Cabin Ass-Eating Lesbians

The cabin sat at the end of a rutted track that the map had understated, a low cedar structure tucked into a stand of hemlock where the light thinned early. Danielle killed the engine and sat a moment with her hands on the wheel, listening to the tick of cooling metal and the absolute absence of traffic. At twenty-eight she had spent most of her adult life in apartments with thin walls and neighbors who argued through them; the quiet out here felt almost physical, a pressure against her ears. Beside her, Daphne unbuckled and stretched, the forest-green fleece of her ranger jacket creasing across her shoulders.

“Told you it was remote,” Daphne said. She was thirty-one, broad through the hips from years of trail work, with a calm face that weathered wind without complaint. They had met six weeks earlier at a hiking meetup Danielle had joined on a whim between illustration deadlines. Daphne had led the group up a ridge without showing off, and afterward, over bad coffee in a parking lot, they had kept talking until the lot emptied. The cabin rental had been Daphne’s suggestion, offered lightly, accepted before Danielle could talk herself out of it.

Inside, the main room held a stone fireplace, a worn couch, and a bed large enough for two people who were still pretending they might sleep separately. They unpacked in companionable silence: wine, bread, cheese, the sketchbook Danielle never traveled without. Daphne built the fire the way she did everything outdoors, efficient and unhurried, and soon the room smelled of cedar smoke and the cold air they had carried in on their clothes.

They poured wine into mismatched glasses and sat on the rug because the couch faced the wrong way. Danielle took small sips. She wanted the warmth, not the blur; her head stayed clear, the way it did when she was drawing something she didn’t want to miss. Daphne matched her pace, turning the glass in her hands and watching the fire more than she drank.

“You draw people?” Daphne asked.

“Sometimes. Mostly landscapes lately. Places that feel like they don’t need me.” Danielle glanced sideways. The firelight caught the fine lines at the corner of Daphne’s mouth, the ones that appeared when she was about to smile and hadn’t committed yet. “You spend all day in places like that.”

“I spend all day telling people not to leave trash in them.” Daphne’s eyes moved, not quite a stare, over Danielle’s throat and the open collar of her flannel. “Quiet’s different when you choose it.”

They talked for hours. Trails Daphne had closed after storms. A commission Danielle had turned down because the client wanted the mountain “sexier.” The way the meetup group had scattered after that first hike and how neither of them had been sorry to be the last two standing by the cars. Conversation loosened and tightened. When Danielle reached for the wine bottle their fingers brushed, and neither of them pretended it was an accident the second time. Daphne’s knee rested against Danielle’s thigh and stayed there, a steady heat through denim.

Outside, wind moved through the hemlocks. Inside, the fire popped. Danielle found herself tracking the shape of Daphne’s mouth when she spoke, the way her lower lip caught on certain words. Daphne noticed. Of course she noticed; she watched trails for a living. Her gaze lingered on Danielle’s hands, on the ink stain at the side of one thumb, then lifted and held. Neither looked away quickly enough to call it casual.

“I kept thinking about this,” Daphne said, voice low. “Not the cabin. You, somewhere nobody was going to interrupt.”

Danielle’s pulse jumped. She set her glass down carefully so it wouldn’t clink. “I kept thinking about whether you’d actually ask.”

“I’m asking now.” Daphne’s smile finally arrived, small and sure. “Stay close. That’s all, if that’s all you want.”

“I want more than close.” Danielle heard herself say it and felt the truth of it settle in her stomach, warm and uncomplicated. “I’ve wanted it since the parking lot.”

They didn’t rush the rest of the evening. They finished the bread. They let the fire burn down to a steady bed of coals and built it up again. Every glance lasted a fraction longer than the last. When Danielle stood to stretch, Daphne’s eyes followed the line of her back and stopped, unmistakably, at the curve of her ass in fitted pants. Danielle felt the look like a hand. She didn’t cover herself. She turned, met Daphne’s eyes, and let the moment hang until both of them were breathing a little differently.

By the time they decided on bed, the wine glasses were still half full on the hearth. Danielle was steady on her feet, clear-headed, every nerve awake. She wanted to remember all of it.

The bedroom was cooler than the main room, the quilt heavy, the lamp throwing a low amber pool across the mattress. They stood on opposite sides of the bed and began to undress without ceremony and without looking away. Danielle unbuttoned her flannel and let it fall. Her tank top followed. She was not performing; she was simply done pretending she didn’t want to be seen. Daphne pulled her fleece over her head, then the thermal underneath, and stood in a plain cotton bra and hiking pants, collarbones sharp in the lamplight, stomach soft above the waistband in a way that made Danielle’s mouth go dry.

Danielle hooked her thumbs in her pants and pushed them down, stepping out of them along with her socks. Her panties were simple, dark, cut high on the hip. She reached back to unhook nothing because she hadn’t worn a bra under the tank, and the cool air tightened her nipples. She was about to say something ordinary about the cold when Daphne spoke.

“Your ass,” Daphne said, plainly, the way she might name a ridge on a map. “I’ve been trying not to stare at it since you bent over the cooler at the trailhead. I failed.” Her eyes moved with deliberate slowness, from Danielle’s shoulders down the line of her spine, over the swell of her hips, and settled. She didn’t smirk. She looked hungry and careful at once. “It’s perfect. Round. I want my hands on it. I want my mouth on it.”

Heat flooded Danielle’s face and then lower, a pulse between her legs that made her shift her weight. The slow tracking of Daphne’s gaze felt like being drawn, line by line, until there was nowhere left to hide and no desire to. She swallowed.

“Then stop trying not to,” Danielle said. Her voice came out rougher than she expected. “I want you. I’ve been wet since you looked at me like that by the fire. I want your mouth. I want to put mine on you. All of it. Say yes.”

“Yes.” Daphne crossed the space between them in two steps. “Yes. I want that. I want you.”

Their mouths met before either of them reached the mattress. The kiss was deep on the first pass, not a test. Daphne’s tongue slid against Danielle’s, slow and thorough, and Danielle opened for it, one hand fisting in the short hair at the nape of Daphne’s neck. They tasted wine and smoke and the particular salt of wanting. Daphne walked them backward until Danielle’s calves hit the bed, and they went down together, still kissing, Daphne’s weight a welcome press. Hands found skin. Danielle dragged her palms up Daphne’s back and unhooked the bra, tossing it aside. Daphne’s breasts filled her hands, nipples already tight, and Danielle thumbed them while Daphne groaned into her mouth.

They kissed until their lips were swollen and their breathing had gone ragged. Daphne pulled back just far enough to look at her.

“Tell me what you want first,” Daphne said.

Danielle didn’t hesitate. She rolled onto her stomach, hips lifting, and reached back to hook her panties down. “Your mouth. On my ass. Slow. I’ve been thinking about your tongue since you said it.” She glanced over her shoulder. “And I’ll do the same for you. I want to.”

Daphne’s answer was a low sound of agreement. She stripped the rest of her clothes, panties and pants in one motion, and knelt on the bed behind Danielle. For a moment she only looked, palms settling on Danielle’s hips, thumbs stroking the soft skin at the top of her thighs. Then she spread Danielle’s cheeks with both hands, gentle and firm, and the cool air of the room touched her there before Daphne’s breath did.

The first lick was long. Daphne dragged the flat of her tongue from the sensitive skin just above Danielle’s cunt, slowly upward, over the tight ring of her asshole, and kept going until she reached the small of her back. Wet. Unhurried. Danielle’s fingers clenched in the quilt. A sound broke out of her, half gasp, half plea.

“Like that?” Daphne murmured against her.

“Yes. Don’t rush. Please.”

Daphne didn’t. She licked again, the same long path, slower if anything, letting saliva gather so each pass was slicker than the last. She circled the rim with the tip of her tongue, a deliberate ring, then another, pressing just enough to feel the muscle flutter and not enough to push inside. Danielle pushed her hips back, offering, and Daphne held her open and kept the pace maddening. Teasing flicks followed the circles, quick little strokes right over the center that made Danielle’s thighs shake, then back to the long, wet drags that covered everything. The sounds were obscene and quiet at once: the soft work of a tongue, Danielle’s broken breathing, the creak of the bed frame when she rocked.

“You taste good,” Daphne said, and licked her again, broad and slow, lingering at the bottom of the circle where Danielle was most sensitive. “I could do this all night.”

“Then do it,” Danielle managed. Her cunt was dripping onto the quilt, untouched and aching. “God, Daphne. Right there. Slow.”

Daphne obeyed. She sealed her mouth over Danielle’s asshole and licked in patient spirals, tongue soft, then firmer, then soft again. She pulled back to breathe and went in wetter, saliva shining on Danielle’s skin in the lamplight. One hand slid down between Danielle’s legs, not to rush her, just to cup her, two fingers sliding through slick folds and resting there while her tongue kept its slow worship. When Danielle whimpered and pushed into the hand, Daphne eased one finger inside her cunt, curling gently, and matched the rhythm of her tongue to the unhurried thrust.

Danielle came apart on that combination. The orgasm built from the steady pressure of the finger and the relentless, savoring lick across her ass, a heat that tightened and tightened until she cried out into the quilt and shook, hips jerking, cunt clenching around Daphne’s finger while Daphne kept licking her through it, slower still, drawing the pleasure out until Danielle was gasping that it was too much and perfect and not to stop yet. Daphne eased off only when Danielle’s hand found her wrist and squeezed, a signal, not a refusal.

They stayed like that a moment, Daphne’s cheek against Danielle’s ass, both of them breathing hard.

“Your turn,” Danielle said, voice wrecked. “I want you like that. Face down. Let me.”

Daphne kissed the curve of her hip and moved. She stretched out on her stomach, then drew her knees up under her so her ass was raised, the same offering Danielle had made. She looked back over her shoulder, cheeks flushed, eyes dark. “Slow,” she said. “The way you asked for. I want to feel every bit of it.”

“I will.” Danielle knelt behind her and took her time looking. Daphne’s ass was full and strong, the skin warm, a faint tan line from summer fieldwork. Danielle spread her with both hands, thumbs stroking the inner curves, and leaned in. She breathed first, letting Daphne feel the intention, then licked.

She copied what had undone her: one long, wet stripe from cunt to tailbone, tongue flat, unhurried, tasting salt and clean skin and the faint musk of arousal. Daphne groaned, low and grateful, and pushed back. Danielle did it again. And again. She circled the tight ring with the tip of her tongue, slow revolutions, feeling it twitch under the attention, then flicked lightly across the center until Daphne’s thighs trembled. Saliva made everything slick. Danielle didn’t wipe it away. She wanted it wet, wanted Daphne to feel every glide.

“Danielle,” Daphne said, the name breaking in the middle. “That’s—yes. Just like that. Don’t go faster.”

Danielle didn’t. She licked in long savors, pausing to press the flat of her tongue and hold it there, then circling again, then a series of soft flicks that made Daphne curse into the pillow. She reached between Daphne’s legs and found her soaked, clit swollen under her fingertips. She rubbed in slow circles while her tongue kept its patient work on Daphne’s ass, the two rhythms separate and then gradually the same. When she slid two fingers into Daphne’s cunt, Daphne rocked back onto them and onto her mouth at once.

“Eat me,” Daphne breathed. “Slow. I’m close. Make me come like that.”

Danielle sealed her mouth over Daphne’s asshole and licked in deep, languid strokes, tongue working the rim while her fingers curled inside and her thumb stayed on Daphne’s clit. She took her time even then, refusing to rush the peak, drawing the licks out until Daphne was shaking and begging in fragments. The orgasm hit hard. Daphne’s cunt clenched around Danielle’s fingers, her ass tightening under Danielle’s tongue, and she came with a hoarse cry, hips stuttering, soaking Danielle’s hand. Danielle kept licking, slow and devoted, through the aftershocks, until Daphne collapsed forward and reached back to touch her hair.

They weren’t finished. Danielle was throbbing again, the taste of Daphne still on her tongue, the memory of being licked open still burning under her skin. She kissed Daphne’s lower back.

“Again,” she said. “Both of us. I want your mouth on me while I—no. I want to keep tasting you. Lie back. Or stay like this. I don’t care. I just need—”

“Come here.” Daphne turned, flushed and shining, and pulled Danielle up the bed. They arranged themselves on their sides at first, kissing, messy and deep, Danielle licking the taste of herself off Daphne’s mouth and groaning at it. Then Daphne guided her back down, face to the quilt, hips up, and knelt behind her again while Danielle twisted just enough to reach back and spread herself.

“Fingers and tongue,” Daphne said. “Tell me if you want me to stop.”

“I won’t.”

Daphne buried her face in Danielle’s ass and licked with the same devastating patience, long wet passes, circles, flicks, while two fingers fucked into Danielle’s cunt in a slow, deep rhythm. Danielle came a second time almost without warning, a sharp bright crest that made her sob into the mattress, and Daphne licked her through it, gentler at the end, kissing the softened rim, murmuring that she was beautiful.

When Danielle could move, she turned the attention back. She put Daphne on her stomach again, ass raised, and ate her with the same slow hunger, tongue tracing every circle Daphne had drawn on her, fingers sliding in and out of her soaked cunt, thumb stroking her clit in lazy passes. Daphne came with Danielle’s name in her mouth, thighs quaking, one hand fisted in the quilt, the other reaching back to hold Danielle’s head in place until the last pulse faded.

They lay tangled afterward, sweaty and breathing like they had climbed something. The lamp was still on. The fire in the other room had settled to a crackle they could hear through the open door. Danielle’s jaw ached in the best way. Daphne’s lips were swollen. Neither of them spoke for a long minute. There was nothing unsure left in the quiet.

Eventually the bedroom cooled. Daphne found the spare blanket from the foot of the bed and wrapped it around both of them, and they drifted, still naked, back into the main room where the coals glowed. They added a log. They curled on the rug in front of the hearth, Danielle’s back to Daphne’s front, the blanket soft over their bare skin, the fire warming the sides of their faces. Daphne kissed the nape of Danielle’s neck, then her shoulder, gentle now, no urgency, just the wish to keep touching. Danielle turned in the circle of her arms and kissed her mouth, slow and sweet, tasting smoke and the ghost of salt.

“I don’t want this to be one night,” Danielle whispered against her lips. “I want the rest of the weekend. I want to learn every way you like to be touched. I want your tongue on me again in the morning, and I want mine on you until you can’t stand up straight for the hike we pretended we were going to take.”

Daphne smiled into the kiss, thumb stroking Danielle’s cheek. The fire popped. Outside, the woods held their silence, and inside there was only warmth, skin, and the low murmur of two women who had stopped pretending.

Daphne’s voice was quiet, certain, and a little wrecked. “Then tell me, Danielle—do you want my mouth on your ass again before the fire dies, or do you want to put me on my knees and take your time until I beg?”