by JL Merrow
In reply, Nita just arched her back. Her nipples bobbed irresistibly, and Billie bent her head to suck upon the nearest one. It tasted divine, and the little nub hardened beneath her tongue as she licked and teased it.
It was a good thing, Billie thought, that she’d put on such a light and airy dress today, as her panties were quite wet through. Had she worn trousers, they’d have taken an age to dry.
A pang of guilt struck through her. Poor Nita! Clad in jeans, if she were only half so aroused as Billie, she must be in dire straits indeed. Clearly it behoved Billie to do something about it. “I think these need to come off,” she said firmly, grappling with the buttons.
Once the fastenings were all undone, Nita shoved her jeans enthusiastically over her hips and down to the forest floor. And oh my—apparently underwear really wasn’t a troll thing. Billie supposed all that size changing must wreak havoc upon the elastic.
“Let’s lie down,” Billie suggested, her voice surprisingly hoarse in her own ears.
Shyly, Nita laid her plaid shirt upon a patch of moss, then took Billie in her arms. Billie, who had become somewhat distracted by the swaying of Nita’s breasts, allowed herself to be laid down in her turn.
Nita lay down beside her, her magnificent form akin to a supine earth sculpture Billie had once seen, and seemed, for a moment, at a loss. Ever practical, Billie took one of Nita’s hands and slid it up her thigh to lay it upon her hip, coincidentally taking with it the skirt of Billie’s dress.
“You’re so pretty,” Nita said. “Like a bluebell.” With an air of great daring, she slid her fingers inside Billie’s gossamer-thin panties, and unerringly sought out the yearning bud within. Billie gasped as Nita stroked her with a gentleness that belied her strength. Two fingers slipped inside her, and Billie was sure she felt them grow to fill her utterly. Her eyes rolled back in her head, until she was looking not at Nita, but at a voyeuristic squirrel in the treetop above. When their gaze met, it darted away, perhaps embarrassed to have been caught watching, and Billie giggled. “Oh, that’s lovely,” she sighed, to reassure her lover the laughter was no criticism. And indeed, no criticism was needed. Nita, for all her bashfulness and inexperience, seemed to know instinctively just where and how to caress: when to press harder, and when to tantalise with teasing touches.
Billie soared: up into the treetops to frolic with the squirrels, leaping from branch to branch in defiance of gravity. And then down, down, down into the depths of the earth, learning all the secrets that hid beneath the forest floor. She writhed beneath her lover, whose lips kissed her over throat and breast, until at last Billie could contain herself no longer, and screamed aloud as sensation overwhelmed her, arcing through her body like a lightning strike. Such was the force of her climax that, once her vision cleared, she looked around her, amazed to see the trees still standing. “Oh,” she said, and “oh,” again, until finally she could manage a “Thank you, that was lovely.”
Nita’s smile, Billie thought, was lovelier still.
“And now it’s your turn,” Billie said, eager to reciprocate. “I need to taste you some more. Lie on your back.”
Nita did so, and Billie rolled on top of her for a moment, their breasts brushing and their nipples exchanging fond greetings. Then Billie slithered down, planting kisses like snowdrops as she went, until she reached her goal.
Nita tasted of moss and clear river water with just a hint of honey, and Billie lapped eagerly at the coy, rosy bud that nestled between dense foliage at the juncture of two tree-trunk thighs. Nita’s softly rounded belly tensed, and she gave a low, rumbling groan as Billie slipped a questing finger inside her.
It occurred to Billie that, were Nita to regain her former size, Billie would be able to fit her entire hand inside her with no difficulty whatsoever. She shuddered at the thought, the renewed tingling between her legs almost painful in its intensity. Down, girl, she thought sternly, and resumed her attentions.
Nita’s cries increased, and her breathing became ragged. Billie lapped harder. The ground shook. Birds flew from the trees, flapping and squawking in alarm. Far in the distance, Billie could have sworn she heard the toppling of a mighty oak. And then Nita’s whole body relaxed, and with a long, satisfied moan she eased Billie gently from her.
Billie looked up at Nita, and smiled. “Was that good?”
“Best ever,” Nita said, with a blush. Then she seemed to droop; not an easy task, while supine. “S’pose you’ll be going now.”
“Well…” Billie was reluctant to leave, but her tummy was rather rumbly. “I suppose I shall.”
Nita turned to stare intently at a small and utterly uninteresting tree stump. “Would you, maybe, come back with some cupcakes for me?”
“Well, I could,” Billie said with a smile. “But wouldn’t it be nicer if you came with me? You could pick out your own cupcake, then.”
“Not really got clothes for going out,” Nita muttered shyly. And true, her jeans were a little stained with leaf-mould; but on the other hand she filled them very nicely indeed. Or would, when she put them on once more.
“Don’t worry,” Billie said, gesturing at her own floaty cotton sundress (now adorned with something of a moss and leaf motif) and strappy sandals. “With me dressed like this, we’ll make the perfect stereotype of a butch-femme couple, which I find tends to reassure people. They do like to think they know which of us is the man.”
“Why would one of us need to be a man?”
Billie grinned. “I think it has something to do with putting up shelves and taking out the rubbish. Come on—I can hear the cupcakes calling me.”
Nita frowned. “You can hear them?”
“Oh, yes. It’s a gentle, tinkling sound, like icing sugar falling on gossamer.”
Green eyes opened wide, and a smile split the handsome face that held them. “You’re right. I can hear them too, now. ‘S pretty.”
“Well, then. Shall we?” With old-fashioned courtesy (she had often thought manners grown shockingly lax these days) Billie offered the custodian of the copse her arm.
“Yeah, all right,” Nita said gruffly, and linking arms, Billie and the bridge troll skipped off merrily, cakewards.
They lived, of course, happily ever after, and had, in time, three magically-conceived children. All of them were as bright, beautiful, and fearless as their mothers, and although their tendency to change in size while in the presence of the object of their affection was never satisfactorily explained, fortunately nobody seemed to mind.
And while neither Billie nor Nita, as it transpired, was particularly good at putting up shelves, they always took it in turns to take out the rubbish.
THE END
ABOUT J.L. MERROW
J.L. Merrow is that rare beast, an English person who refuses to drink tea. She read Natural Sciences at Cambridge, where she learned many things, chief amongst which was that she never wanted to see the inside of a lab ever again. Her one regret is that she never mastered the ability of punting one-handed whilst holding a glass of champagne.
She writes across genres, with a preference for contemporary gay romance and the paranormal, and is frequently accused of humour. Find her online at jlmerrow.com.
ABOUT JMS BOOKS LLC
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