For a while, there was nothing of Cassie but orgasm.
The first thing that registered, as it subsided, was vaguely Miranda, leaning over the steering wheel into the rearview fixing her lips. They were parked somewhere green. Cassie drew a sharp breath then heard herself sigh it out again, slow and heavy.
Coming back, sugar? Miranda talking to the mirror.
Coming back. Cassie didn’t know from where. She didn’t know if she was really here. Miranda was here though. That was all that mattered.
The older woman shifted in her seat. The girl’s vacant cum-stunned gaze stayed lost in green. Miranda put a finger to her chin and pivoted her head with it, like turning a doll’s head, and met the girl’s eyes.
Cassie’s hand was already at her crotch and her fingers started moving in the wetness there. Her skirt had got pushed up over her hips. She thought of Miranda seeing her exposed, seeing what a slut she was, and a whimper escaped her. Chuckling, Miranda caught her hand and brought it up. She licked the middle finger with her long tongue and then put it to Cassie’s mouth. “Enough of that now, Greedy Gus.” Cassie’s lips parted automatically. The taste of herself made her head swim.
Miranda’s drew her eyes down to where the front zipper of the dress was parted, down almost to the girl’s navel. She pouted a little. “Shame about the dance, though.” She flicked at the ring pull. “We were gonna have so much fun tonight with this!”
Miranda’s presence was like the leaves plying shadows on the windshield. Somewhere beneath, the only thing that moved in Cassie’s small, dim mind, the thought party dress stirred. It felt like something she was about to forget. Or maybe remember. The shadows would tell her which, in their own time.
Miranda turned away and gave herself a final primp in the rearview. “Fuck, and I still have to catch Beedee up,” she told herself. She glanced back sidelong at Cassie, still sucking automatically at the honey on her fingers, and wryly pulled the girl’s hand back down. “Alright, dummy, dreamtime’s over. Still got all this shit I gotta take care of.”
Cassie heard the driver’s-side door crack open. Nice doing business with you, Miranda cast over her shoulder, and stepped out in a flash of sun. And then the car was only shadow, and no Miranda, and Miranda had never been.
She stayed there, resting her forehead on the steering wheel, for a while after she had finished. She was in the weirdest mood. The pink of the slut dress, ruched up wantonly at the crotch, glowed in her half-closed eyes like a heat. She’d yanked the zipper down far enough she could paw at her tits. The big ring pull, shuddering with her breath, dangled like a lewd smile over her smeary thighs.
She really wondered sometimes if she was starting to lose it. For weeks the idea of the party dress had worked in Cassie like a dark magic. Like it had turned for her into a way out of her life. She’d been in a lather of anxiety all the time it was being altered, lest something happen to it, and then when it came back the same superstition kept her from ever putting it on until the day of. Sometimes she could make herself come just from thinking what it would feel like that moment when the dress first slid across her naked skin.
And now here she was off the road in an old makeout nook, no one around thank God, the dress hopeless and her Mom’s shitty Volvo reeking of sex. That’s what all the masturbating got you.
A dress that Beedee could have worn. That’s really why she got so fixated. The thought of dancing like Beedee, like there was no tomorrow, vamping the boys like Beedee, the girls for that matter, every eye tracking her, helplessly. The whole party swirling around her like a vortex. And then to ride off to her palace in a chariot with her mother, Miranda, who Cassie always pictured bathed in a golden light. Whose name, if she even thought it, gave her pussy a secret flutter.
Beedee was a fashion slut. Cassie was just a slut. The dress was tragic. Beedee’s version, if she’d even wanted one, would have cost ten times as much and it would have been flawless. Hers was just a cheap mistake made by a cheap girl. Who couldn’t keep her hands out of her pussy long enough to even wear it.
Like Miranda would have noticed her. Except to maybe wonder who the little whore was. Miranda didn’t know she existed.
The late sunlight shifted across the windshield, and the shadows changed. She’d have to go home and get a change and sneak it back out. Shower. Make something up. Her parents hadn’t fought her over the dress at all, really, unlike them, but she was sure as shit not going to let them know she wasn’t going to be wearing it. She’d probably only be a little late.
Keep the windows open on the way, she thought. Air the stank out.