenni's lips before she leaned in and moved her body a little closer. Jenni could have leaned backwards, or turned her head away, but she didn't. She wanted this, even if she didn't know why she did, even though this was something she'd never really considered before tonight.

Jenni did nothing to stop Rachel from kissing her. In fact, she leaned into it. Their lips met, and for the first time Jenni was kissing another woman.

It was fairly tame, as far as kisses went. It was quick, only a second or two, and both of their mouths remained (mostly) closed. Their lips met, said 'hello, it's good to meet you' and then parted.

It was good. It was different than kissing Val, but still nice. Softer.

Rachel pulled back, her eyes questioning, the slightest bit of nervousness on her face.

Jenni licked her lips, searching for any taste of Rachel there, and smiled. "How is that supposed to drive Val crazy? He's not even watching."

Rachel smiled back, her nervousness gone, and laughed quietly. "One of them will glance over here sooner or later."

"Then we should do it again, in case they do."

"We should."

Rachel slid right next to Jenni so that their hips and knees were touching. They didn't have to lean into each other this time, just bend their heads forward a little bit. Jenni's eyes were half closed as her brow contacted Rachel's with the faintest touch. She lifted her head just a bit, felt her nose brush Rachel's cheek, and their noses were touching, dancing as they slowly, playfully maneuvered their mouths closer and closer together. She felt Rachel's arm settle across her back, embracing her, and her other hand touch her cheek, caressing her and guiding her, and then they were kissing again. It was still fairly chaste, but their lips held a much longer conversation this time. It was definitely different than when she was with a guy. She and Val had sort of skipped past the making out stage in their relationship, and none of the tame church boys she had ever dated had gotten more than a peck on the cheek. Jenni had never just spent time kissing before.

She liked it.

A minute later (or was it two? three?) they parted again, their eyes continuing what their lips had started. Both women were flushed and breathing harder than before.

Damn, that was hot!

"No one's noticed us yet," Jenni whispered, her eyes caught by the quick flash of Rachel's pink tongue crossing her teeth.

"Mm, mm," Rachel murmured, shaking her head slightly.

Their third kiss was a real one, an eyes closed, mouths open, and tongues sliding against each other kind of kiss. Jenni's hands, which had stayed down in her lap so far, slid across and stopped when they touched the warm, soft bare skin of Rachel's waist.

She tasted like beer, and underneath that, the unique flavour that could only be girl. Their tongues continued to play as their lips carried on a different but similar conversation. Rachel's lips were fuller than Val's, softer, and somehow more supple. A small languid moan came out of her mouth and into Rachel's. Or was it from Rachel's mouth into hers? Jenni couldn't tell.

The small part of her brain that could still think heard, as if from a great distance, someone say "Holy shit, check it out," and, a moment later, a curse of some sort in Russian. Jenni didn't know, when she deepened the kiss shortly after, if she had done it for them or just because she wanted to.

Jenni's one hand, the one not trapped by the couch, slid up Rachel's arm to her shoulder and then her face. She cupped Rachel's cheek, turning the woman's face slightly so that their kiss could deepen, back down to her flannel covered shoulder then down to her elbow. Rachel's hands were slowly and gently caressing, one across Jenni's back and shoulder, and the other down her leg, along her skirt, and onto the bare skin of her leg.

It felt really, really good.

It was so easy, so natural, for Jenni's own hand, resting on Rachel's upper arm, to slide up from there and rest on Rachel's barely covered breast. Part of her wanted to push aside the fabric and feel it against her palm, but the rest of her was content to gently cup it, enjoy how perfectly it fit her hand, and feel the hard nipple against her palm.

Rachel moaned and her hand slid briefly under Jenni's skirt to caress her inner thigh before resuming its soft stroke up and down the length of her leg.

Jenni's hand slid once again up Rachel's arm to her shoulder, then up to her face to comb her fingers gently down the length of her long, silky hair. Inevitably, as if drawn by a magnet, it found itself back on Rachel's breast, gently squeezing and caressing. Rachel moved her hand to cover Jenni's and pressed it into her chest. Rachel definitely moaned this time, a low, deeply satisfied sound from the bottom of her throat.

Jenni had to stop now or she wouldn't stop at all, and, as much as she wanted to, she also didn't, as stupid as that sounded. Slowly, reluctantly, she pulled her hands and lips away. Then and only then did she open her eyes.

Rachel's face was right there, her blue eyes smoky with desire. She was breathing hard, just as Jenni was herself. The corner or Rachel's mouth curled upward. "I think our plan worked."

Plan? Right, there had been a plan. Jenni looked across the back of the couch into the kitchen where six faces watched, their expressions a mix of shock, excitement, and, in one case, exasperation and disgust. Zane looked amused, of all things. Val, the reason she had done this (wasn't he?) looked like he's been hit by a truck, though under that she saw a heat intense enough to burn the entire house down.

It was all she could do to smile weakly and wave, even as she watched Val to see what he would do. Their eyes met, but when one of the guys barked something about the show being over, her Russian gangster boyfriend turned back to his poker game.

"Oh, that got to him, all right," Rachel giggled. "Did you see his face?" Rachel was still pressed against Jenni, her jean covered leg warm where it touched her own.

"I did. I saw it turn back to that stupid poker game."

"For now," Rachel assured her, "and you know that his eyes are going to be on you at least five times every hand." Speaking of hands, theirs had found each other, and their fingers had become entwined. Rachel's free hand drew invisible electric lines up and down Jenni's arm.

"Why was Zane laughing?" Zane, who she'd had sex with, and whose girlfriend she'd spent the last twenty minutes kissing and groping, while he had watched. This whole thing, Jenni knew, was about to get really, really complicated.

Don't think about that!

Rachel shrugged and gave a coy smile. "He knows me."

Jenni didn't know what to do. She was thinking about the tangled mess of herself, Rachel, Zane and Val. Zane, even though Jenni hadn't known it at the time, had chosen to cheat on Rachel. Jenni didn't want to feel guilty about what had been a wonderful (and degrading; wonderfully degrading?) experience, but could she go any further with Rachel knowing that?

Rachel smiled her wicked smile and Jenni found her conflicted thoughts melting away. She liked that smile.

"Do you know what would drive Val even more crazy?"

"What?" Jenni asked, suddenly breathless.

"What he doesn't see."

Jenni looked down to where their hands were joined and laying in their laps. "I don't know what you mean."

Rachel just smiled and stood up, pulling Jenni to her feet. She knew without needing to look that six pairs of eyes were watching as Rachel slowly led her out of the living room and down the hallway, out of sight.

At the open door of the closest bedroom, Rachel stopped, doubt clouding her face. "If you just want to mess with him, we don't have to do anything. We can just make some noise or—"

Jenni, the last of her doubts evaporating, shut her up by kissing her.

For a while they didn't move, just made out while leaning against the door frame. Jenni didn't think about Val, Zane, or his relationship with Rachel. She didn't think about anything, she just experienced and enjoyed.

Rachel was definitely a wonderful kisser: patient, passionate and thorough. Kissing was isn't just a means to an end with her; the annoying but necessary step you put up with in order to get naked and start fucking. It was its own experience, to be savoured and enjoyed, and Jenni really, really enjoyed it.

She could have stayed there necking with Rachel all night, but Jenni could hear the men playing poker just around the corner. The idea of kissing Rachel out of sight of the men, but knowing that they knew they were here—even if they didn't know exactly what they were doing—was both a turn on and a little too weird. She pulled away from the kiss, smiled to let Rachel know why she did it, and led her into the bedroom.

She closed the bedroom door, and maybe it was, or maybe it wasn't a mistake when it stayed open a crack and didn't latch.

Jenni didn't like not being sure about things like what she wanted, so she put it out of her mind. This Jenni—Russian gangster's girlfriend Jenni—didn't concern herself with shit like that. That was the Jenni who was in control now.

Just ... not in a way that made her sound nuts or anything.

Jenni sat down on the bed and leaned back of her elbows, smiling an invitation for Rachel to join her. Rachel smiled in return, but hers was more devious. She climbed onto the bed on all fours and crawled slowly towards Jenni. Jenni watched her slow, deliberate approach, letting her excitement and anticipation build. She was alone in a bedroom with a sexy woman, about to (hopefully) do a lot more than making out and some light petting, all just a room away from her boyfriend and a bunch of dangerous bikers.

It was deliciously wicked, and Jenni was determined to enjoy every moment of it.

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