Girls Only: Pajama Party

by Selena Kitt

  eXcessica publishing

  Girls Only: Pajama Party © March 2012 by Selena Kitt

  All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental. All sexually active characters in this work are 18 years of age or older.

  This book is for sale to ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It contains substantial sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which may be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your files where they cannot be access by minors.

  Excessica LLC

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  Alpena, MI 49707

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  Cover design © 2012 Willsin Rowe

  First Edition March 2012

  Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.

  GIRLS ONLY:

  Pajama Party

  By Selena Kitt

  Selena Kitt Singles

  Short Story—Big Bang!

  Selena Kitt’s *Girls Only*—where the girls get naughty together, but it feels oh, so good!

  April and Casey have been best friends since kindergarten, and they’re about to go away to different universities on separate coasts. April plans one last sleepover at the end of the summer so they can do all those girlish, silly things together like doing makeovers and watching chick flicks and playing dress-up and having a cereal eating contest before they have to go be grown-ups in college. But when a game of double-dog-dare goes too far, the girls find themselves saying a far more heated goodbye than either of them had planned.

  Selena Kitt Single

  Short Story—Big Bang!

  (approx 5550 words)

  Warning: This title contains hot panty-melting girl-on-girl action!

  Table of Contents

  Pajama Party

  About Selena Kitt

  Bonus Excerpt!

  More Books from Selena Kitt

  More from Excessica

  Pajama Party

  Armed and Ready.

  That was the name of the nail polish Casey was using to paint my toenails. It was a ghastly color, a brownish army green with a pearlescent tint. But I consoled myself that it was better than the black licorice she’d painted her own toenails with. I was more into pretty pink polish with names like Lovey Dovey and Jamaica Me Crazy, but Casey’s truth or dare question had hit far too close to home for my liking and I’d taken the dare instead. So I was letting her paint my toenails Baby-Shit-Brown—er, Armed and Ready. Anyway, it wasn’t like nail polish remover hadn’t been invented yet.

  “So, truth or dare?” I slurped Peanut Butter Capt’n Crunch from my spoon, crunching happily. I’d won our cereal-eating contest—Casey had barely made it through her second bowl—and this was my prize. The entire box of Peanut Butter Capt’n Crunch was mine—all mine! I hadn’t really eaten the stuff since we were thirteen or so, back when we used to do sleepovers like this on a weekly basis, but so far I wasn’t disappointed with my re-acquaintance with it. Unlike the Spaghetti-O’s we’d microwaved for dinner. I shuddered just thinking about it. We’d fed those to the dog.

  Casey kept teasing me that I was going to regret all this in the morning when I was puking up Capt’n Crunch along with all the wine we were drinking. Granted, the wine was definitely a new addition to our last sleepover of the summer—maybe our last sleepover ever. That thought made me sad and I gulped down the rest of my glass of wine, shuddering at the bitter taste it left in my mouth and following it quickly with another spoonful of cereal. Quite the combination!

  “Truth.” Casey lean forward, holding her long blonde hair out of the way so she could blow on my toes to dry the polish. The sensation gave me chills.

  I grinned at her response. We always said “truth” first. Of course, if the question was too difficult to answer, we switched to dare in an instant. It was technically against the rules, but we’d played that way forever.

  “How big is Lance’s dick?” I knew I’d surprised her with the question, but I couldn’t help myself. I really, really wanted to know.

  “April,” she warned, putting the brush back into the bottle and twisting it closed, tossing it into the plethora of bottles jutting up haphazardly on the bedspread in a myriad of colors.

  “Come on.” I leaned forward, conspiratorial. “You used to tell me everything. So spill. Does Lance have a nice, big… lance?” I waggled my eyebrows at her for effect.

  She cleared her throat and shrugged. “It’s… sufficient.”

  “Sufficient?” I gaped at her, appalled. “You poor, poor girl!”

  “Oh shut up.” She grabbed the little plastic tub off my night table and started putting the nail polish bottles away. “Look who’s talking. You haven’t had a cock in over a year!”

  “So let me live vicariously.” I grinned. “And you know that’s not a real answer. I want a measurement.”

  Casey sniffed, setting the full tub aside. “I’ve never measured.”

  “I bet he has. Every guy does.” I wiggled my toes, testing the polish, making sure it was dry before hopping off the bed. “I have an idea.”

  “Where are you—?”

  I ignored Casey’s question, running to my mother’s room. No one was home. My mom and stepdad had gone to her high school reunion thing three hours away and were staying there overnight. They trusted me, and why wouldn’t they? I’d never given them any reason not to. They’d left us alone during sleepovers for years, and the only trouble we’d gotten into was eating too much pizza and watching movies until three in the morning. Besides, I knew they’d rather have us at our house alone than at Casey’s house with her drunken stepfather. He was always home—always out of work—while Casey’s mother worked two jobs, one cleaning floors during the day at Target, the other at night tending bar.

  “April, what—?” Casey’s eyes widened when I leapt back into the room and she saw what I was brandishing like a sword in my left hand.

  “Remember this?” We’d first discovered it on a foray into my mother’s bedroom looking for make-up, jewelry and dress-up clothes when were about thirteen.

  She snorted laughter. “Who could forget The Terminator?”

  “So, using this as a model…” I plopped onto the bed, tossing the monster dildo between us. It was at least a foot long—maybe more—big, black and formidable. “How big is Lance’s cock?”

  She picked up the toy, a little smirk on her face, and I just knew she was remembering the first time we’d found it, both of us giggling and horrified. What would you do with such a thing, we’d wondered? Neither of us would have an experience with actual male genitalia for years, and I have to admit, the first time I saw a real cock, I’d been a little disappointed.

  The Terminator had given me very distorted expectations!

  “I can’t.” She put it down, shaking her head. “Lance would kill me.”

  “He doesn’t need to know.” I picked the toy up, hefting it my hand. “Come on. Is it this big?” I slid my finger along the veined length, about five inche
s from the tip. “This big?” I waggled my eyebrows, going a little further, about eight inches now. “This big?”

  I raised my eyebrows and smirked, holding the whole, humungous thing between my palms.

  “Dare! I’ll take the dare!” Casey countered, vehemently shaking her head at me and batting the toy away when I leaned in toward her with it.

  “Okay, fine.” I twisted the knob at the bottom of the dildo, making it hum to life. “I dare you to fuck yourself with The Terminator.”

  “April!” Her jaw dropped. She was truly shocked. “You’re crazy!”

  “So tell me then, how big is Lance’s dick?” I had her cornered and we both knew it.

  She was going to have to tell me, and once she opened those floodgates, I was hoping for a deluge of information. We’d always talked about our boyfriends and every little thing that happened on our dates, from first kisses to rounding first base to first times. We shared everything. Until Lance. What was it about this guy that made Casey clam up?

  “You’re a brat, April Cohen!” she hissed at me.

  “It’s truth or dare, remember?” I raised my eyebrows at her, wielding The Terminator menacingly. “I double-dog dare you! If you’re not going to tell me the truth, you have to take the dare.”

  “I do not.” She stood and walked away, taking the tub of nail polish, her back to me as she put it on my dresser, but I could see her face in the mirror. I didn’t like that look—sad and a little… scared? Of what?

  I frowned and bit my lip, considering, looking at my best friend in her UCLA sweats and t-shirt. This time next week, she would be soaking up the California sunshine, and I’d be walking on the campus of Boston U amidst the changing autumn colors. It would be the first time since fourth grade music camp that we’d be separated for a significant length of time.

  “Well you know what this means.” I stood, coming up behind her, meeting her eyes in the mirror. I looked ready to go to prom, aside from the baby-doll nightie, my hair all up and curled, make-up perfect.

  “No…” Casey’s voice trailed off, her eyes widening slowly with dawning realization as a mischievous smile spread across my face. “Nooo!”

  But it was too late.

  “Tickle penalty!” I grabbed for her as she ran, catching the waistband of her sweats as she dove toward my bed.

  Casey howled, twisting and laughing already, even though I hadn’t touched her yet. Her sweats slipped further down her hips as she made another attempt to get further away, already begging me, “Please no no no, don’t, not the tickle penalty, not the tickle penalty!”

  I leaned against her legs on the bed, pinning her, getting ready for my tickle assault, when I glanced down and saw the bruises. These weren’t just a few “Oops I ran into the coffee table” sort of bruises either. These spread across her behind like a Canadian sunrise, all oranges and blues and purples.

  I couldn’t help the gasp that escaped my throat.

  Casey looked back at me, wide-eyed, horrified. “Get off me!”

  “What happened?” I whispered. I couldn’t take my eyes off the damage. Then I saw a tell-tale bruise on her hip as she turned, her sweats pulling down further as she tried to get away—a large handprint, definitely four fingerprints, like grip marks. A man’s hand. “Oh my god, it was Lance, wasn’t it?”

  I felt Casey’s whole body collapse beneath me, boneless, face buried in her arms. I climbed to the side, stretching out beside her on the bed, speechless. And furious. I’d been resentful of Lance and the Casey-time he’d stolen from me all summer, but while my friend had grown more and more distant, I’d never suspected anything like this.

  “I’m going to kill that bastard,” I said through clenched teeth, reaching out to stroke her fine, blonde hair.

  “April,” Casey warned, turning her tear-streaked face to look at me.

  “Don’t ‘April’ me!” I scoffed. “He deserves to be drawn and quartered!”

  “I know.” Her voice was barely a whisper, her eyes welling up with tears.

  I leaned in close and pressed my forehead to hers like we used to, hiding under the covers with a flashlight to read Goosebumps books late into the night, making our blanket-tent warm with our breath.

  “That black eye you got last month wasn’t from softball, was it?” I tucked a bit of blonde fluff behind her ear. There was still a ghost of it around her eye socket.

  She shook her head, miserable. “He stopped leaving marks where people could see…”

  I blinked, feeling my hand clenching into a fist at the thought of him hurting her. “You can’t see him anymore.”

  “I’m not.” She sniffed, wiping at an errant tear. “This was… the last. Even his mother says he has ‘anger management issues.’ Besides, I’m going away to school.”

  “This is an ‘anger management’ issue like Charlie Sheen has a drug problem!” I should have known. Casey had only been with two other boys, and only one of them had done anything sexual with her. Lance was her first real relationship. I was kicking myself for not seeing the signs. “Did you tell him you’re breaking up with him?”

  “I was afraid,” she whispered, her eyes spilling over with tears. “I’m afraid.”

  I put my arms around her, felt her trembling, and tried to keep the rage in my chest from bursting out and chasing Lance Dawson down like an animal. I tried not to dwell on what I wanted to do to him—and how protracted and satisfying such torture might be. I couldn’t believe I’d been jealous, that all this time I’d been dwelling on how I felt, missing out on time with my best friend, when I should have been paying attention to her, noticing the signs—the freaking obvious signs!

  “I’m so sorry.” I shook my head against hers, closing my eyes and feeling them sting with my own tears.

  “It’s not your fault.”

  “He picked you instead of me,” I reminded her—reminded us both.

  “I know.” She winced. “I was so damned proud of that.”

  I remembered. She’d been so excited when he’d asked her out, when he chose her. Casey was dainty and really quite pretty, but she wasn’t overtly so. She was a sort of behind-her-glasses pretty, under her baggy sweats and sweatshirts.

  But that day she’d borrowed one of my bikinis and her glasses had been tucked into her beach bag, and Lance, a tall, tanned lifeguard with aviator sunglasses that hid his eyes, had seemed particularly focused on her shyness, the way she cast her gaze down and smiled at the sand, her cheeks pinking up when he talked to her.

  Now I knew why.

  “He picked you for a reason.” The words burned my throat. I didn’t want to hurt her—but she had to know.

  “Because I’m stupid.” Her lower lip trembled and I touched it with my index finger.

  “Because you’re vulnerable.”

  She snorted. “Desperate.”

  “Eager.” I rubbed her lower lip thoughtfully with my thumb, remembering how bruised and swollen it had been earlier this summer, how she’d claimed she’d run into the side of the bathroom door in the middle of the night.

  “Needy.”

  I smiled. “Naïve.”

  “Stupid.” She sniffed. “But I thought… I really thought… that he was the only one who would ever want me.”

  “Now that’s stupid.” I did it without thinking. Or maybe I’d been thinking it all along. I leaned in and kissed her, her lips soft and slightly salty from her tears. She tasted like Spaghetti-Os and wine. She was delicious.

  “What are you doing?” Casey breathed as we parted.

  “Showing you.” I lifted her t-shirt, heady from the wine and intent on proving her wrong. I had to fix this thing somehow. I should have protected her. I should have been there. How could I not have seen what was happening? She was beautiful, she was perfect—and Lance was definitely not the only person who would ever want her.

  I wanted her.

  I’d always wanted her.

  “April…” Her whisper was a warning, but I didn’t heed it. In
stead, I trailed kisses up her quivering belly, finding her braless, and it was no wonder. Her breasts were bruised too, dirty fingerprints all over her, like tattoos. This is what she hadn’t wanted me to see, why she’d refused to dress up tonight during our make-over session.

  “Poor baby.” I kissed her bruises, every one, while she watched, her face pained. “Am I hurting you?”

  She shook her head, tracing one of the bruises near her pale pink nipple with a black-painted nail. “He likes it rough.”

  “I’d like to give it to him rough,” I snarled, nuzzling her hand out of the way and kissing that bruise too. “How do you like it, Casey?”

  “I don’t know,” she whispered. At that moment, I couldn’t help remembering how we’d practiced kissing our pillows when we were young, how she had puckered like a fish and we’d giggled ourselves silly.

  I felt a slow grin starting to spread. “Want to find out?”

  Her lips parted slightly and she wet them with the tip of her tongue before asking, “With you?”

  I nodded.

  “Yes, please.”

  Her assent gave me the courage to kiss her again, deeper this time, my tongue finding hers, the sharp intake of her breath allowing further exploration. I blamed the wine. I blamed Lance and his ‘anger management issues.’ I blamed the fact that I’d been celibate myself for over a year.

  But the truth was I wanted her. I wanted her so much I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. If I was thinking anything, I was thinking how much I was going to miss her, how much I loved her, how long I’d wanted to do this very thing as my hand moved up to cup her breast and thumb her nipple, feeling her knees opening under mine in sweet acquiescence.

  Her sweats were already half-off, her panties edging down with them, and I tugged them down her thighs as we kissed, kneeing and toeing them off her silky smooth legs. We undressed in front of each other all the time, but this was different. We both knew what was happening here, could feel it building with the rise of our breath, the increased pounding of our hearts. I felt her hesitation in the way she turned her head to catch a breath, eyes fluttering open momentarily to shyly meet mine, her mind fighting with the overwhelming sensation, and I didn’t want her head to win out.