The model, half in shadow, watched the scene play out for the fifth time. Her eyes were glued to the actress on set. She was wearing a platinum blonde wig over her choppy brown hair. Her legs were wrapped in a pair of fishnets, which led up to red leather shorts, her feet in a pair of platform stilettos, which put her nearly at eye level with the model. On top, she wore a tight, white tank top, which the model felt showed off the actress’s breasts quite nicely. It was camp, but by no means unflattering, and the model was enjoying the view. She could scarcely make out what the actress was saying—she was too far back and the scene too quiet—but she loved watching the actress emote. Her Twiggy cerulean eyeshadow brought out so much blue in her dark greyish eyes, and the bright lipstick called attention to the adorable gap between her front teeth.

The director called “Cut!” and then, in French, “C'est bon, on passe à la suivante !”

The actress took a deep breath, and her eyes met those of the model, pale green, nestled between her tanned and slightly freckled cheeks and her dark, feathery eyebrows. The model was giving her a knowing smirk. She glowered in return before she begrudgingly approached. 

The model spoke first: “He leers at you between takes.”

“Who, Olivier?” The actress asked in her slightly accented English.

“The director, yeah,” the model confirmed.

“And what were you doing? I’m pretty certain I caught you leering more than once,” the actress riposted.

“Leering implies you don’t want to get caught. I was … ogling.” The model’s smirk widened.

“Ah, of course,” she replied with a sarcastic nod.

“Have you fucked him yet?” She asked bluntly.

The actress’s face soured. “No, Alex. I haven’t fucked him. I don’t fuck men anymore.”

“And what if I wanted to watch you get fucked by one?”

She sighed. “Then I suppose you’d be shit out of luck.”

The actress eyed Alex up and down. She was dressed in characteristically provocative streetwear: black Margiela tabi sneakers, a denim mini skirt, which showed off her deeply tanned legs, a pair of Dior sunglasses resting atop her straightened amber hair, and an oversized t-shirt covered with a large thermal image of what was clearly a trans woman's torso, the red outline of her breasts, the contours of her genitals on full display. It was in poor taste, but regrettably alluring. It made perfect sense for Alex. There were perhaps half a dozen trans runway models, and Alex had fucked all of them. 

“Hmmm.” Alex ran her eyes over Olivier, who was fine enough looking, from across the room. “Maybe I’ll fuck him then.”

“That’s not why you came here.”

“Oh?” Alex gave her an innocent look. “And why did I come here?”

“You know why, Alex.”

Alex said nothing and continued to feign ignorance, though there was an unmistakable hunger in her eyes.

“Où est Julie ?” The actress heard Olivier asking the crew. 

She was being called back to set. Her face contorted in annoyance: “Donnez-moi quelques minutes.”

“Ok les gens, let’s go 10-1, we are back at 2:40!” The AD announced to the room.

It was Julie who broke the pause. “Can we do whatever this is in my trailer?”

“No, here’s fine,” Alex said, moving towards a pair of unoccupied canvas folding chairs against the nearest wall.

She sat down in a cocksure manner, leaning back and spreading her legs wide. Julie went to sit in the neighboring chair but was stopped. 

“Uh-uh.” Alex tutted. “Give me a little spin first.”

“Je t’emmerde.” Julie scoffed. 

“English, Julie. I love the way it sounds with that cute Parisienne accent.” Alex said, gesturing for her to twirl. Alex was half-French by her mother and spoke the language perfectly, but relished any means of taunting Julie.

“Fuck you,” she said, obliging Alex’s demands.

Alex gestured for her to strut back and forth in front of her. She enjoyed the satisfying click of Julie’s slow steps, which managed to cut through all the background noise.

“I love this little whore getup they’ve got you in.”

Julie merely laughed in response.

“Do you think Olivier gets hard from dressing you up like Julia Roberts at the start of Pretty Woman?” 

Julie didn’t laugh this time.

“Do you think he wants to blow his load all over that pretty, painted face?”

“Stop it, Alex,” Julie told her firmly.

“Why?” Alex asked, again, innocently.

“Because,” Julie met Alex’s gaze, “you sound jealous?”

“And why would I be jealous? I think I could take anything I wanted from you.” Alex said with a pleased grin. She paused a moment before asking, “Do you like being a whore?" 

Julie stopped strutting. She shook her head with a scoff.

“Aw, what is it?”

“This is embarrassing, Alex. People are staring.” Julie’s voice sounded annoyed, though not enough to make Alex stop.

“They’ve been staring at you all day. C’mon, give me some poses,” she said, goading Julie, who complied without any protest this time.

Julie felt the shame rising in her cheeks as she began running through an array of clichéd poses, rolling her eyes between each one. She bit the tip of her finger and pursed her lips. She lifted her hands over her head, stretching her stomach taut. She pushed out her breasts, trying not to be too obvious, though she knew she was failing.

“God, you look sexy in this outfit,” Alex said.

Julie could already feel her shame turning to arousal in spite of herself.

“You know, back in America, they’d call you slim-thick,” Alex explained. “Hmmm, how would you say it in French? ‘Mince et épais’, maybe?” She let out a short laugh. “You’ve got this petite, slender frame with those incredible curves hanging off it. That cute round belly button you get from having just that tiny bit of a tummy.” Alex bit her lip. “And of course, that ass. It’s such a pleasant surprise when you realize just how nice and round it is.”

Julie spun and arched her back to put her ass on full display for Alex, watching the model devour her with her eyes from over her shoulder. She caught herself, however, before she allowed herself to get pulled any more under the beautiful woman’s sway.

“Ok, that’s enough, Alex,” she said, settling back into a neutral pose.

“Fine. You can sit,” Alex replied, satisfied. “But not there. Bring the chair around so you can face me.”

Julie did so. She sat down and crossed her legs, her dangling foot in its bright stiletto bouncing impatiently.

“Arms on the armrest,” Alex directed.

With only a hitch of hesitation, Julie placed her arms down gently and curled her fingers slowly around the wooden armrest.

“Open your legs.” 

She uncrossed her legs and spread them wide.

“No-no-no-no,” Alex corrected. “Not that much. You’re not giving it away for free after all.”

She brought her legs in slowly until Alex said, “Perfect. That’s very nice, Julie.”

Alex giggled. “Your eyes are already glassy. I've probably ruined the rest of the shoot day. You’re gonna get back in front of that camera a horny, fucking mess.”

Julie wanted to deny it, but she could feel herself getting wet. She found Alex so unbelievably sexy, and her cockiness in this moment, her piercing eyes, and her condescending tone were all conspiring to make Julie weak—weak enough to allow herself to be dragged into this game—just as Alex knew they would. She did her best to maintain her composure. She sat there chewing her tongue.

“Do you want me back?” Alex asked plainly.

“Yes, Alex. I want you back … very, very badly.” She was annoyed with herself for how true it was.

They hadn’t been good together, and Julie knew it. She had been the one to break things off. Julie was out publicly as bi-slash-queer, but there was no chance in hell she was going to end up with a man. She had never claimed the term lesbian, but it was realistically the best fit for her. Her past affairs with men had all been short-lived and almost immediately regretted. Alex, she felt, was the exact opposite. Often when they’d been together, Julie had felt that Alex was just using her for sex, that she didn’t take her seriously. Though she didn’t know whether or not she felt that way at that moment. She knew Alex loved to tease her, but she doubted that Alex loved her. Julie loved Alex, with no good reason, really. She found it hard to know much about Alex’s feelings. What she did know was that she’d been with men and women, cis and trans, but that it was only the men she seemed to date with anything close to seriousness: the Australian actor, the British singer, the French-Ivoirien rapper, and the occasional American model. But none of that seemed to matter to her as she answered.

“Do you think about me when you touch yourself?” Alex asked the flustered actress.

Julie exhaled sharply. “All the fucking time.” In a slow, measured voice, carefully dragging out certain words, she continued: “My favorite thing to do after a long day is to turn the lights down low, and fuck myself stupid to the thought of you. I’m utterly addicted to you, Alex.” She stared the model down, hoping she’d get to watch her crack. “Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“Yes,” she said, leaning forward, her eyes glimmering. Julie remained stock still where she was told. “But is it true?”

 Julie snickered under her breath. It felt good to see Alex get excited by her, but her voice didn’t waver: “Every. Fucking. Word.” 

“Tell me you’re wrong for ending things.”

Julie exhaled again, slowly this time. “I wasn't just wrong; I was an idiot for ending things with you. I miss you terribly, and I want you back more than anything.”

“That's what I really wanted to hear.” Alex got up from her chair. She leaned in close to Julie, her hand tracing along her chin, her lips barely grazing her ear, and whispered, “I touch myself to you too.”

Julie caught Alex by the wrist as she began to walk away. Her voice was firm. “I want to see you again before you leave Paris.”

“I’m staying at the Maison Souquet. Drinks at nine.”

The earlier September air was warm. Julie arrived at the hotel in a metallic Missoni cocktail dress, which shimmered darkly under the yellow streetlights, and a pair of Chloé heeled sandals. Underneath, she had a more daring set of Fleur du Mal lingerie hidden away. Her long, elven sideburns were curled ever so slightly to better frame her prominent cheekbones. She felt sexy.

The hotel’s façade was neo-classical and typically Pigalle. The interior, however, was a lush wine red, illuminated softly by golden light. Sculptures and paintings of nude women were staged against discreet satin damasks and intricately carved woodwork. The lobby was warmly incensed. Julie found the spicy and sensuous aroma wonderfully pleasing and not at all overpowering. She grinned. This sort of fin-de-siècle orientalism was something of a guilty pleasure for her, and Alex knew this. 

She made her way to the Moorish salon, which felt to her like stepping into a painting by Delacroix. She saw Alex seated at the bar with a drink already waiting for her. Julie's eyes went wide as she took in the model’s evening wear. She suddenly felt both under- and overdressed. Alex wore a black sheer Alexander McQueen dress with a silk cutout g-string. Her nipples were just barely obscured by the lace embroidery. Her golden hair fell in soft waves, brushed over to one side like an Old Hollywood starlet. She gazed absentmindedly at the Venetian glass chandelier. Her face, gentle in repose, atop her swanlike neck, left Julie dumbstruck as though she had caught a glimpse of a bathing hamadryad unaware. Alex spotted Julie out of the corner of her eye and wordlessly summoned her over.

“You look gorgeous,” Alex said, giving Julie a lingering kiss on her cheek.

She dismissed the compliment with a flick of her wrist, though an obvious blush was rising in her cheeks as she lowered herself down onto the velvet-upholstered stool. “I practically just threw this on,” she lied. “But look at you!”

Alex thanked Julie with a lilting laugh. “You know, I had an awful time deciding what to wear. All my favorite clothes are pieces you bought me. I suppose I just like things more when you buy them for me. But I wanted to wear something you’d never seen me in.”

Julie gave her a coy smile.

“And for the record, I love the way you dress. I wouldn’t like it if you dressed more like me.” Alex said, gently running her fingers through the short tufts of hair above Julie’s ear. “I hope you don’t mind, but I ordered for you: A rye Manhattan with a bar spoon of Luxardo cherry syrup because I know you love it.”

“It’s perfect.” Julie blushed again. “Santé.”

They clinked glasses and drank.

Julie rested her glass on the mahogany bar. “And what are you having?”

Alex was still finishing a long, slow slip. “I’m having a really lovely drink named for actress Dita Parlo from Vigo’s L’Atalante. It’s champagne with yuzu, cardamom, and chartreuse. Here.” She said, offering up her glass. She held the tulip glass in such a way that her red lip print was placed perfectly before Julie.

Julie obliged, letting her lower lip run discretely over the kiss mark as her tongue savored the tart, effervescent cocktail. She softly moaned. “Mmm, that’s very good.”

They made idle chatter for the next few minutes. They talked about the film Julie was working on, about Alex’s various projects, how long she’d be in France, if she planned on spending time with her mother in Rouen.

Alex asked Julie if she liked the hotel. “I wanted to bring you here before you broke things off, but there was never any reason since you live here. It was formerly a maison close, run by a woman named Madame Souquet until 1907. When it reopened as a hotel, they wanted to recapture the voluptuous luxury and romantic air of the Belle Époque. The suites are all named after famous courtesans of the period.” She explained. “I specifically requested the Liane de Pougy suite. Are you familiar with de Pougy?”

“No,” Julie said, resting her cheek on her hand, “Tell me about her.”

Alex smiled at the dreamy look in Julie’s dark eyes. “She was a protégé and sometimes lover of Valtesse de la Bigne.” Julie nodded in vague recognition of the name. “But besides being a dancer and courtesan, she was also a novelist who wrote these beautiful and tragic lesbian romances and memoirs. Her third novel, Idylle Sapphique, may very well be the first novel to refer to one of its characters as a lesbian, in its modern context.” She added. “She based it on her real-life affair with the American expat Natalie Clifford Barney.”

“Essentially,” Alex continued, “The novel revolves around a young woman named Annhine, the most desired and glamorous courtesan in all of France, which de Pougy herself was at the time. She has a large and beautifully appointed apartment, the most elegant wardrobe, this adorable little dog, and, of course, all of the wealthiest patrons there were to be had. It’s all perfect until one day when this nineteen-year-old American heiress shows up at her door and declares her intention of making Nhine fall in love with her.

“The American is obsessive and fawning, and beautiful in a slightly boyish way. She wants to bathe Nhine like she’s her maid. She wants Nhine to use her as a footrest when they are at the theatre together. She absolutely loves Nhine’s feet.” Alex chuckled. “And gradually, Nhine starts to become obsessed with the American as well. She finds herself getting bored with her male patrons and callers, and eventually disgusted. She forces herself to have sex with random men, only to spiral out of control like Lady Macbeth, saying she’s soiled and unclean, as soon as it's over. All the while, she’s falling prey to every turn-of-the-century female ailment. She becomes hysterical, neurotic, and anemic. She’s prone to fainting and seizures, all because of her ‘unnatural’ lesbian desires. Her burgeoning lesbianism makes her unable to be a courtesan, and that sends her into a full-blown crisis and a spiral of self-loathing. Being a courtesan is her only real means of support; it's the only life she’s known.”

“So what happens to her?” Julie asked.

Alex leaned in to whisper in Julie’s ear. “No spoilers.” Alex gave her a broad smile. “Though the real Liane de Pougy actually continued seeing Natalie Barney on and off for the next three decades, having casual hookups and the occasional ménage à trois—Barney’s preferred arrangement—until the late-twenties. Then she married a prince from Wallachia—”

“Like Vlad the Impaler?” Julie asked incredulously.

“Yeah, but who cares about him?” Alex said, almost dismissively. “Anyway, she died in 1950, a tertiary at a convent in Lausanne. Barney died here in 1972. She was ninety-five.”

“You seem very enamored with this woman.” 

“Well, you know how I am. I can’t love anything a normal amount.” Alex took another sip of her drink, “It’s obsession or nothing with me.”

“And she’s your current obsession?” Julie’s hand on the bar inched closer to just barely touch Alex’s fingers, which were resting lightly around the base of her champagne glass.

“One of them.” She smiled, her own fingers extending to meet and caress Julie’s. “I think what I admire about her is that even amidst the more sensationalist aspects of her work, she remains unflinching in her portrayal of the danger and precarity of the life of a demi-mondaine, which is never really discussed even in the works of social realists like Zola. At best, the life of a courtesan was drudgery; at worst, it was a life of harassment, humiliation, and abuse. Her writing feels like a form of therapy for working through trauma, even as she’s writing this beautiful lesbian erotica, which I suppose is why you get some really amazing man-hating rants throughout the book. You know, I think that might be the other reason I’m so obsessed with her.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s just that when people do talk about Liane de Pougy, they always refer to her as bisexual, because she had relationships with men all her life. They say she’s ‘sapphic, not lesbian’ or whatever. But I don’t really buy that. When you read her writing, she clearly doesn’t like men. She hates them. She treats sex with them either as a chore or as an act of violation. Like sure, she had a husband, but so did Virginia Woolf for fuck’s sake, and I sure as hell don’t think she would’ve married that man if he hadn’t been a literal prince.”

Julie smiled as Alex worked herself up into a little fit over a hundred and fifty-year-old courtesan.  “So what? You want the lesbian community to declare her an official member?”

“I don’t know what I want, Julie,” Alex replied. “All I know is that men paid for her affection and that women got it for free.”

“So, do you have any more turn-of-the-century lesbians you want to tell me about. I’m all ears.” Julie teased with a playful bite of her lip. 

Their drinks finished, the Bartender approached to offer them a second round. 

“No, but can you have a bottle of the Barons de Rothschild Brut sent up to my room? I’m in the de Pougy suite.” Alex said.

Julie shot her a raised eyebrow.

“Oui, madame,” the bartender nodded, quickly sweeping the ten-euro note Alex had left him off the bar.

As Alex searched for the keycard in her bag, Julie approached the taller woman from behind. She pushed her hair aside to kiss the nape of her neck. With her other hand, she groped and caressed her thigh. Alex shivered at her touch.

As soon as the door clicked, Alex allowed herself to be shoved into the room and down onto the chaise longue. Julie hit the switch on the wall, and the lamps, clear hearts of blown glass, came to life, illuminating the sitting room with a soft golden glow. She approached the bratty American splayed out on the couch in her sheer dress, watching the model’s chest rise and fall in anticipation. She kneeled in front of Alex and grabbed her ankles, spreading her legs as wide as her gown would allow. With firm hands, Julie slowly stroked up the length of her slender and tanned legs until her outstretched thumbs came to rest in the smooth hollow below her hip bones. Julie’s fingers curled under the band of Alex’s silk panties, and in one swift motion, fluidly guiding her legs back together, whisked them down to her ankles and over her stilettos. She briefly inspected the damp, black fabric with her mouth before casting it aside and crawling atop the scantily clad model.

Alex, for her part, looked completely transformed. Her hair already tousled, her eyes starting to glaze, her hand weakly running along the scrolls of embossed floral wallpaper, as Julie pulled her into a devouring kiss. Alex moaned deeply as Julie tugged on her lower lip. When she released her, Alex attempted to prop herself up to meet Julie in another kiss, but the actress pushed her back down onto the cushions, unwilling to relinquish any of the control she had over Alex in that moment.

Then a knock came at the door.

Julie laughed breathily, “C'est sûrement ton champagne.”

Alex could only nod.

Julie answered and let the waiter in, who promptly placed the tray with champagne in an ice bucket, two glasses, and a small assortment of chocolate truffles on the table. He made to uncork the bottle but was told it wouldn't be necessary and was gently shooed from the suite by the actress. Instead, it was Julie who opened the bottle with a gentle pop as Alex watched from the chaise longue. Julie took the two glasses and walked right past Alex, through the gilt, art-deco cased opening into the bedroom, wordlessly beckoning the model to follow. She did, grabbing one of the chocolates from the tray. She placed the truffle between Julie’s lips and, with a kiss, bit off half for herself, savoring the whipped cherry ganache inside.

Alex downed her glass of champagne as she stepped out of her heels. In her bare feet, she was at the perfect height to bury her face in Julie’s neck, to kiss and suck as she slipped the straps of her dress from her shoulders. Alex tugged Julie’s dress lower, kissing her newly exposed skin all the way down. From her knees, she looked up at Julie, marveling at her soft curves, her lingerie, lace, embroidered with rose gold tigerlilies.

“These are new,” she said, running a finger through the gaps in the embroidery of her garter belt. 

“Do you like?” Julie asked, still sipping from her own glass.

“I do,” Alex replied between kisses placed on the actress's inner thighs. “I really do.” Her hands stroked up and down her legs, the flats of her nails lightly dragging against her silk stockings. 

Alex pulled on one of Julie’s garters, allowing it to snap back against her creamy thighs. Julie tittered, and Alex gave her a mischievous, lip-biting smile. She nuzzled her face into the front of Julie’s panties; the copse of hair poking through the lace tickled her nose. Alex kissed mound as she brought an exploratory finger to stroke up the length of her vulva. Even through the fabric, Alex’s gentle touch sent ripples of pleasure through her body. With two fingers, she now lightly stroked back and forth across Julie’s lower lips. At the same time, her mouth traced back up her torso, coming to rest over her nipple. Through her lace bra, Alex teased her left nipple with lips, tongue, and teeth, while her free hand rubbed, pinched, and flicked her right.

Julie set her glass down on the nightstand behind her and guided Alex back up to her full height. Spinning the model around, she undid the fasteners on the back of Alex’s sheer dress. It slipped free with ease, pooling at her feet, leaving her fully nude. Julie raked her nails up Alex’s back, leaving long red streaks along the tan expanse of skin. Alex’s head lolled backwards in pleasure, and Julie seized the opportunity for a possessive bite. At the same time, her hand reached around to press against Alex’s dripping cunt. Alex’s moaning voice cracked, and her body shook as Julie’s teeth pressed against her flesh and her fingers slipped easily between her folds and into her waiting pussy. All the while, the heel of her palm ground against her clit and the small tuft of tawny hair that sat just above it, and her other hand groped and kneaded her small, round butt. 

“Tell me,” Alex said in between moans, “how hard it was to say so serious when I saw you this morning? Did you wanna crawl out of that chair and start eating my pussy?”

“You know I did,” Julie murmured. “But now, you tell me—” Julie shoved her fingers deep into Alex’s pussy. “Did you want to do the same thing to me?” 

Alex’s back arched and she groaned as if Julie was prying the very words out of her, “Oh God, yes. So fucking badly.”

“That’s what I thought,” Julie sighed. “Such a bad girl. What am I going to do with you?”

Julie’s finger began to pump faster, and Alex’s pussy clenched tightly around them.

“Anything,” Alex answered in a quaking voice, “anything you want.”

“That’s right,” Julie said as her fingers slipped free from Alex’s slit and she pressed the girl to her knees.

Alex spun from her knees and wrapped her arms around Julie’s waist, pulling her in close.

“Take them off,” Julie ordered as she unclasped her bra.

Obediently, Alex unclipped Julie’s garters and removed her belt, tossing them aside. She lifted her legs one by one, removing her heels and sliding her stockings off, placing a kiss on the top of each of Julie’s feet as she did. Finally, she came to Julie’s panties, peeling them down slowly to unveil the delicate petals of her vulva. Drops of wetness dappled her hair like my morning dew on a lush meadow. She breathed in her musk, relishing its almost tangerine sweetness as she began to kiss and tease her folds.

Julie gripped Alex’s hair tightly. She tilted Alex’s face up to see a small trickle of champagne streaming down between her breasts and past her navel. Alex’s tongue, which had been rolling softly around Julie’s clit, moved up to catch the dribbling liquid, sucking whatever her tongue missed out of the actress’s bush.

“Is this what you wanted?” Julie asked with faux sweetness. “Is this what you were hoping would happen when you decided to be a little brat and bother me on set today?”

Alex nodded, as effervescent as the champagne she was licking off Julie’s lower midriff. 

“That’s too bad,” Julie tsked, “because what I want right now is to throw you down on that bed and fuck your brains out.”

Alex’s mouth fell agape as Julie dragged her roughly onto the bed. Her eyes rolled back as she sank, squirming, into the duvet. Julie pounced on top of the model and immediately set to ravishing, burying her between her thighs and slipped three fingers now inside of her dripping wet pussy. Alex’s back arched more with each time Julie curled her fingers inside of her. Julie sucked hard on her clit. As she did, Alex reached for Julie’s hand, the one fucking her, and, sliding her fingers out of her hole, brought it up to her mouth.

“God, I missed these fingers,” Alex moaned, sliding them one by one, still dripping, between her lips to taste herself. 

Julie watched with eyes like a leopard as Alex licked her fingers clean, but never stopped devouring her pussy. As soon as Alex released her hand, her fingers dove as deep into the model as they could. Alex’s voice cracked again, her trembling legs locking behind Julie’s head, hips pressing down hard into Julie’s hand.

“Mmm, so needy,” Julie spoke, her voice slightly muffled by Alex’s thighs.

She protested weakly in response. “No, you are.”

“Je le sais, ma chérie.” Julie shot back. “I don’t pretend not to be … comme toi.”

Alex tried to groan in annoyance, but it only turned into more moans of pleasure. 

Julie stared deeply into Alex’s eyes once more. As she did, she gathered up all of her saliva and, through pursed lips, let a large, foamy glob of spit drip slowly down onto Alex’s clit. The model shuddered as it slid, warm and wet, all the way down her slit. Julie pressed her tongue into core, as her fingers moved to massage Alex’s clit in rough circles. Her pussy was a sea of wetness, her ass was slick with spit and cum, and the duvet underneath her was soaked through.   

Alex suddenly and desperately needed to see Julie’s face smeared with spit and all of her juices. She pulled the actress up to meet her in a frantic kiss. Kissing and licking her face clean, Alex told the actress with absolute sincerity, “You’re so beautiful when you’re covered in spit and girl cum.” Flushed and giggling, she added, “So pretty … ma belle salope baveuse.”

Julie cocked an eyebrow. “Comment tu viens de m'appeler ?” She teased. “Espèce de putain de pute.” 

“Ouvre-toi.” She ordered as she worked another wad of spit that she let drip across the model’s waiting tongue. 

Alex swallowed it greedily, sticking her tongue back out to prove it. Julie wrapped her lips around her tongue and, sucking, pulled her into another kiss.

“Tu vois ? Tu peux être une bonne pute quand tu le veux.” Julie said. “Tout comme ta courtisane.”

At that, Alex kissed her again even more furiously, mewling like a kitten.

Julie repositioned, straddling Alex’s leg and throwing the other over her shoulder, gripping her tight around the ankle. Pressing in close, she ground their pussies together. Alex clutched at her modest breasts, groping them hard. She tried to stop her leg from trembling as Julie placed kisses down her foot and calf, but her body was no longer fully under her control. 

Julie grunted as she rubbed their clits together, driving the half-drunk model into a stupor. Releasing her ankle, she gave Alex a hard smack on the ass that shot through her body. Alex moaned even louder, thrashing her head against the pillows.

Julie slapped her ass again and again, causing Alex’s whimpers to skip like a scratched record.

“Harder, so much harder,” Alex begged. “Please.”

“Oui, mon bébé.” Julie complied. “Dis-moi ce que tu veux.”

But Alex didn’t reply; she only wordlessly guided Julie’s hand away from her ass and placed it round her throat. Julie squeezed lightly at the sides of her neck, then more firmly when Alex nodded for it. She began fucking her faster as Alex started to sputter and gurgle, her body trembling wildly. Julie watched her face redden, along with the whites of her eyes. Tears trickled down her cheeks past her ears, though her wide, almost manic, smile never diminished.

Suddenly, her body froze, and her voice went quiet as she felt an orgasm beginning to surge through her. She remained suspended in that state of lightheaded anticipation for a few moments, until finally it reached a crescendo. She cried out, her entire body shook, her flailing leg slipping from Julie’s shoulder. As she watched her overcome by orgasm, Julie's grip lessened, and she collapsed forward to press her face into Alex’s neck, breathing in her sweat and perfume. Alex’s thrashing was starting to abate, but she had no intention of stopping until she came too.

 Alex wrapped her legs around Julie and dug her nails sharply into her back as Julie continued to rub her too-sensitive clit against her own. At the same time, Julie hooked her arms under Alex’s to squeeze her body even closer to her, though even that wasn’t enough. It was as if she needed every molecule in her body to be touching every molecule in hers.

In her ear, Julie began to whisper, “Je t’aime. Je t’aime. Je t’adore.” All the while fucking the girl beneath with the enthusiasm of a puppy not yet spayed. “Je suis tellement amoureux de toi.”

“Tell me in English,” Alex said between ragged breaths. Her fingers were trying to find purchase in Julie’s short hair to hold her head close, so her mouth stayed right next to her ear.

“I love you. I love you. I love you. I am so fucking in love with you. I’m so in love—” Julie’s voice gave out as she started to cum.

The feeling of Julie’s shuddering body pushed Alex over the edge, and she came a second time, convulsing in a bout of silent yet frenzied laughter.

When the reverberations of pleasure finally subsided, Julie lifted her head and once more said, “I love you, Alex.”

“I know.” Alex kissed her sweetly on the lips. “And you’re back home in my arms now, where you belong.” They kept their faces close, breathing in each other’s breath.

The pair lay in bed. They’d gone for two more rounds, during the first of which Julie had ridden her face as retribution for Alex’s brattiness that morning; they’d finished the champagne and washed each other’s bodies in the shower together. Alex watched Julie sleeping peacefully, her head resting on her chest, one leg draped over Alex. She ran her fingers through the short tufts of brown hair on Julie’s head. In the quiet of the darkened room, Alex felt a bizarre urge rising within her. She wanted to pull Julie’s hair hard. She spread her taut fingers across Julie’s sleeping head, holding herself back from wrenching and tugging. She wanted to smack her hard enough to make her cry, to scratch her face with enough force to leave a scar. She did her best to tamp down those strange and unwelcome desires. But, feeling suddenly alone and sober, she softly hissed. “This relationship’s over when I say it’s over, you stupid fucking bitch …” Spitting the words through her teeth, she sneered, “Loser lesbian cunt.” And yet, as soon as they passed her lips, she found herself placing a soft kiss on the top of her head. Her eyes were wet. “You’re fucking mine, you …” She kissed her again. “Pathetic …” Her hips began to slowly grind against Julie’s legs, and she squeezed just a bit tighter. She groaned. “... Perfect girl.” She pressed her lips to her forehead and simply held them there, as she blinked the tears out of her eyes.

“I love you too,” she whispered so softly that even in the silent room she could barely hear herself.

Alex gently tilted Julie’s face up to better look at the sleeping woman. The actress’s eyes just barely fluttered open.

“Il y a quoi, chérie ? Tu ne peux pas dormir ?” She murmured, her voice thick with sleep.

“No,” Alex whispered, “I just wanted another kiss.” 

Julie puckered her lips, and Alex brought them together. Julie gave her a drowsy, contented smile before returning to sleep on her chest. 

Alex settled her head back into the pillow, though sleep remained out of reach.