Sommelier's Tailor Shop Tongue Fitting
A lesbian sommelier gets her pussy eaten and tribbed by her hot tailor during a steamy fitting.
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The late-afternoon light slanted through the tall front windows of Mara’s boutique, turning the polished hardwood floor into a warm amber mirror. Elena Voss pushed open the heavy glass door with her hip, the silk evening gown draped over one arm like a battle standard. At thirty-two, the sommelier carried herself with the same precise confidence she used when decanting a ’98 Bordeaux. Her dark hair was twisted into a sleek chignon, and her tailored trench coat hid the fact that she wore only a lace bra and thong beneath it. The gown needed emergency alterations before tonight’s blind tasting for three Master Sommeliers and two influential importers. There was no time for modesty.
Mara Vale looked up from behind the wide cutting table. Twenty-nine, openly and unapologetically lesbian, she had a reputation among the city’s stylish queer women for both flawless tailoring and an even more flawless tongue. Her dark copper hair was pulled into a messy knot, a few rebellious strands clinging to the nape of her neck. The sleeves of her black linen shirt were rolled high, revealing lean forearms corded with the kind of muscle that came from years of pinning, lifting, and occasionally pinning women against walls. When she saw Elena, her full mouth curved into a slow, knowing smile.
“Elena. You’re cutting it dangerously close.”
“I like dangerous,” Elena answered, voice low and smoky from years of tasting tannic reds. She let the coat slide off her shoulders and pool on a velvet chair, revealing the deep indigo gown and the way her breasts pressed against the silk. “Think you can make it fit in an hour?”
Mara’s gaze traveled openly down the length of her. “I can make anything fit if I’m motivated.”
The air between them thickened instantly. Elena stepped onto the low fitting platform in the center of the shop. Mara followed, measuring tape dangling from her fingers like a promise. She began at the shoulders, fingers brushing Elena’s collarbones, then slid the tape across her back. Each touch lingered a fraction longer than strictly necessary. When Mara moved to the front, the back of her hand grazed the swell of Elena’s breast. Both women inhaled sharply.
“You’re not wearing much under this,” Mara observed, voice husky.
“Seemed pointless. The gown is bias-cut. Any panty line would ruin it.” Elena’s nipples had already tightened into visible peaks beneath the silk. “Besides… I wanted you to have easy access.”