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Black Cat, Pink Flamingo

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Vivian Kensington approved of her new law firm. Everything about it exuded class, elegance, and sobriety. When the lawyers gathered to discuss their cases, she was happy to see that she fit in just fine, from her dark hair to her dark business suit to her strand of white pearls.

Elle Woods did not fit in. She was a pop of pink bubblegum in a black-and-white world. She was a cascade of blonde in a brunettes-only zone. She was playfulness and fun and yippy little dogs in teeny little coats, none of which were normally associated with the sober practice of the law.

And yet, here she was. Vivian wouldn’t have had it any other way. She’d been all ready to stand up for Elle, but it turned out that Elle not only could stand up for herself just fine, she didn’t need to. The firm had known exactly what it was getting when it hired her, and she was what it wanted. Even the most senior lawyers, who sometimes shot her bewildered looks, respected the sharp mind behind the candy-coated surface.

And so Elle received no more pushback than a few boggled stares when she cut through the dilemma they’d all been discussing for the last hour, which was how to prove that the prosecutor’s star witness not only knew the person whose alibi she’d provided but was dating her, with a single jaw-dropping suggestion.

“We know Joan goes to lesbian bars, and the newer and more stylish, the better. The Black Cat is going to have its grand opening tonight. Joan reminds me a lot of a friend of mine in Delta Nu, Allie Adams, and there was no way Allie would have missed the opening night of a new bar, and even less way she'd have gone alone! So let’s have two of us go to the grand opening. We can pretend to be a couple to blend in, and we can see if Joan meets up with Heather.”

“But…” Mary, one of the senior lawyers, said, “Aren't you talking about a lesbian bar?”

“Right!” Elle said brightly. “So it’ll have to be me and Vivian. Unless you, like, think it’d be more convincing if it was you and me.”

Mary, who was a good forty years older than Elle, said dryly, “I do not.”

Elle turned to Vivian, beaming. “Let’s go shopping!”


Vivian felt like she'd been swept up by a rose-pink tornado. Elle had often extended her shopping invitations, but this was the first time Vivian had taken her up one. She had no idea what you wore to a lesbian bar, and was a little perplexed by how completely confident Elle was on the subject. Then again, there was her Delta Nu friend Allie, plus Erin from Harvard Law. Once Vivian thought about it, she realized that with Elle’s habit of making friends wherever she went, she’d naturally learn at least a little about a whole lot of things, including, apparently, appropriate dress for a hot new lesbian bar.

It turned out to be extremely similar to what Elle usually wore, only more low-cut. A little dazed, Vivian gave her vote of approval to a sequence of dresses, each pinker and more cleavage-centric than the last. At first she felt self-conscious staring at Elle’s breasts, but in those outfits it was impossible not to unless you closed your eyes, and Elle wanted to know her opinion on every dress. Vivian took in every soft curve, each dress uncovering more and more of them, lifting and squeezing them into pink pearls. Now she understood why Elle was so adamant about proper skin care. Her skin was perfect. Vivian bet it felt just as silky-soft as it looked…

“And now for you! You’d be gorgeous in a slinky black dress. Satin. Maybe some sequins. Just a scattering around the neckline, to draw attention to your collarbones.” A smile like a sunburst lit Elle’s face as she seized Vivian’s hand. “Let’s go find it!”

Vivian felt weirdly disappointed when she stepped out of the dressing room in the very first dress, and Elle pronounced it perfect. She’d been imagining trying on dress after dress, and having Elle inspect each one. Somehow, in her imagination, that hadn’t been tedious at all. Vivian suddenly felt hot and nervous, and ducked back into the dressing room.

Elle insisted on them getting ready at her place, so she could do Vivian’s hair and makeup. At Elle’s apartment, she got back into the slinky black dress, put on a pair of lipstick-red kitten heels, and sat in a chair while Elle brushed her hair, applied some products, and used a professional-looking mirror to do her makeup. Vivian tried not to twitch or tremble at Elle’s warm touch, but she felt the urge to do both things. Even the lightest, most butterfly-delicate touch of Elle’s fingers sent little ripples and tingles through Vivian’s body.

Then, all too soon, Elle was done. She ushered Vivian in front of a full-length mirror. “What do you think?”

Vivian stared at herself. Who was that woman? Pale skin, dramatic black eyebrows, sleek black hair, and a scarlet mouth that was both sensual and predatory—and was a perfect match for both her shoes and her red leather clutch purse. The dress flowed over her body like black water.

Elle looked her over from head to toe. Vivian felt hotter than ever. It was almost as if she could feel Elle’s gaze, as if those pink-tipped fingers were actually caressing her. “Vivian, you are gorgeous.”

“Th—Thank you,” Vivian stammered.

Then Elle vanished into her bedroom for what felt like a very long time. When she finally emerged, Vivian felt her jaw drop.

She was in pink, of course. But while her amazing array of pink outfits normally made Vivian think of flamingos and pink Corvettes and Watermelon Wave Bubblicious with the liquid center, this one made Vivian think of women’s lips parting to accept a kiss, the nipples of women who are naturally blonde, and the wet pink folds of a woman’s—

Vivian forcibly yanked her thoughts off that track. She must have really gotten into character! She drew her attention back to the dress itself. It had a heart-shaped corset bodice with embroidered roses that seemed to present her luscious breasts on a platter and just barely covered her nipples. The skirt swirled out as Elle spun around, flaring from her hips and exposing her plump thighs.

Elle dropped her cotton candy-colored clutch. She bent over to pick it up, and Vivian saw right down her corset. Her nipples were pink. Vivian got a single, unforgettable view of pink paradise before Elle rose with a sharp snap that thrust out her breasts and made her golden hair swing.

Vivian swallowed three times before she trusted herself to speak. “You look great, Elle.”

“The secret is to apply a very thin layer of foundation on your lips before you put on your lipstick.” Elle's lips did look beautiful, pink and soft as a perfectly ripe peach. But Vivian didn’t think it had anything to do with foundation.

Her mind was in a whirl as Elle drove them to the Black Cat. They’d arrived early and quickly secured seats at the bar with a good view of the entire place, but with a giant potted plant shielding them from view. They couldn’t let themselves be seen by either Joan or Heather, who might recognize them from the courtroom.

Elle ordered a Cosmopolitan for herself, which came with a floating raspberry and a rim of pink sugar, and an Old Fashioned for Vivian, who was oddly touched to find that Elle remembered her favorite cocktail.

The place was full of women. Women in long dresses, women in short dresses, women in dapper suits, women in business outfits like Vivian normally wore. Women with short hair, women with long hair, women with medium hair. Women of all races, ages, shapes and sizes.

Women buying each other drinks. Women drinking from each other’s glasses. Women running their fingers through each other’s hair. Women sliding off their shoes to play footsie under the tables. Women leaning across the tables to kiss each other. Women putting their hands up each other’s blouses… and skirts. Women, overcome with passion, stumbling toward the bathroom where presumably the stalls gave them privacy to do anything.

Vivian had barely tasted her drink, but it was still making her head swim. Or maybe it was the heat. Or the hothouse atmosphere of the bar. Or Elle sitting beside her, so close that she could smell the delicate scent of rose perfume and talcum powder and raspberries and alcohol and some wilder, tangier scent that Vivian was completely and irrationally convinced was Elle herself.

She’d built her entire life around self-control. She didn’t stay up late or sleep through the alarm, she didn’t eat junk food, and she always turned in her paperwork early. She’d trained herself so well, she hardly ever had to resist impulses because she rarely had them in the first place. So the near-irresistable urge to set down her Old Fashioned, take the Cosmopolitan out of Elle’s hand, and bend her over the bar and kiss her felt halfway to madness.

“I… Uh…” Vivian began.

Elle gave her that irresistable smile of hers, like the rising sun. “Yes?”

Vivian had no idea what she was going to say:

Take me to the ER, I think I've been drugged.

I just realized that I might be bisexual.

I just realized that I’m definitely bisexual.

I just realized that I’ve had a crush on you for the last three years.

Would you mind if I kissed you?

Before she could say anything, Joan and Heather strolled into the bar, hand-in-hand. Her inner turmoil momentarily forgotten, Vivian exchanged gleeful glances with Elle. They both took out their mini-cameras and began stealthily snapping photos of Joan and Heather holding hands, Joan and Heather sitting at a booth and still holding hands, Joan and Heather kissing, Joan giving Heather a fond hair-ruffle as she got up from the booth and then headed straight for them—

“Oh, no!” Elle squeaked.

Vivian immediately realized what had happened. One of the bartenders was swamped with drink orders, so Joan was heading for the other. Who, unfortunately, was standing right in front of them.

In another second, Joan would see them. There was only one way to hide their faces without looking incredibly suspicious.

“Dip me,” Vivian hissed, putting down her drink. “Now!”

She thanked her lucky stars that Elle was so quick on the uptake. Elle set down her Cosmo, wrapped her arms around Vivian’s back, bent her over backwards, and kissed her. For a split second, Vivian noted that the ploy had undoubtedly worked to hide their faces: Elle’s hair was a blonde curtain covering them both.

And then Vivian completely forgot about why she was being dipped, because Elle’s surprisingly strong arms were holding her up, Elle’s soft warm lips were covering hers, and Elle’s tongue had made its way into her mouth. Vivian had never felt so much heat and passion in a kiss before. She forgot all about control as she abandoned herself to pleasure, trembling and shivering as Elle licked at her mouth and nipped at her lips and occasionally took a break to nuzzle her, which maybe should have been weird but was actually hot as hell.

Vivian felt herself getting wet beneath her black satin. She squirmed against Elle, caressing the soft curves of her sides and back, inhaling deeply to feel Elle’s incredible breasts bob against hers. She knew Elle’s arms had to be getting tired, and vaguely recalled why they were holding that difficult position in the first place, but she couldn’t see anything but a blur of blonde and pink, and she sure wasn’t going to break anything off as long as Elle could keep going.

Elle lifted her up. Breathlessly, she said, “Joan’s back in place.” And then, before Vivian could feel more than the first sharp stab of disappointment, “Wanna go to the powder room?”

“What’s a powder room?” Vivian asked, feeling dazed.

“Where all those women were going with their hands up each other’s blouses.” Their heads were still so close together that Vivian felt like she was drowning in Elle’s gray-blue eyes. “Where you go to powder your nose. Or have a quickie. They have makeup mirrors and loveseats. You don’t think I’d invite you to a toilet stall, do you?”

She sounded so horrified that Vivian had to laugh. “No. Let’s hit the powder room.”

They staggered toward it, their hands in each other’s blouses. Vivian actually had Elle’s breasts in her hands. They were exactly as plump and soft and warm and heavy as she’d imagined, and she wanted to hold and caress and kiss them forever.

Just as they arrived at the powder room door, a pair of women walked out in a near-visible cloud of satisfaction. Elle and Vivian went inside and locked the door. Just as Elle had predicted, it had makeup mirrors and loveseats. But Vivian wasn’t interested in the furnishings. She was interested in Elle.

Elle tugged on a zipper, and Vivian’s dress slithered off. She stepped out of it and hung it on a convenient hanger, then added her panties. Elle did the same, neatly stepping out of her dress and rolling off her panties, then hanging them both up. Vivian couldn’t get enough of looking at her. She was even more beautiful and sexy naked than clothed, with a delicate pink flush all over her voluptuous body.

But Elle didn’t stand there for more than a moment. She took a clean throw from a cupboard and tossed it over the nearest loveseat, then gently pushed Vivian down on it, on her back. Elle knelt over her, straddling her, breathing quickly and making her incredible breasts move up and down. Vivian pushed herself up and took one of Elle’s nipples in her mouth, then the other. They hardened under her tongue to the texture of berries, like the ones that always seemed to float in Elle’s cocktails. Elle moaned, and Vivian could both hear the sound and feel it vibrate through her chest.

Then Elle reached down and put her fingers into Vivian’s wetness. Vivian sucked in her breath at the jolt of pleasure. It was so much more intense than anything she’d expected. When she used her own hands on herself, it always took her forever to come. But right now, with her mouth on Elle’s nipple and Elle’s dainty fingers actually inside her, she could feel that she wouldn’t last long.

“On your side,” gasped Vivian. “I want to touch you too.”

Elle obligingly rolled over, but kept her fingers inside Vivian. The movement dragged them along her sensitive inner walls and up to her swollen clit. Vivian heard herself moan, and had to remind herself not to scream. Elle kissed her hungrily, and Vivian kissed her back.

Vivian reached down to touch Elle. She was slick and hot, very wet and very very pink.

“I guess you’re a natural blonde after all,” Vivian teased her.

“As if you had any doubts,” Elle said loftily, then broke off in a gasp as Vivian ran a finger around her clit.

Vivian shuddered with pleasure as Elle stroked and caressed her, and she stroked and caressed Elle in turn. Elle came first, pink and gasping, her beautiful blue-gray eyes opening wide. And then Vivian felt the crest of the wave catch her as Elle rubbed harder, faster, deeper, and then she was tumbled head over heels, crashing to shore and caught safely in Elle’s loving arms.

“That was…” Vivian shook her head, unable to put into words exactly how amazing it had been.

“Fabulous? Fantastic? Absolutely great?” Elle suggested.

“All of that. And hey, we got the photos!”

“Our evidentiary support!” said Elle jubilantly.


The next day, Joan was confronted in the courtroom with photos of her and Heather very obviously knowing each other. She panicked and confessed that they’d concocted the alibi between them, and the judge dismissed the case. Vivian and Elle joined the team for a celebratory lunch afterward, and lingered after the other lawyers left.

“So about last night…” Vivian began, bracing herself for Elle to say “I guess we both had a little too much to drink,” or “It was fun once but I’m not really into girls,” or “It was fun once but I don’t think we should date when we work at the same firm.”

Elle leaned over and gave Vivian a deep, hot, passionate kiss that left absolutely no doubt as to whether she was into girls, Vivian in particular, and that she wasn’t worried about workplace drama. It left her mind reeling and her heart light as a feather. A pink feather. From a flamingo.

“I bet Joan and Heather have bad associations with the Black Cat now,” said Elle. “So we don’t need to worry about any awkward run-ins with them. I liked it, didn’t you? Want to go back?”

“Yes, absolutely.” Vivian felt heat rise to her face until she was sure she was as pink as Elle’s handbag. She couldn’t wait. In fact, she literally couldn’t wait. “But you don’t want to wear the same outfit twice, do you? Let’s go shopping. Saks Fifth Avenue has a powder room.”