Karaoke Cravings: Her Best Friend's First Taste

Roxanne kicked the apartment door shut with her heel, the last echo of the karaoke machine’s tinny speakers still buzzing in her ears. At twenty-eight she carried herself like the marketing executive she was—sharp black blouse half-unbuttoned from the heat of belting ballads, charcoal skirt riding high on toned thighs that had spent too many hours pacing conference rooms. Her best friend Bianca followed close, twenty-six and inked like a walking gallery, dark hair spilling over one shoulder, the sleeves of her tight tank rolled to show the full sleeves of roses and knives that marked her as the tattoo artist everyone in the city whispered about. The living room smelled of leftover takeout and the faint sweet sting of the cheap sparkling wine they’d nursed through three hours of private, off-key glory.

Bianca dropped the wireless mic onto the couch and stretched, arms overhead, the motion lifting her shirt enough to flash the soft plane of her stomach. “Fuck, that felt good. Nothing like screaming into a plastic stick after a week of needles and clients who can’t sit still.”

Roxanne laughed, toeing off her heels, toes sinking into the rug. “Speak for yourself. My throat’s raw. Yours sounds like you could go another round.” She poured the last of the wine into two glasses and held one out. Their fingers brushed. Neither pulled away.

Bianca took the glass but didn’t drink. She set it down on the coffee table instead, eyes locked on Roxanne’s mouth. The air thickened. For years they’d traded dirty jokes and late-night confessions; tonight the jokes had teeth. Bianca stepped closer until the heat of her body brushed Roxanne’s front. “I’ve got a confession that isn’t a joke.”

Roxanne’s pulse kicked hard against her throat. “Yeah?”

“I’ve always fantasized about tasting another woman.” Bianca’s voice dropped, rough and certain. “Not some stranger from an app. You. I want my first time to be you, Rox. Your cunt on my tongue. I’ve jerked off thinking about it more nights than I can count.”

Roxanne’s breath left her in a shaky rush. She could feel her nipples tighten against the lace of her bra, could already sense the slow damp bloom between her thighs. “Jesus, Bianca.” She set her own glass aside, fingers trembling just enough to notice. “You think I haven’t pictured that mouth of yours between my legs every time you lean over me to fix my eyeliner? I’ve wanted this. Wanted you. Say it again so I know we’re both fucking serious.”

Bianca’s grin was pure filth. “I want to eat your pussy until you forget every man who ever half-assed it. I want you dripping down my chin. And I want you to watch me do it.”

Roxanne reached up, thumb dragging across Bianca’s lower lip. “Then we’re doing this. No take-backs. I’m soaked already just hearing you own it.”

They didn’t rush the next part. The karaoke machine still glowed green on the side table, playlist idling. Bianca scooped up both mics and tossed one to Roxanne. “One more song. Make it count.”

They chose something slow and filthy, the kind of track that let them trade lines like dirty secrets. Roxanne sang about needing hands on her body; Bianca answered with lyrics that promised to ruin her. Voices dropped lower. Eye contact stretched until it hurt. Roxanne’s hips swayed without permission. Bianca circled her, mic held loose, free hand ghosting the curve of Roxanne’s waist, the swell of her ass through the skirt. The teasing never broke—just layered heavier, thicker. When the bridge hit, Bianca mouthed the words against Roxanne’s ear: want to taste you, want to bury my face, want you to fucking drown me.

Roxanne’s knees went soft. She kept singing, voice cracking on the high notes, while Bianca’s knuckles brushed the inside of her thigh, higher, higher. The final chorus rolled in. Bianca didn’t finish her line. She dropped to her knees right there on the rug, mic forgotten, both palms sliding up under the hem of Roxanne’s skirt. Warm fingers mapped the lace tops of stockings, then bare skin, then the damp heat already soaking through black panties.

Bianca looked up, pupils blown, lips parted. “Can I eat you out? Right now. No more songs. I need my mouth on your cunt.”

Roxanne’s free hand fisted in Bianca’s hair, the other yanking her own skirt higher so nothing blocked the view. “Yes. Fuck—yes. Get your mouth on me.” She dragged Bianca forward by the roots of her hair until those full lips mashed against the soaked crotch of her panties. The pressure alone made her thighs tremble. She could feel Bianca’s hot breath seeping through the thin fabric, could feel the first deliberate press of tongue dragging over the wet lace, tasting salt and need.

Bianca moaned against her like she’d been starving. She nosed harder, inhaling, then hooked two fingers under the edge of the panties and peeled them aside just enough to expose slick folds. Her tongue flicked once—broad, greedy—over Roxanne’s clit before she sealed her mouth fully against the bare heat. Roxanne’s head fell back. A raw sound tore out of her. She rolled her hips, grinding deliberately, painting Bianca’s mouth shiny.

Bianca didn’t tease for long. She licked deep, messy strokes that gathered every drop, then sucked the swollen clit between her lips and hummed. One hand shoved Roxanne’s thigh wider; the other gripped her ass hard enough to bruise, hauling her tighter against that eager face. Roxanne stared down, watching her best friend’s inked shoulders flex, watching spit and arousal streak Bianca’s chin. Every wet sound punched straight to her core.

“Look at you,” Roxanne gasped, voice wrecked. “First time and you’re already fucking addicted. Don’t you dare stop. Suck harder—right there—Christ, your tongue—”

Bianca answered by spearing her tongue inside, fucking shallow and filthy while her nose bumped the clit on every thrust. Roxanne’s free hand braced on Bianca’s shoulder for balance. Her thighs shook. She could feel the orgasm building already, low and vicious, but she fought it, wanting this first feast to last. She yanked Bianca closer still, smearing herself across that hungry mouth, panties stretched uselessly to the side.

Bianca pulled back just far enough to speak, lips glossy, voice wrecked. “You taste better than I dreamed. Thicker. Sweeter. I’m going to live down here.” Then she dived back in, licking like she meant to claim every inch, two fingers now sliding up to press at Roxanne’s entrance without pushing in yet—just circling, promising.

Roxanne’s head spun. The room narrowed to the wet heat of Bianca’s mouth, the bite of nails on her ass, the raw admission still ringing in her ears. She rocked harder, using Bianca’s face, chasing the edge she wasn’t ready to fall over. Outside the windows the city kept moving; inside, best friends had crossed the line and neither wanted to look back. Bianca’s tongue flattened and dragged slow from entrance to clit, then sealed and sucked again, relentless. Roxanne’s moan cracked into a curse. She kept Bianca locked there, soaked panties shoved aside, the next filthy demand already forming on her tongue as the tension coiled tighter and refused to break.

Roxanne dragged Bianca up by the hair before the coil in her belly could snap. Her legs were shaking too hard to stay upright on the rug, so she backed onto the couch, yanked her soaked panties all the way off, and planted her bare ass on the cushions. Skirt hiked to her waist, blouse hanging open, she spread her thighs wide and hooked one knee over the armrest. The cool leather kissed her skin. Bianca scrambled after her on all fours, inked arms flexing, lips already shiny and swollen.

“Sit still,” Bianca muttered, voice rough with first-time hunger. She shoved Roxanne’s knees farther apart and buried her face straight into the dripping heat without preamble. Her tongue was clumsy at first—broad, overeager strokes that missed the clit more than they hit—but the sheer greed made up for it. She licked hard, then sucked the swollen bud between her lips like she was trying to drink Roxanne dry. Spit and slick smeared across her chin. Roxanne watched every second, one hand fisted in Bianca’s dark hair, the other clutching the back of the couch.

“Fuck—yes, just like that. Suck it. Don’t be gentle. I want to feel how bad you’ve wanted this.” Roxanne’s hips rolled up, fucking Bianca’s inexperienced mouth. Every wet slurp punched straight through her. Bianca moaned into her cunt, the vibration traveling up Roxanne’s spine. Two fingers finally pushed inside, curling, searching, while that hungry tongue kept lashing and sucking. Roxanne’s thighs trembled around Bianca’s head. The first orgasm she’d fought earlier came roaring back, vicious and wet. She came hard against Bianca’s mouth, cunt clenching, a gush of slick spilling over the tattooed girl’s chin and down onto the couch cushions.

Bianca didn’t pull away. She kept licking through it, greedy, eyes half-lidded like she was high on the taste. When Roxanne’s body finally jerked with aftershocks, she hauled Bianca up by the hair and kissed her filthy, tasting herself on those lips. Then she flipped them hard. Bianca landed on her back across the couch. Roxanne climbed over her face in one smooth motion, knees bracketing Bianca’s ears, and sank down until her still-dripping pussy smothered that open mouth.

“Breathe through your nose and take it,” Roxanne ordered, grinding slow and filthy. Her clit dragged over Bianca’s tongue. She watched the inked girl beneath her go glassy-eyed with lust, hands flying up to grip Roxanne’s ass and haul her tighter. Bianca’s tongue worked desperately—licking, stabbing, sucking whatever she could reach—while Roxanne rode her face with rolling hips, smearing fresh wetness everywhere. The wet sounds filled the apartment. Roxanne reached back, shoved a hand down Bianca’s jeans, and found her soaked through. “You’re dripping just from eating me. Filthy little first-timer.”

They didn’t stay on the couch long. Roxanne needed more. She climbed off, yanked Bianca down onto the rug, and stripped her completely—jeans and panties peeled away, tank shoved up under her arms so those soft tits spilled free. Then Roxanne spun around and dropped into a sixty-nine, straddling Bianca’s face again while she buried her own mouth between Bianca’s spread thighs. The first taste of her best friend’s cunt made her moan loud enough to vibrate against Bianca’s clit. Tangy, hot, already pulsing. She licked deep, then sealed her lips around the swollen bud and sucked hard while two fingers pushed into the tight, slick channel.

Bianca cried out against Roxanne’s pussy, the sound muffled and desperate. Her hips bucked up. Roxanne fucked her with those fingers—curling, scissoring, finding the spot that made Bianca’s thighs shake—while her tongue never stopped working the clit. At the same time Bianca’s mouth stayed locked on Roxanne, licking and sucking like she couldn’t get enough even after already making her come. They moved together, raw and messy, grinding and devouring. Roxanne’s free hand pinned Bianca’s hip down so she could finger-fuck her harder. Bianca’s tongue speared up into Roxanne in answer.

The second climax hit Roxanne first—sudden, violent, her cunt spasming and squirting straight into Bianca’s open mouth. Bianca choked, swallowed, and came right after, a hard clench around Roxanne’s fingers followed by her own messy release. Slick flooded Roxanne’s chin and tongue. Both women kept going through it, moaning into each other’s cunts, bodies locked and trembling until the waves finally eased.

They collapsed onto their sides, still tangled, panting. Roxanne crawled up and kissed Bianca deep, slow, tasting the mix of both of them on swollen lips. Bianca’s arms wrapped around her. Still shaking, she curled against Roxanne’s chest, ear over her heartbeat, one leg thrown across her hips.

“I want this every week,” Bianca whispered, voice hoarse. “Private karaoke. Just us. Your cunt on my tongue until I can’t think. Promise me.”

Roxanne stroked her hair, staring at the ceiling. The karaoke machine still glowed stupidly green in the corner. “Yeah. Next week. Same time.”

They shifted until they were tangled properly—sweaty limbs, bare skin cooling, Bianca’s face tucked into the crook of Roxanne’s neck. Exhaustion dragged them under fast. Roxanne felt Bianca’s breathing slow into sleep against her chest, felt the sticky evidence of what they’d done drying on her thighs and chin. She closed her eyes and tried to follow.

But something sat wrong in her gut, heavy and cold. The orgasm afterglow was already souring. She’d wanted this for years—had jerked off to the fantasy more times than she could count—yet now that Bianca was asleep in her arms, all Roxanne could taste was the sharp edge of doubt. What if this ruined the only friendship that had ever felt real? What if Bianca woke up tomorrow and looked at her differently, or worse, the same? The promise of next week sat like a stone. Roxanne lay awake longer than she wanted, listening to Bianca’s soft breaths, already wondering if she’d just traded something irreplaceable for a few hours of perfect filth. Sleep finally took her, but the regret had already nested deep.