The window in the doorframe was black with grease, dust and age. The door handle should have scraped, and the door should have creaked, but they were perfectly silent. If anything else had been maintained in the office beyond the door, it didn't show. The air was cool, but noticeably warmer than the surrounding Chicago chill as Layla stepped inside.
The building was over a century old, and far too ugly to be preserved, but apparently too unimportant to be demolished in this run-down area. With the kickbacks the Franchise received from the romance-industrial complex, it should be able to afford better premises.
Though the Franchise paid well for piecework, Layla had decided that this was her last year. Seasonal employment had allowed her to pursue her annual objective of backpacking in some remote part of the world, but neither Spirit Halloween nor the Christmas popup she'd worked at in the past year had done much to boost her travel fund.
Working for the Franchise might pay well, but compromising her principles for the traditionalist group galled her. Maybe this year when she returned from her jaunt she'd look into working at Costco. Or maybe she could learn a musical instrument and earn spending money as she travelled. Which? She grinned as she imagined herself backpacking with a tuba.
"Miss Haddad."
The woman's voice broke through her daydreaming. It sounded as dry and dispassionate as each previous year.
"Uh, hi," Layla replied.
"You're five minutes late, Miss Haddad," the starched-looking redhead informed her. "You will need to hurry if you are to take advantage of lunchtime gatherings." She selected a paper-wrapped package from a box behind her desk, setting it on the surface beside her.
"Uh, yes, I'll pick up the pace when I leave," Layla replied. It would have been polite to use the woman's name, but she'd forgotten that her first year.
"Do you still meet our criteria, Miss Haddad? You are still single? You have not indulged in sexual activity?"
"Right," Layla said, sighing inwardly. It was very much not true. Well, the single part was, currently. The other wasn't, except in the Franchise's eyes. To management, sex involved a penis and a vagina. From their perspective, Layla would die a virgin.
The woman looked down at her handwritten notes. If she could even spell the word computer, Layla would be astounded. "You can change in room six. Use locker twenty-one for your discarded clothing." She handed Layla a key on a weather-beaten leather thong, then indicated the paper package containing her uniform. "You will collect your weapon as you leave."
Weapon. Did she really have to use that word?
Layla could have recited the woman's instructions from her memories of the past few years. She dutifully heard her out again, then sought out room six.
Within the room, she stripped, leaving her warm clothing on the metal table. It and a tall mirror were the only furnishings present. Naked, she shivered in the sudden cold, then unwrapped her uniform, which consisted of a diaphanous chiton with a golden belt and pair of silvery slippers. All three pieces seemed to be sized for a young child, yet each flowed into place without stretching, the chiton only a little too snug in the chest and hips.
The near-transparent chiton, tied at both shoulders, and ending above the knees, did little to repel the cold. She shivered as she checked the mirror, noting that her chilly nipples were hard within the translucent spidersilk top. She tied the belt, then dropped the slippers onto the floor and stepped into them.
Her reflection in the mirror faded. It took, she guessed, a little over a second from being fully present in the mirror to being invisible. The effect was creepy, and, as always, she looked for any kind of ghostly image of herself, but found nothing. She waved her arms around, seeing no change to the view.
As her reflected image had faded, the chill of the room had vanished. The uniform protected her from heat and cold, but as with the invisibility, it only worked when it was complete.
She stared at the mirror again, trying to remember the trick she'd been taught when she was first hired. It took a few seconds, but then she was back in the mirror, though fuzzy, and the chiton didn't do much to hide her dark olive boobs or black bush. You couldn't wear anything but the uniform, or you'd appear to be a glinting navel stud or a thong floating in the air.
Among the property owned by the Franchise, it seemed that only the uniforms were high quality. She'd heard they had been created - woven? conjured? handed down by a god? - around eight hundred years ago, when magic still persisted in the old world. Though on her first stint, the redhead at the front desk had told her the work had been over a millenium old even then.
The cloth was rumored to be indestructible, though she'd never had the desire to test the theory. When she wore it, light passed straight through her. Which should mean she was blind, of course, but the uniform's magic had its own rules. It allowed her to see, and even to see what it turned invisible, with the right effort.
The uniform could also be summoned. With so little magic available, it took a ritual, but when that was performed, the clothing would instantly return to the Franchise, leaving the hunter suddenly stark naked and freezing in a crowd. Layla had been warned that if she broke the rules, that was a fate she would suffer. She'd heard rumors that the punishment had occasionally been used.
The fabric was also resistant to dirt, but not impervious, and these days looked somewhat gray and shabby, though as it was invisible when worn, that wasn't of major importance.
Layla left the room, carrying her clothing. The woman at the desk glanced up at what must appear to be her shirt and jeans floating through the air. She found locker twenty-one, opened it with her key, then folded her clothes as she placed them inside, taking her wallet and phone.
"Don't forget to collect your weapon," the woman said, without looking up from her notes. She must have caught the floating phone and key at the edge of her sight.
Layla shook her head as she picked up one of the quivers hanging on the wall. She stuffed her key and wallet in the pocket on the side of the quiver, then shut down her phone and added it. It would be awkward if her phone rang in empty air. She took one of the small horn bows. She could see the bow, faded, but to the woman behind her it would have vanished from sight when she touched it.
Ignoring the door, Layla stepped through the building wall. Another feature of the magic. If a door opens and no one passes through, suspicions rise. Especially if the door then closes.
As the dry woman had pointed out, it was lunchtime. Returning to familiar surroundings would reduce her count. She didn't want to take the time to walk thirty blocks. She'd heard of hunters using public transportation, but staying out of the way of passengers had to be a near-impossible task. So she'd have to find a nearer hunting ground.
She'd noticed a Greek restaurant on the next block. It was a little early to find romantic opportunities at a restaurant but maybe there would be office workers taking an early business lunch. Liaisons between coworkers often needed little assistance.
She jogged to the restaurant, pleased to see that several people were entering the door. To avoid them, Layla stepped through the front window, surprised to find that the restaurant was already quite busy. Surely there would be a potential couple here.
The other gift the uniform bestowed was a degree of empathy. She could detect emotions within individuals and groups, and gain a sense of a person's status. She couldn't read minds, but she could tell whether someone was satisfied with their current condition. Were they in a relationship? Single? Looking for a night of hot sex? Seeking a partner? A relationship would earn her a significant bonus after the Big Day was over. Or, if she spent less time contemplating their compatibility, she could target one night stands, trying for quantity over quality.
Case in point - there was a pairing that was guaranteed to be successful at a nearby table, but he was middle-aged and decidedly not single. He was in a position of power over the young brunette with him at the table. Layla sensed that he was planning to add her to his list of conquests. The woman, meanwhile, felt a degree of respect for the man, and was concerned about her career. They were going to end up in bed together without Layla's assistance, and the thought made her sick. Of course, she could take the easy win, but the idea disgusted her.
At a table beyond those two was a pair who were a better prospect. She was very uncertain about going forward. He was less so, but still nervous. Giving them the gift of romance seemed like a worthwhile plan, and she'd get her Valentine bonus. She moved around the restaurant, avoiding bumping into a group of office staff being shown to their table, until she had a clear line to the woman's chest, no menus or objects in her way.
Layla took one of the two arrows from her quiver, nocked it, and shot the woman through the heart.
The feelings she sensed with the woman changed immediately. She seemed eager, if unfocused about the reason.
Layla moved to a new vantage, removing the second arrow from her quiver. They were always in pairs, to bind a couple. If she waited more than one hundred seconds, the second arrow would vanish, and she'd be docked for the cost of an unsuccessful shot. She had just over a minute to line up and fire. Eight minutes and twenty seconds after using both arrows, the quiver would again contain two. She knew of no reason for the times, but they were the same for all quivers of all hunters.
Sometimes, even if both shafts landed perfectly, the action would lead to nothing. There seemed to have to be an underlying attraction for the magic to work. There was no penalty for a failure, but neither was there a reward. She didn't think that would be a problem here.
The waitress had moved up to take the couple's order. She wasn't an obstacle, though, so Layla raised her bow and loosed.
A fraction of a second before she released the arrow, a large man at the table beside her pushed his chair back into Layla's hip. She had to dodge out of the way of the chair, and the man, who wore a confused look. When she turned back to her targets, the man was unaffected, but the waitress's cheeks had flushed, and she was staring at the woman with eyes that seemed to glow.
Oh.
Fuck.
Same sex relationships were not approved by the Franchise operator. Layla was not certain whether the rules were global, or the local Franchisee was especially conservative, but they'd been strictly instructed that targets must be a man and a woman.
"Did you just shoot the waitress?"
The soft, hissed words came from behind her. Layla jumped, feeling her skin crawl. Every short hair on her arms twisted away from her body. She managed to remain silent, but it was a close call. She turned slowly, expecting to find that a restaurant patron had somehow penetrated the magic.
Instead, she found a slender girl with wild dark curls, as ghostly as herself, a horn bow on her back. Layla could see the table behind her through the hunter, though her body was clearly visible to Layla, the translucent chiton revealing small, eye-catchingly shapely breasts, narrow waist, hips only a little wider, and dark, close-cropped fur between her thighs. Layla realized she was gawking and attempted to focus on the girl's eyes, discovering that they'd been wandering too. Her cheeks were as tinged with pink as the waitress's.
Damn. The waitress. She'd been distracted from her fuckup. She turned back to see that the short woman was gone. "Uh, yeah, I did," she whispered. "My aim was off."
"Cool. That's how you want to play it?" the girl whispered. "I don't think they'll buy the excuse. I'll stick around so I can get an eyeful when they summon your uniform back."
"If you're here to creep on me, you can at least tell me your name."
"Carmen. You?"
"Layla." She didn't turn to the girl, watching the woman at the table as she rose from her seat.
"Follow her, O soon to be naked one," hissed Carmen.
"That's wishful thinking," Layla said. "I hope."
"I hope, too." There was amusement in the girl's tone.
"I think we're hoping for different things. Also, you're an ass."
Ivy's heart was racing. She'd never done anything like this before. She'd caught the waitress's hungry look, and her glance towards the restroom. Poppy was the name on her enameled badge, which she wore against her white shirt, against the swell of her breasts. Nice round breasts in a short, rounded body. Maybe the best breasts she'd ever noticed. Mostly because she'd tried to avoid noticing breasts before, being straight.
She wondered if Poppy was straight, too.
She didn't have to wait long to find out. The waitress entered, quietly, looking around. "I can't stay long," she breathed. "Jeff's going to be pissed I stepped away, but I couldn't let you walk out of here and never see you again." She reached up to run a finger down Ivy's cheek. Ivy's heart thumped within her.
"What's going on?" Ivy asked. She glanced at the waitress's chest again. "Poppy? What's happening to me? I haven't ever been so desperate to kiss someone."
Poppy groaned. "I know..." She lifted her other hand to Ivy's face and drew it toward her.
Ivy's heart skipped as her lips were dragged to Poppy's. Then she was being kissed, more soundly and more sensuously than she'd ever been kissed before. Poppy pushed her backward against the washbasin. She could feel the waitress's breasts below her own, lifting hers. She moaned, then pushed Poppy back. "Someone will come in," she said, surprised at how hard it was to speak while she panted for breath.
"Yeah," agreed Poppy, and Ivy would have sworn her voice had dropped an octave. She grabbed Ivy's hand and dragged her into a stall.
There was a strange sound, as if someone was whispering, but all of the stalls had been empty. It must have been weird acoustics, or sounds in the ventilation system. She didn't particularly care. Her attention was focused on Poppy.
"Kiss me again," whispered Poppy. She took Ivy's top by its hem and tugged her close.
Ivy responded by pushing Poppy back against the door and pressing herself to her. Then she backed off, stepped out of her heels and moved in again. Now her breasts met Poppy's. She squeezed their bodies together as they kissed.
The soft breasts felt good against hers. She reached for the top button of Poppy's shirt and began to unfasten it, fingers meeting yielding flesh as she worked them between their bodies. Her companion's hands were under her soft top, exploring Ivy's skin.
Poppy's shirt was unfastened down to her navel. Ivy parted it, then slipped it down her shoulders until she could reach Poppy's bra strap. Moments later, the bra was loose, its straps were over her shoulders with the shirt, and Ivy was ducking to suck her large nipples. Without her heels, she hadn't needed to lean down very far. Poppy stifled a groan as the bathroom door opened, then one of the stalls.
Ivy could feel the woman's shallow breaths, even if she couldn't hear them. Then she felt a hand leave her waist and lift her skirt. Her leggings and underwear were yanked down, and Poppy's finger slipped into her. She moved her thighs, impaling herself on the finger, then squeezing the shorter woman's hand as the finger curled against her.
As silently as she could, she rocked against the finger. After a minute or two, there was a flush, then footsteps as whoever had entered the bathroom was leaving. Faucets ran, then the whine of the electric dryer. Finally, the door closed. Ivy gasped and thrust against Poppy's finger. Her excitement was so thorough that she immediately felt her passage harden around the waitress's finger. She opened her mouth as her orgasm crashed into her, but Poppy freed her other hand and slapped it over Ivy's lips, stifling her cry.
Ivy was still quivering with occasional aftershocks when they separated. "God, I don't know what came over me, but that was intense. I want to do it to you."
"Me too," said Poppy. She seemed almost as shaken as Ivy. "I've gotta get back to work. Let me have your phone." Ivy unlocked her phone and handed it over. A moment later Polly returned it. "I texted myself. I'll contact you when I turn my phone on. I can ditch my boyfriend tomorrow evening?"
She had a boyfriend? Well, so did Ivy, for now. She'd have to ditch him, too. "Okay," she said.
"Fuck, that was hot," whispered Carmen.
"Tell me about it," groaned Layla. It didn't help that not only had the woman she'd shot been fucked right before her, but Carmen's delicious, near naked body had been in view the whole time, breathing heavily, breasts flushed and narrow nipples erect with arousal. As were her own, dammit.
"Shit, I've lost a button." That was the waitress, still putting herself together. "Maybe I can tell Jeff my shirt caught on a hook and that's why I had to take so much time in the bathroom."
"Here, I have a pin," said the other woman, digging into her purse. Her face glowed, and if the guy at the table couldn't tell she'd just had sex, he was blind. Though in Layla's limited experience, that wouldn't be unusual for a man.
"Good luck," the woman whispered. "Text me. I, uh... Oh, huh, I'm Ivy."
"I'll see you tomorrow, Ivy." said the waitress, following her out.
"Let's get out of here," said Carmen. She pushed herself against the door, and a second later, slid through it. It was weird to see, but weirder to do. Bumping into someone was one thing. They felt solid. Passing through an obstacle was something else. Initially, it felt hard, but as you pushed against it, it would seem to soften.
Maybe you could pass through someone that way, but even if it worked, Layla figured, you'd leave a traumatized person behind you. You felt the material you slid through. Surely the material would feel it, if it was aware.
She followed Carmen through the door. The girl was halfway to the window. Layla took a different path, to avoid servers and stray feet, and slid through the glass just behind her.
"So why are you not naked?" Carmen quizzed her.
"Because I'm not your wish fulfillment fantasy?" Layla sniped.
"I can't lie, it would be a pleasant sight. But you broke the rules."
"Maybe there isn't a rule. Maybe it's just Franchise bigotry."
"There's definitely a rule," said her companion. "Heterosexual couples, single, marriageable age only."
"You've never violated the single rule? Sometimes it's hard to tell they're encumbered if they're seriously looking for an affair."
"True," Carmen admitted. "I guess I thought they wouldn't penalize us if we had plausible deniability. Are you suggesting they don't even know?"
"They know counts, do they know names?" Layla argued. "Maybe they're written in a ledger somewhere. Handwritten. It won't be a computer file. Maybe they only have counts."
"Now who's wishful thinking?"
"Prick."
"You're the one who fucked up the shot," Carmen taunted.
"And you're the one who's stalking me, perv."
"Wouldn't you want to see you naked? Nothing pervy about being attracted to a girl's body. You have great curves."
Layla sighed and shrugged. "But my clothes haven't vanished. I think I'm onto something."
"The whole traditional straight focus is stupid anyway," Carmen said. "It's all about the sponsorship. Chocolates, bridal dresses, high-end registries. Haven't they realized that we can do all that shit too, now?"
Layla had known that the girl was gay. Most hunters were; even bi girls were disqualified if they'd had sex with a man. In a past season, a hunter had suggested that the rules recalled a time when hunters were pre-pubescent children and as that became less practical, the definition of a child expanded to teens and adults who hadn't engaged in intercourse. Hence the tiny uniforms, and the non-straight recruits.
The eagerness of this Carmen to see her naked seemed more than looking forward to gloating at her failure, and she'd reddened when Layla had found her eyes exploring. She had to be gay. But "we" still gave Layla a tiny surge of arousal.
Though the girl was still an ass.
Layla dodged into a doorway to avoid a clump of pedestrians, then had to leap out and flatten herself to a window as the door opened to let shoppers out. She slipped through the window into the store's display until the commingling of foot traffic had straightened itself out. She emerged to find Carmen stepping back up onto the sidewalk from the street.
"How many years have you done this?" Layla asked.
"This is my third," Carmen replied. "You?"
"Fourth. I guess you've never accidentally shot a pair of women?"
Carmen made an exasperated sound. "Of course not. If I had, I'd know if you're about to have your uniform confiscated. It looks like my patience isn't about to bear fruit."
"You're still a jerkface," Layla said, "but I admire your persistence. Maybe instead of stalking me to see what happens, you should buy me dinner."
"Huh. Would I get to see you naked?"
"Probably not, but it would be less creepy than stalking."
"Hey, Layla?" Carmen said, affecting an innocent look. "May I buy you dinner?"
"No," replied Layla. "Unless..."
"Unless?"
"Unless you join my struggle against bigotry this afternoon, by selecting same-sex targets."
"But then I might be punished," Carmen objected.
"Exactly," Layla said. "Show me you're willing to bare all for the cause. Where do you live?"
"Not far from here."
"Let's find an alley, so I can turn my phone on. Then shoot five pairs, and I guarantee you'll see me naked one way or another."
Carmen's grin was mischievous. "If you don't want to head home, I'll loan you clothes so we can go get a pizza. And as far as I'm concerned, you won't need to go home at all."
Jasmin followed Zahra from the bus drop. She was feeling down. Zahra's vile boyfriend Adrian had talked her into a V-Day date. She'd been dejected since Zahra, the younger of the two, had turned eighteen. Before that time, she'd told herself she would confess to Zahra when they were both adults. Now she had to recognize she was holding back due to cowardice. Soon, they'd finish their senior year, and head in different directions for college, and she'd lose her chance.
She'd watched her best friend move from boyfriend to boyfriend, never happy with any of them. She'd supported her through pregnancy scares and chlamydia. The last Zahra had only discovered because that jerk had cheated on her, but he might not have been the one to infect her. Each time Jasmin mourned what she couldn't have, while helping Zahra pick herself up and start the cycle again.
Adrian was probably no worse than the others, but V-Day? Zahra deserved so much better.
She felt a sudden spike of emotion as she thought about them. Damn it, she had to tell Zahra. She probably wouldn't listen, but she was Jasmin's best friend, and she couldn't let her do this to herself.
Zahra was leading her into her mom's apartment. Her mom wouldn't be back for hours, but they helped each other with homework most afternoons. Mostly they gossiped and watched videos, but homework was a good excuse.
At the door, Zahra seemed to stumble. She didn't fall, or even have to catch herself, but she stood still for a moment.
"Are you okay, Zahra?" Jasmin asked.
"Oh yeah, I'm fine. I was just thinking, we should listen to some Olivia. We haven't done that in..."
"At least two days," Jasmin finished, with a grin.
"Yeah, well." Zahra skipped up to her room door, dropped her coat and backpack, then turned on her speakers, which beeped as they connected to her phone. A moment later, music filled the room. "Dance with me," said Zahra, grabbing Jasmin's hand and hamming up her dancing.
Jasmin freed herself to take her own coat off, then held hands and danced with her friend. After a couple of tracks, Zahra calmed down and swayed in front of her. This was nothing like slow dancing, but it was not something they'd done before. Zahra stood before her, a slight frown on her face, her breasts no more than an inch from Jasmin's. She reached out to run her fingers along Jasmin's shoulders, absently pushing the spaghetti straps of her top from side to side, then moving her bra straps too, as if adjusting the position of pencils on a desk.
"You're so pretty," Zahra said. "I always thought you were the most attractive of my friends. You're always here for me, aren't you?"
"I... yeah, I try," said Jasmin. "There's, uh, something I want to talk to you about," she added.
"What is it, pretty Jasmin?" Zahra beamed at her.
"Umm, Adrian," Jasmin said. Zahra scowled, but it didn't seem to be at her friend. "Are you sure you want to be with him on V-Day? He seems like, umm, trouble."
Zahra just watched her, still swaying, still running a finger over the straps of her top. Since she didn't say anything, Jasmin continued, more to not let the silence get uncomfortable than to be demanding.
"I think he, you know, uh, he's cheated on his girlfriends. Uh, several of them. Maybe all. I, uh, I think you deserve better."
"Maybe I do," said Zahra. Her fingernails explored the back of Jasmin's neck. Their bodies seemed to be even closer. "Who else could I take for V-Day, though?" She paused for a moment before adding, "I wish it could be you."
Jasmin's insides did a somersault. Had she really heard her best friend correctly? Surely not... She felt her cheeks burn anyway. "Me?" she squeaked. Zahra's expression turned sad, as if she was expecting Jasmin to mock her thoughts. "It could... uh, I mean, uh, why couldn't it be me?"
Zahra looked confused. "Because you're my friend. You don't like me that way."
"Oh, God, Zahra," Jasmin groaned. "I've always liked you that way!"
Zahra just stared at her. Then Jasmin felt the distance between them vanish completely. Her friend's breasts pressed into hers as Zahra's lips met hers.
Ten minutes later, Zahra wasn't repositioning Jasmin's bra straps, she was slipping them all the way off.
Layla could have seen the results of her actions. She could have followed the pair through the front door, even if they'd closed it, and they wouldn't know, but she didn't want to intrude - not to that extent. Still, she had a feeling that she'd be picking up at least the hunting fee, and likely the Valentine bonus.
Diane was re-folding and hanging dresses that customers had left in the changing room. She didn't want to be here. She wanted for the day to pick up speed so she could get to the club. Her friend Mel had started seeing a guy, and she wanted to introduce Diane to his friend. She hadn't had sex in weeks, and she knew tonight was going to end her dry spell.
She would have asked Adele if she could take off early. Of course, her manager would say no, because she was a hardass, but she would have tried, if it could have brought the evening forward. But even if she left early, she'd only waste the extra time fretting about what to wear.
She felt a... breeze? Not even a breeze, just a movement of air, but there was no one around to cause a disturbance. Adele was tagging bras a few feet away. They were skimpy, lacy things that the store never carried in quantity. Maybe the air movement was Adele fanning herself after handling sexy merchandise. Diane grinned to herself. Her staid, uptight boss would never be flustered by a garment.
Diane was looking up at her manager working, when a spike of feeling ran through her. She didn't know what the feeling was, but there was a nagging sense that something had changed. Or that she had forgotten something, but would never remember it because it hadn't existed in the first place.
She glanced again at her boss. It was a shame she was so strict. In profile, she was, well, kinda hot. And Diane didn't even go for women. She could almost make an exception for Adele, though. She must be mid- to late-thirties, over a decade Diane's senior, but her skin was as smooth as Diane's, her makeup and dress elegant in a way Diane couldn't attempt, and her figure amazing.
Maybe even the bossiness could be a positive. She could imagine Adele in black, tapping a riding crop on her palm, gesturing at Diane as she demanded that Diane satisfy her.
Diane realized that her belly was tingling. God, she was wet!
Adele had turned to look at Diane. Had she sensed her thought? Adele's fingers were tracing the patterns on the bra in her hands. She seemed to realize what she was doing. She frowned down at the bra, then looked up at Diane, as if considering how it would look on her.
Well, nothing ventured...
Diane sauntered up to the older woman. How was she even doing this? She lifted the bra and held it to herself. "What do you think?" she asked.
Adele eyed her critically. "I think it would work."
"Do you think I should try it on?"
"Hmm, we're not supposed to be wearing the merchandise. But if you want to..." She dug through a stack of panties. They were matching separates. "You could see how the set looks."
"Do you want to see the results?"
"I'd be interested to know if they work for you. Why don't you come through to the back? We should take a few minutes to discuss schedules."
Layla liked shopping here. She might need to check back in a few weeks to find out if there had been any staff changes.
Vicky knew that Denell hated her meeting Monique, his ex-wife. The truth was, Vicky and Monique had become good friends during the eight-year marriage, and Denell was an ass. He fucked around and found out. Literally. Why would he cheat on a woman like this?
She raised her glass. "To an equitable division of assets!"
Monique snorted and raised her glass. They both knew how badly Denell had screwed himself there. He'd tried to hide one of the investment properties he owned. One of them he'd tried to list as being owned by Vicky. She'd found out, and contacted her attorney. She loved her brother, but he'd brought the outcome on himself, especially attempting to involve her without her consent, and she wasn't about to take the fall for his deception.
There were no kids. Monique worked, but now she had a small financial cushion. Enough that she could take some risks with her career. And maybe the next time she found a partner, she'd go the mom route. Vicky was child-free by choice, but her friend had always wanted kids, it was just that Denell hadn't considered them a priority.
Her boob suddenly developed an itch. She scratched it, noticing Monique's eyes track her movement for a second before moving away. She should tease Monique about her gaze drifting down from her eyes, but the way she'd glanced away seemed almost embarrassed, and she didn't want to upset her friend.
And if anyone's body should be attracting looks, it was Monique's. She was thirty-three, the same as Vicky, but was smoking. Her skin was a rich, warm chocolate, where Vicky and her brother were both a less intense brown. She'd always thought Monique one of the most striking women she'd ever met.
Vicky considered herself attractive enough, and never had trouble finding partners, at least for the short term, and that had been all she'd needed, while her friend hadn't reentered the dating pool completely after Denell. That wasn't surprising, after a breakup, but if she wanted kids she should think about finding someone now.
"How come you didn't turn out to be an asshole?" Monique asked. It wasn't the first time.
"Upbringing, I think," Vicky said, as she always did. "Dad had expectations of Denell, and he lost track of life."
"It's just that you remind me a lot of him," Monique said.
"I do?" This wasn't a turn this conversation had taken before.
"Yeah, like, Denell without the attitude. Without the drive to succeed for himself, whoever he hurts in the process. Without the wandering eye."
"Believe me, my eyes wander," Vicky said.
"I bet you never let it get further than looking when you're with someone," Monique argued. "I could have lived with him looking at other women. I got this," she said, waving both hands to indicate her body. "He was never gonna find better, but he put me on the back burner and scorched his stupid fingers on the burner that was barely warm. But he was always a beautiful man. If he wanted a woman, he could usually have her."
"Beautiful?" Vicky questioned. "I guess, maybe. Maybe I don't see it 'cause he's my brother."
"But you, you're just as beautiful," she said. "If I'd met you before Denell, well, I think I hooked up with the wrong sibling."
"Wait, you're... what? Monique?"
"Always thought you were the better choice," Monique said. "But I was with Denell, and I don't let my wandering eye push me in the wrong direction."
"Wow," Vicky said. Truth was, she'd had flings with women before, and would totally have gone for Monique, if she hadn't been in a relationship. With family.
"I'm telling you," Monique said. She took a drink of her cocktail, then leaned forward and lowered her voice. "And he did not have your amazing titties. I'd much rather munch on them than this salad."
"Holy God, Monique," Vicky said. "You can't do this to me."
"Well, I'm not with him," Monique continued, "and I think it's been long enough, so if you ever feel like being fucked so hard your brain pops out of your skull, I'm there for it. Just sayin'."
"You doing anything this afternoon?" Vicky asked. "Let me get the check."
As Layla approached a footbridge she had an unexpectedly strong emotional impression. She looked around to see if she could identify its source.
Coming down the steps was a young woman. She had large glasses, long dark hair, a heavy coat and a blue beanie. She was staring at another woman on the sidewalk. The woman had blonde hair emerging from a bobble hat, but being behind her, Layla couldn't see more. They'd clearly both had a jolt of connection. She wouldn't call it lust. There was attraction there, for both parties, but there was more, too. Could it be love at first sight?
The brunette on the steps sighed and resumed walking, looking away. They were going to ignore what they'd both felt, because it would be socially awkward for two strangers to start talking in the middle of the street.
Layla couldn't allow that to happen. For the first time that day, she recognized a need to do her job, rather than meet a quota. They needed a jolt of encouragement to overcome the awkward situation. She darted forward, and shot the brunette.
The blonde was close to the stairs. Layla sprinted past her, then spun to face her on the eighth step. The arrow sped true, and the blonde stopped, with a frown, then, making a decision, began to turn around.
Layla punched the air. She'd done something right. She wanted to wait around to see what happened. However, she'd run up the stairs without checking the foot traffic. Dodging pedestrians to get back down without bumping anyone was awkward. The steps were narrow, with nowhere for her to hide on the edge.
As she made it to the sidewalk, she heard feet pounding down the steps. She was in the only gap, so whoever was hurtling down landed on the back of her foot, scratching her heel and causing her to stumble.
An arctic blast hit her. That wasn't supposed to happen. Oh my God, was Carmen right all along? Layla grabbed at her chest, feeling the fabric of the uniform. Then, connecting the chill with the collision, she turned to see her slipper a few feet away.
Dodging back, she grabbed the slipper as she sensed the eyes of everyone in this part of Chicago turning to the near naked girl in the almost transparent chiton. She slammed her foot into the slipper, shivering and completely visible, as exclamations started.
Before any of the bystanders could form a conclusion, Layla had faded from view. Her hands were ghostly, and if she dropped the trick to see herself, she could see that she had vanished completely.
There was massive puzzlement around her, and a couple of people swung their arms through empty space, trying to touch the invisible girl who wasn't there, but she wasn't there. She was avoiding their questing hands.
The crowd would figure out how to explain the sighting away, eventually. There were probably stranger sights in the Windy City everyday.
Among the milling pedestrians, the beanie was approaching the bobble hat. Looking around herself constantly, Layla approached the pair. It wouldn't be good to collide with anyone at this point.
"Did you see what I just saw?" one of the girls asked. Layla was focusing on avoiding another collision, but she thought the speaker had been beanie girl.
"If I did, I think we're both hallucinating," replied the blonde. Seeing her from the front, Layla could now estimate low twenties for both women.
"That's what I was thinking," said beanie-brunette. "If you saw what I saw, then neither of us can have seen it, because it would have to be real, and it couldn't have been real. Right?"
"Strange, though," said the blonde. "I mean, what the hell? But... umm... maybe we could compare notes? Can I buy you a coffee?"
The smile on brunette-beanie's face was huge, as she brushed hair back from her face.
Layla dodged to the relative safety of the front of a building. That had been pretty cool, in spite of the near disaster. Not only had she strengthened the connection they'd tried to ignore, but she'd provided the shared topic they needed to avoid awkwardness.
She wanted a drink for herself, but there was no way she could get one. Not even water. Still, a bar would be a place to seek more targets, and they were about to become busy. She trotted along the sidewalk to the area she'd worked this morning, near the restaurant where she'd accidentally shot the waitress. There was a bar nearby that had a steady stream of office workers.
She recognized one of the patrons. Not by appearance, but by her empathic connection. It was the middle-aged man who was going to cheat with his subordinate, and she was there, too. Layla's heart sank. The woman was making a mistake, and being pressured into it. That wasn't supposed to happen in the modern world.
There was a woman on the other side of the cheater. Layla felt that she was his current paramour. He must have brought her under duress to show her that he was moving on. She was giving both the man and her replacement hostile looks.
Maybe Layla could right a wrong here. She took up position and shot both women, each shaft perfectly positioned, spiking its target's left breast.
The replacement mistress leaned forward to ask the old mistress a question, and instead of biting her head off, old mistress was polite and slightly flirty. They continued their conversation around the man, who became increasingly annoyed, yet didn't seem even to notice the women's flirting.
"I need the ladies," said the woman on the man's left.
"I'll join you," said the other.
Layla wondered if there would be a scene like the one with the waitress, but it was getting awkward to move around, so she stayed where she was.
The women returned too soon to have had a quickie, and neither had mussed hair or smudged lipstick. The new woman walked up to the man. "There's a store Sal wants to show me. We're going to head out. Thanks for the drink."
Though the man offered to accompany them, they tag-teamed him into staying. When they left the bar, the new woman's hand was tucked into Sal's arm. Layla suspected that they would support each other against the predator.
Layla found Carmen's apartment just after seven. Her new friend - frenemy? - had already changed out of her chiton, and was now wearing a crop top and jeans. Her dark hair, tamed with combs and clips, was surprisingly fetching. She was close to Layla's own Lebanese coloring. Dark Italian or other Mediterranean, perhaps.
She was standing in the doorway, looking around. Her sight trick wouldn't be available without her uniform. "Is there anyone here?" she hissed.
"Wouldn't you like to know?" Layla whispered back to her, amused to see the girl jump, her eyes flicking around but still completely missing her location. "Did you do it?" she asked as she followed a visibly uncomfortable Carmen back into the house.
"I did. Five couples, at least for an hour or two. One or two might hit the big V. I really don't like not seeing you."
"What, doesn't the girl who was rooting for my punishment trust me?"
"Of course I don't," Carmen replied, uneasily. She was still glancing around the room, trying to figure out where Layla would be, while Layla had plenty of experience avoiding others.
"Jerkface."
"Does that mean sex is off the table?" said Carmen.
"The table's too small," said Layla, "but I don't need to like you to make you come, and I did commit to getting naked."
"You don't need to like me to want to make me come?"
"Jesus, no," said Layla. She decided to sneak around Carmen's left side to get behind her, so she moved to the girl's right before speaking, to further confuse her. "Getting a hot girl off is a pleasure in itself. Even if she is a jerkface. You know that."
"Nice," said Carmen. "I'm sure there was a sideways compliment among the insults."
Layla stepped silently right up to Carmen's back, then grabbed her waist on both sides. The girl squeaked and leaped into the air, as she'd expected. When she came down, Layla's lips were over her neck. She felt Carmen shudder as she suckled, then again as she grazed her teeth over Carmen's neck.
Her fingertips circled the girl's body, then drifted higher. Carmen tried to prevent them from reaching her chest, but it's hard to grasp invisible limbs. She squirmed against Layla as she struggled, until Layla moved her hands away, avoiding Carmen's defending hands trying to protect from the next invisible attack.
Layla's fingers landed on her navel, making Carmen jump again. "You were going to find me some clothes?" she whispered, directly into Carmen's ear.
"OMG, you are evil," Carmen said. "Let me go and I'll get you something."
"Okay," Layla whispered again. She bit Carmen's earlobe for good measure before releasing her.
Carmen headed into the bedroom, returning in a minute with a tee shirt, zip-front sweater and a full track suit. "I don't think I have any other pants that would be comfortable around the hips," she said, "and there's no point in you trying on one of my bras. The briefs are perfectly clean, but I understand if you don't want them."
"Did you just call me fat?"
Carmen sighed. "You know I didn't. Your body is fine. I just wish your personality was half as attractive."
Smirking to herself, Layla took the clothes from Carmen's hands, noticing her slight flinch, then set them on the back of the couch. She took the briefs first, stepping into them before taking off her chiton. Carmen would see them float to shape around her hips. Sure enough, Carmen was scowling at her.
She whipped the chiton off, her back to the other girl, which would drop the magic, but she shrugged into the tee in record time, before Carmen would have had the chance to ogle.
Not that the tee was in any way demure. Its deep U-neck and tight fit squeezed her boobs together. She turned to face Carmen, cupped the undersides of her breasts and jiggled them. "And this looks like a highly random tee."
"I thought a high neck would squeeze too tightly, because of..." She nodded to Layla's chest, with a smirk.
Layla liked the girl's sense of humor. This bickering was fun, and judging from Carmen's expression, she felt the same. "To learn so much about me through the fuzzy sight, you must have spent a lot of time studying my body."
"And?" Carmen was completely unrepentant.
Layla kicked off her slippers. "Oh, shit," she said. "Shoes?"
"Ah, yeah. I can't imagine any of my closed shoes would work. How about flip-flops and a pair of heavy socks?"
"Flip-flops in February? I guess it would be better than my slippers," Layla said. She pulled on the track pants, which were a little snug in the hips, but comfortable enough, then zipped up the sweater, adding the socks and flip-flops when Carmen returned with them.
"So, pizza?" she asked, slipping into the track top, and collecting her wallet and phone from the quiver.
Carmen picked up her car keys. "Follow me."
Chicago pizza is the best in the world. This is acknowledged by all but a small handful of reprobates on the East Coast, and Layla considered what she was reluctantly pushing aside to be one of the best of that lofty group. "If pizza is as good as this around here, I might just have to move in with you."
"Oh, dear God, no," Carmen retorted. "I feed you the best pizza you've ever had, and you threaten me for it?"
"It might not be the very best," countered Layla, "but it's pretty damn close." She eyed the remainder that neither of them could eat. "Breakfast?"
Carmen gave her an incredulous look. If she had opened her mouth, it would have been to say, "Well, duh." It was a look that invited no question.
They took the pizza back to Carmen's, stopping once on the way to pick up a couple of bottles of red wine. Carmen hung her coat, while Layla unzipped her top layer, the track jacket. She held the jacket up with a questioning look at the girl, who shrugged and nodded at the couch, so she folded it down the center and tossed it onto the back of the couch.
After closing the fridge door on the food, Carmen opened the wine to pour two glasses, handing one to Layla, taking the other and the bottle through to the bedroom.
Layla followed, sipping her wine, looking around at the room. The queen bed was pristine in the layout of duvet, pillows and decorative cushions. That won't last long. The girl had a sense of style. It looked comfortable, too, and sharing it with Carmen was becoming increasingly appealing. Still, the forms had to be followed. "Huh." she said. "Presumptuous much?"
"You said you'd make me come," said Carmen. "Surely this is better than the couch?"
"I said I could," Layla objected. "I didn't say I would." She thought that was true, though the precise words eluded her, a couple of hours later.
"You did promise to get naked," Carmen said. "We were in agreement on that."
Layla grinned as the girl set down her glass, then reached out to slowly unzip Layla's sweater. She caught herself, hid the grin, turning it into a scowl, and took another sip of her wine. "Don't expect me to help."
"I don't." Carmen sang the words like a cuckoo. Her slow focus on Layla's body made Layla wet within the borrowed briefs. She continued to outwardly ignore the other girl's actions, standing upright, sipping wine.
When the sweater was completely unzipped, Carmen unlaced the loaner track pants without taking them off, then made Layla put down her wine so she could support herself on Carmen's shoulders while she pulled off the socks and pushed the flip-flops aside. Layla didn't release her shoulders when she stood, instead drawing the girl close as she lowered her mouth to her neck. She licked the length of her carotid, then lightly bit at the base.
"God, woman, you're so distracting," Carmen said. Layla could hear arousal in her voice.
As Layla continued to nibble at Carmen's neck, she felt fingers running over the base of her breasts, and thumbs lightly circling her nipples. Carmen had a real talent at this slow progression, and Layla's lust was reaching unexpected highs. She would have to attend to washing the briefs herself. She wouldn't want Carmen to know just how wet she was making her.
Carmen's thumbs continued to rub her now engorged nipples in a circular motion. She wanted more. When Carmen nuzzled her head to push it from her neck, she let the girl's face push her own back, until their parted lips were only a half inch apart. Carmen didn't kiss her. Layla could feel Carmen's breath against her lips, but Carmen dragged out approaching, until she finally felt lips brush her own, a tongue lightly questing into her mouth.
Layla extended her own tongue, caressing the tongue at her lips. Again, Carmen held back, while Layla's heart raced. No one had ever turned her into such a tight little tangle of need. When Carmen closed her lips over Layla's tongue and began to suckle, she lost her composure. Her hands wrapped around Carmen's neck, and she forced her lips to her own, her kiss merciless.
That seemed to be what Carmen had been waiting for. Layla felt a sharp twinge in each nipple as warm fingers grasped and twisted them. She moaned at the inundation of arousal. Then Carmen's hands were under the tee, wrapping around her breasts and squeezing, before tugging the shirt off.
Carmen dropped to her knees and began to suckle Layla's breasts alternately. She pulled Layla's track pants and underwear down in one motion, parted her legs and slid a finger into her. Layla heard herself whimper. The finger explored, finding the sensitive place on the front wall of her sex, then withdrew, two fingers taking its place.
Soon, Carmen was slamming her fingers into her, her thumb pressed to Layla's clit, shifting against it as she pumped her hand.
Layla grasped Carmen's shoulders. She knew she couldn't postpone the inevitable for long. The girl's lips stretching her nipple was amplifying the effect of her hand shoving against her G-spot. She couldn't even prevent herself from making an excited cry with each breath, getting louder as the intensity built.
When she came, she felt herself clamp hard around Carmen's fingers. Her thighs spasmed, and she'd have collapsed except for her grip on Carmen's shoulders, and the hand within her supporting some of her weight. Every tight pulse of climax shook her, setting up a series of tremors in her breasts that had barely faded when the next struck.
Carmen released the breast she was suckling and looked up into her face. Layla tried to glare at her, but didn't think she'd succeeded. Aftershocks were still spiking into her, but she managed to release the other girl's shoulders without losing her balance, and a moment later she drew Carmen back to her feet to kiss her again.
"That was... hh... quite good," she managed to say. "You almost made me come."
"Your mouth says one thing, but your body says another. And your eyes say so much more," said Carmen.
"My eyes lie," Layla retorted.
"Admit it, I rocked your world," said Carmen.
"I admit no such thing," Layla replied, beginning to catch her breath. "You already have an inflated opinion of yourself. I won't bloat it more."
"At least you know how to kiss," Carmen said.
"One of us has to," said Layla.
"Asswipe," said Carmen.
"Asshole," returned Layla.
"Oh, come on, that's hardly original," groused Carmen. "You can't turn my own insult back on me."
"Listen, after coming as hard as I just did, I'm surprised my brain is even braining. Cut me some slack."
"Hah! So you do admit it."
"I admit nothing," Layla said. "But I'm naked now. Commitment met. Unless you want me to show you how it's really done?"
"O, wise mentor, show me how to come," Carmen begged, the fake puppy dog pleading in her eyes making Layla laugh.
"Very well, my young padawan. While I'm catching my breath, you can begin taking all those clothes off."
Layla finished her glass of wine while Carmen was stripping, then topped up both glasses.
Getting a hot girl off truly was one of life's greatest pleasures. Layla hadn't lied about that. And there was no denying Carmen was hot, wayward hair and all. In addition to being gorgeous, her sharp mind and sharper tongue made flirting with her a delight. She felt as drawn to Carmen as she would if they'd been shot with the damn arrows.
Which couldn't happen. The uniform protected its wearer from the effects of the magic. What was between them was all their own.
Carmen gulped some of her wine. She'd gotten behind. As she held her glass, Layla let her gaze roam. She'd studied Carmen earlier, through the obscuring of the magic and the translucent chiton. Observing her in the flesh was far better. Her dark, high breasts weren't huge, but perfectly shaped, with dull red nipples and narrow areolae. Her hips were narrow but feminine. Her eyes were a gray-green.
Her pussy was trimmed, but not shaved, just as was Layla's. When you were potentially exposed to your coworkers at any time, having a shaved sex felt too intimate. Which may be related to the reason very few men worked for the Franchise. Women could exist in the vicinity of other women's exposed parts. Men, less so. And, as a man, your visible reaction to your coworkers' visible parts could be embarrassing.
Layla pushed Carmen back to the bed, then further, so she sat on the mattress. Then she began to remove all of the plastic and metal clips.
"Hey, you're messing up my hair!" griped Carmen.
"I like it au naturel," Layla replied. "It's cute. I mean..." She made herself sound disapproving again. "It's uncouth, of course it is, but it has a certain childish charm. Did someone feed you after midnight?"
"Douchenozzle."
"Dickhead."
"Jerk."
"Weirdo."
"Wait, is that supposed to be an insult? What's weird about being weird?"
Layla laughed, then rested a finger under the other girl's chin. "Kiss me, weirdo."
There was none of the gentle teasing about this kiss, but neither was there the explosion of passion. Instead, passion was there in every slow connection of their lips and tongues, rising steadily until both girls were groaning. Carmen's hands were behind Layla's neck, while Layla's explored her lover, fingertips on her sides and belly making Carmen squirm with arousal.
The soft sounds Carmen was making grew in volume as Layla's fingers drifted over her breasts.
Layla pushed Carmen's legs apart, then lowered herself to her knees between them, kissing down the side of Carmen's face to her chest as she did so. Kneeling, she began to kiss Carmen's breasts, paying special attention to each nipple until they were hard and sensitive, and then further, the body beneath her mouth and fingers quivering, making small needy groans.
Then she continued down, over Carmen's navel, and down to her upper thighs, pushing the girl onto her back. She raised Carmen's right leg, caressing it with her fingers as her lips explored the inside, moving higher, until she was planting kisses on the edge of her pussy. Then the right side, low to high.
Carmen's soft fur was damp and glistening in places. Layla used the fingers of both hands to separate her lips as she extended her tongue to lick the sides of Carmen's passage, exploring as deeply as she could press. Her lover moaned constantly now, sounding almost pained as she slipped further into need. Her legs draped over Layla's shoulders, her fingers threading into her hair.
Layla eased two fingers into her, licking the girl's inner lips as they closed against the penetrating digits. Carmen huffed out a series of breaths before returning to the slow moans.
When her fingers were buried deeply inside Carmen, Layla licked higher, until she was stroking the girl's clit. At each touch, Carmen began to pant, calming when the tongue moved away.
She brought Carmen to the gasping edge of climax three times, each time frustrating her by slowing and relaxing. A fourth time, Carmen clearly expecting release, making an aggrieved cry when she was denied yet again.
Slowly taking the girl higher again, Layla began to pick up the pace. Not only did she fail to restrain her attentions this time, she lapped firmly at Carmen's clit, her fingers pumping strongly.
Carmen writhed, her back arching, until Layla felt her fingers grasped hard by the muscles of Carmen's sex. The girl whimpered as her body continued to tense, then cried out as her orgasm slammed home.
Layla let her float back to earth as the spasms of her climax slowed. Her partner began to relax, until Layla lapped hard and fast at her clit, her fingers again thrusting deep into her.
"OH, FUUUCK!" Carmen cried out as her body started to tense again. She shrieked as the second climax enveloped her, softer cries still laced with passion as Layla brought her into a soft landing.
"Making all those girls hook up today, that really turned me on," said Carmen. It was several orgasms later, and Layla didn't think her limbs had any mobility left. But that was okay, because they were tangled in her partner's, and she showed no sign of moving, either.
"I know what you mean," she replied. "When I do a het couple, I get that they're excited, and there's plenty of romance ahead for them, but it isn't a kind that gives me anything beyond warm feelings. I seriously wanted to sneak after the schoolgirls to see what they got up to. I'm sure it was hot."
"Voyeur."
"Perv," replied Layla. "You already admitted to getting horny on their behalf."
"Yeah, it's true. Any one of the encounters I think I initiated could be fantasy material for a long time."
"Huh. I thought I'd have taken center place in your fantasies by now," said Layla.
"I admit, you didn't fare too badly in comparison," said Carmen. "But you need practice."
"I need practice?"
"Mmm, it's good that you see it," said Carmen. "Why don't you let me drive you to your place in the morning to pick up a few things. Stay here until V-day. I should be able to spare a few minutes to help."
"Since you clearly need more education, I might be willing to do that for you," Layla said.
Layla woke the following morning with Carmen's lips on her nipple, leading to a predictable outcome. An hour later, still trying to catch her breath, her overused muscles still recovering, she turned on her phone.
"Oh, hey, I got paid for every shot."
Carmen, staring at the ceiling, a sated expression on her face, took a moment to respond. "What?"
"I checked my bank," said Layla. "Looks like I have the full reward for each. No penalties for same-sex romance."
"Oh," said Carmen, dreamily, likely still distracted by their waking activity. "That's good. How do you suppose they do that? Deposit the payments, I mean? Do you suppose someone knows how to use a computer? Are the funds magicked into a direct deposit?"
"Jesus, I don't know," said Layla.
"You don't suppose the receptionist carries a sack of cash to the bank overnight?"
"I've no idea. And your hair looks like you were dragged through a hedge backward. Though that's probably not far from what we put it through."
"I'll have it looking fine again after I turn in my uniform. Maybe you'll stick around long enough to see that I can tame it."
"As if," Layla said. "What could make me want to do that?"
Carmen shrugged, then rolled over, shifting her body onto Layla's. "I have no idea," she said.
Layla diversified her targets over the next few days, choosing other queer targets rather than exclusively selecting women, but she avoided straight pairings entirely. Other hunters would make those connections. She was righting a wrong.
Not everything was plain sailing. She was docked for three arrows for occasions when she eagerly took the first shot without setting up the second. The third time this happened, she almost picked a new person at random, then decided that she owed her targets a better pairing than that.
On another day, she got a librarian fired. The librarian and her client seemed very quiet ladies when she decided to grant the joy of desire to them, so she was shocked that the pair immediately found their way to a closet and proceeded to make each other shriek so loud that the library manager waited outside the closet to walk her employee out for being far too loud for the library. Layla's only consolation was that neither of her victims seemed to care. Their main concern was which of their homes they could reach in the shortest time.
She was riding Carmen's pussy that evening. Her partner had drawn up her legs behind Layla, who rested against them as she slowly slid herself back and forth, feeling Carmen's swollen labia against her own.
"There's a project I'd like help with on the fourteenth," said Carmen.
"Oh yeah? What's that?" Layla huffed out a breath. They were taking their activity slowly, but she'd been so aroused for so long that she was having trouble not letting go.
"There's a woman in a bagel store. I... unhhhh... I saw her the first day. Just before I saw your crappy aim in the restaurant. Mmmmmm... I was going to shoot her, but there were no... no guys around. Before I knew that wasn't a problem."
Layla didn't think she'd finished her story, but her eyes were glassy, and she thought she might have lost the thread. "And?"
"Oh... oh, yeah, if she's there on the fourteenth I have a plan. After that you... oh fuck, don't do that... you can go your own way. Do you want to... mmmm... meet for a final recap?"
Layla licked her finger, then lightly grazed it over Carmen's clit a second time. "Recap?"
"So you can tell me one final time how much you... oh, FUCK!... you hate me, and I can tell you you're a weasel I'll be glad to see the back of... DON'T! Don't... I can't... Fuck!... the back... it will all be over on the fifteenth."
"Where do you want to have this recap?"
"I booked us a table at Fiorenzo."
"Wait, what?" Layla stopped rocking. "You booked us a table at a high end restaurant... on Valentine's Day? How the fuck did you even do that?"
"He's my uncle," said Carmen. "He always tries to hold a place for family." Carmen rolled her hips, but Layla was still too stunned to resume her motion.
"So you want to take me on a date?"
"Not a date," Carmen said. "Just a full and frank exchange of views. But you should dress to suit."
"Because everyone else there will be on dates?" Layla's feelings were spiralling. Of course she wanted to go on a date with Carmen. She just didn't want to fuck up the fun they had together. She was hoping to find some way they could keep seeing each other after the season ended.
"Right," agreed Carmen, trying again to push herself against Layla's sex.
Layla eased her legs behind her, and lay down, her lover's legs between her own, their pussies pressed together. Her breasts quivered against Carmen's, as she grabbed her arms, positioning her body for best effect. "I was looking forward to taking the evening off," she growled. "Job well done. Now I'm going to have to buy a new dress. You can rest assured I won't be giving you any eye candy. You suck."
"I know," was all Carmen could manage, before Layla's lips clamped down on hers.
The morning of the fourteenth dawned in its usual fashion, Carmen's limbs twined with Layla's. They showered together, dressed in their Franchise-supplied job gear, and headed out. Layla's part in Carmen's plan would require her phone to be turned on, so she'd lowered the volume, then held her quiver close to her ear, so she'd hear it. Carmen took a shaft from Layla's quiver and stalked away, leaving Layla standing by the door of the Franchise office.
Just after she left, a woman Layla didn't recognize showed up in ghostly form. She nodded at Layla before entering the office by walking through the door without opening it.
Shit, shit, shit. Of course that was going to be happening today. This was the last day they'd be needed, so other hunters would be returning their uniforms. She hadn't been expecting that to happen early; V-Day was the most productive, and the most lucrative, since any successes would almost certainly lead to bonuses, so she hadn't expected returns to happen until later in the day.
There was no reason to panic yet. Carmen hadn't called. She needed to get into position, and the bagel shop was close to the restaurant she'd first visited, which was several minutes' walk. Layla hopped from one foot to the other.
Her phone pinged with a message. Carmen had completed her part. She had a little over a minute to wait. Reaching into the quiver, she felt carefully for her phone's volume control and silenced it. But there was still no sign of the girl who was finishing her gig.
Except - wait. She would be out of her uniform by now. Layla was thinking she needed to wait for her to leave, but once she'd taken even a slipper off, she wouldn't be able to see Layla.
Slipping through the wall, Layla took up her stance and shot the redheaded receptionist in the chest. The woman frowned and looked around, seeming puzzled.
The girl Layla had seen emerged from the changing area, wearing an overcoat, carrying her uniform.
"Ah, Miss Harris." The receptionist checked her handwritten ledger, then looked up and smiled. It was a warm smile, and the woman in the overcoat seemed as surprised as Layla at the action. "Very good work out there," said the receptionist. "You know, the results have been high overall, and it's such a nice day, I think I'll treat myself to a bagel."
"Uh, okay," said the nonplussed Miss Harris. "See you next year?"
"Of course," the redhead beamed. "Be sure to check for your bonus tomorrow."
"Yeah, right." The girl in the heavy coat opened the door and left, while the receptionist had found a piece of paper, and was writing in cursive.
"You know where to leave your equipment. If you need me, call, or return this afternoon."
She signed the letter, though Layla couldn't read the signature to recall her name. Then she left, letting the door lock behind her.
Layla left through the wall, waiting beside the door until Carmen trotted toward her. "Mission accomplished?"
Layla pointed at the redheaded figure walking toward the side street. "She seems in a positively good mood, too."
"Then I'll see you at Fiorenzo at eight!"
At Layla's nod, she waved a greeting, then jogged away.
Layla decided to work only until noon. She needed to get home, and she did need to go dress shopping. She hadn't misled Carmen about that. So she hunted a few final romance seekers, then returned her uniform.
The receptionist looked up. There was a sparkle in her eyes. "Miss Haddad! It seems you had an exceptionally good season. Thank you for your support."
On the pristine desk, there was a bagel menu sitting beside the ledger. There appeared to be a handwritten phone number on it. Layla grinned. "Thank you," she said, then left the building and headed to her bus stop.
The dress she'd found was deep blue. It showed enough of her boobs to be sexy without being trashy. The hemline was lacy and uneven. She'd decided she needed new heels, too, so when she arrived at the restaurant she'd added a few inches to her height. The dangly topaz earrings she wore were ones she'd had for a couple of years. They'd been a gift from an ex.
When she introduced herself to the hostess, she immediately called over the maitre d', who led her to Carmen, whose eyes widened when she saw her. Not that she was any less of a surprise to Layla. She'd obviously spent time with her stylist. Her hair was glossy and elegantly pinned. The only sign of its wild nature were the curly strands clearly deliberately teased out around her face.
Her black dress sparkled, and her cleavage was more tightly bound than Layla's, but attractively eyecatching. She wore small silvery hoops in her ears.
The maitre d' finally left, after promising her excellent service, that the sommelier would be with them momentarily, and that Signor Fabbri fully intended to visit with his niece and her partner.
"Partner?" Layla hissed, not allowing the warm feeling to show on her face.
"I had to tell Uncle Enzo something," Carmen said. "It's one of the biggest nights for the restaurant. I wasn't going to say, 'I'm inviting this girl who hates me, so we can scream at each other in your fancy restaurant', was I? And speaking of deception, look at you! You promised me no eye candy. Now you're trying to trick me. If you were anyone else, I think I'd enjoy the view."
"Lack of choice," Layla lied. "Since I was so late looking for a dress, everything I could find had ostentatious boobage. I just looked for the least attractive one."
"Then you failed," said Carmen. "Why should that surprise me? You look amazing."
"Yeah? So do you!"
The two girls glared at each other for a moment, then shared a grin. Before they found an opportunity to complain about that, the sommelier turned up. He offered his suggestion, which would, of course, be on the house for Signor Fabbri's niece.
No sooner had the wine steward moved on, than the regular waiter appeared. Then it was the sommelier's turn again, this time accompanied by Uncle Enzo and the recommended Barolo. It wasn't until the first course arrived that they had a moment to themselves.
Layla was in the middle of taking a long sip of wine when Carmen, who'd been studying her, spoke. "You know that red wine is a proven aphrodisiac?"
Layla avoided spluttering the wine back into the glass. "Really?"
"It's true. It increases blood flow."
"Is that why you bought wine on the first night I stayed over?"
"Maybe I just wanted to keep it in the house for the next girl I bring home," Carmen said.
"Well, that was a failure, since we've already drunk it," said Layla. "And I know I didn't need an aphrodisiac."
"Got that right," said Carmen. "It may be the only thing you do well, but I'm tempted to keep you around for the sex."
"And how do you plan to do that?"
"More red wine?" suggested Carmen.
"It might be enough," Layla agreed. She reached to get the bottle to top up their glasses, but an observant waiter had seen her movement and plucked the bottle from the table first, refilling their glasses before stepping back.
"Damn, I'm not used to places like this," Layla said.
"I know, right?" Carmen grinned. "So, do you know about the Day of the Dead?"
"I know what it is," Layla replied. "Mexican Halloween."
"Yeah, but there's an event here. October. Never advertised. Fun, but creepy. Are you interested?"
"I might be. I should be back from my travels by then," said Layla.
"I'll introduce you," Carmen said. "I've been part of it for two years now. It's a different Franchise. No bigotry, and pays well."
"I'll take you up on that," Layla said.
The wine had been emptied, a dessert shared - to Uncle Enzo's distress, but neither girl wanted to arrive home bloated - and each of them had finished a glass of liqueur. Layla was a little woozy, but upright. She'd taken Carmen's hand in the restaurant, to avoid awkward stumbling, of course, and hadn't released it while they waited for their ride.
"Don't listen to me," Layla said.
"What?"
"Don't listen to me," she repeated. "I don't want you to hear what I have to say, but I have to say it. Keep it, you know, unprocessed. Or something. But I think that was the best Valentine's date of my life. I don't want to stop sparring with you, but that's the thing. I don't want to stop."
"If we're still fighting by next V-Day, we should get married," Carmen said. "Fighting is what married people do, right?"
"You're drunk," said Layla. "I'd never marry a jerkface."
"You're drunk," argued Carmen. "And of course you will. You'll argue about it until I get the ring on your finger, but you will."
"You think you'll be the one to propose?" asked Layla.
"Probably, because you're too dumb to realize the opportunity we have."
"Maybe I'm smart enough to see through your opportunities," Layla said. "Maybe I'll just marry you for sex."
"And that's why I'm keeping you around," crowed Carmen. "See, you argued yourself right back into my bed."
"Did I?" Layla's mind was too foggy to be sure of the details of their earlier exchange. "Maybe you're not always wrong."
Over the past couple of weeks, both women had come to appreciate taking things slowly. Dressed for a date as they were, taking their time undressing each other seemed natural and especially exciting, while being frustrating for both. Carmen took extra care removing Layla's dress, shoes, stockings and thong, kissing her passionately before allowing Layla to undress her, her actions equally leisurely, finally freeing her lover's hair from its framework.
Carmen pushed Layla onto the bed, then lowered herself to all fours over her. She moved around, kissing Layla's cheeks, ears, neck, and progressing down her body. She kissed each of her breasts, but didn't spend additional time there, her navel, her thighs, down her arms, stopping to suckle the pulse points at her wrists. Layla's arousal was through the roof.
She was frustrated at Carmen's pace, but it seemed that each ounce of frustration brought a pound of desire, and the payoff was worth the pain.
Carmen aligned her face with Layla, her breasts dangling over Layla's rounded mounds. She had the most delicious breasts, and when she lowered herself so that her nipples began to caress her lover's, Layla found new tendrils of arousal unfolding within her. She moaned, then lifted her face to meet Carmen's lips. Their kiss was tender, though Layla was eager for more. She began to flick the tips of Carmen's breasts with her fingers, making her nipples dance against her own, and causing the woman to deepen their kiss.
Then her lover was lying down, on her, not above her. Her thigh was between Layla's legs, against her sex, and her hands explored her waist and the sides of her breasts. Layla's own hands found Carmen's ass, squeezing and pushing the girl down against her, then moving her against Layla's body in a slow up and down motion.
Carmen's kiss was growing more intense, and Layla could feel her breathing quicken. Now Layla was the one trying to control the pace. Her partner had spent so long slowly teasing her body into awareness that she was losing her patience, but Layla wanted this to be good for her, too. So she held her back, as Carmen began to groan into her mouth.
After a time, Carmen ended the kiss, laying her head on Layla's shoulder as each woman focused on moving against the other. Layla could feel her partner's sex sliding wetly against her thigh, even as she felt Carmen's leg pressing against her sensitive labia and her mons.
When Layla's feelings began to overwhelm her restraint, she didn't know it for a time, until she realized that they were grinding hard against each other. The pound of desire was in full force now. She drew her teeth over her lover's shoulder, to the base of her neck. Carmen cried out with need.
Sensing Carmen was beyond holding back, ready to boil over, Layla focused on herself for a moment, grinding her sex against Carmen's thigh, feeling her mons compressing against her hard, sensitive clit, and when Carmen's moans rose in intensity, she was right there with her, her hands pressing into Carmen's ass, keeping up the pressure as each reached her climax.
One more time waking wrapped around her lover. Were they going to be sleeping apart from now on? The thought brought a wave of regret. But hadn't they agreed last night that they'd keep sleeping together? They'd had some spurious reason, but Layla didn't recall exactly what it was.
She'd want to leave for her annual backpacking trip soon enough. Would Carmen wait for her while she was gone? Would they text their insults to each other every day? Would she sleep with other girls if they hadn't committed to a relationship?
Layla had spent nights - and in one case, a couple of weeks - with girls she'd met on her travels, though in some of the places she'd been, that was life-threatening. She didn't feel any urge to do so this time. Could they be exclusive? It was a conversation they'd need to have.
Carmen shifted, coming to rest with her legs between Layla's, an arm around her stomach, and her lips touching her breast. Her presence reminded Layla that she had to check the Valentine's day tally. She picked up her phone and logged into her banking app.
"Holy fuck," she said.
Carmen's eyes struggled open. She kissed the side of the convenient breast, then looked up at Layla. "What's up?"
"Almost every prospect came through for me. V-Day has fed my savings way more than any other year."
"Oh, that's good," Carmen responded. She rolled away, reluctantly. "I should check my own."
It took the half-awake girl several minutes to navigate through her bank app. Then, "Holy fuck."
Layla laughed. "Clearly, even an oversexed dork can learn from her betters."
"And whose fault is it I'm oversexed, asshat?" She dropped her phone on her nightstand and wrapped herself around Layla again. She mumbled something into Layla's breast.
"What did you say?"
Carmen turned her face up. "Will we ever admit we're in love?" she asked.
Layla felt an abrupt surge of warmth, even as Carmen continued, "I mean, if we ever reach that point?"
She was providing cover, but Layla had heard the confession in the earlier words. "You think I could ever fall for a perv stalker?"
Carmen scowled at her, and opened her mouth to speak, but Layla cut her off. "I guess we could admit it now, if it makes you happy. Then we'd never have to worry about it changing our relationship. 'Cause, let's face it, we'd be a lot better together than the Franchise's stupid arrows."
Carmen seemed puzzled by the idea for a moment, but nodded. "Okay. I love you, asshat."
"I love you too, jerkface," Layla replied. "You make me very happy."
"Yeah, that's an unfortunate side effect," Carmen groused, "but I guess I can live with it," she finished, reaching for Layla.
A suitable amount of time later, still panting, Layla rolled off her girlfriend onto the bedsheets. "So," she began, after catching her breath, "have you ever considered going backpacking? I'm sure your skinny ass would look better after a few days' hiking."