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Hidden Talents

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Miranda read a lot. She filed a good deal of information away in her extremely agile mind.


She read magazines, articles, blogs, books, essays, even newspapers. At least the ones still around. She tended to avoid fiction, not from any aversion to it, but simply because she did not have the time. Occasionally she would venture into fashion-related biography. And of course, she read Runway. Cover to cover, over and over.


Rarely did she look into educational writing. Even more rarely, that is to say never, did she spare a glance for anything remotely pornographic.  


Until, well, now. Because she was suddenly interested in exploring her more adventurous side with a young, glorious, sexually open partner. Said partner gave Miranda orgasms of many kinds; long, quick, deep, slow, silent, screaming. She was incredibly adept, learning every cadence of Miranda’s body within a week of their first time.


Miranda herself had not felt inadequate as a lover in the entire 35 years she’d been sexually active. She’d always enjoyed herself, and could please a man without a second thought. It came naturally to her.


For some reason, despite the fact that she was, in fact, female, she was not as successful in pleasing one Andrea Sachs.


Andrea, who always used her own hands to help Miranda along during sex. Miranda suspected she’d faked it once or twice.


This was unacceptable. It was only two months into their relationship and already their honeymoon period was slowing. Also unacceptable. Thus, Miranda took it upon herself to do some research. Online, in her office, on the nights when Andrea was working, or staying at her own apartment, Miranda looked at page after page on the subject of the female orgasm. She was storing up her education for the weekend, when she was certain to get a chance to try her hand, so to speak, at something new.


One Wednesday she ran across an interesting concept. She’d never experienced it herself, but decided that if anyone on the planet was able to achieve such a thing, it was Andrea.


Her plan was hatched. The girl wouldn’t know what hit her.




“Here, let me—“


Miranda knocked her hands away, and pushed Andrea on to her back. She knelt beside the bed between her lover’s legs. “Not tonight, darling. Let me do it.” She looked sternly at Andrea then, who seemed startled at her tone. “Please,” she added, just in case. It wouldn’t do to break the mood.


“Okay, I guess, but it’s always easier—“


Miranda pushed a finger inside Andrea’s pussy without warning, and Andrea stopped talking right away. Her eyes closed, and her hips twitched. Miranda was not often forceful in her penetration, but the instructions said that if this was going to work, she would likely have to be firm. Miranda reached, pressing where she hoped that spot might be, the one that could help her along. But Andrea had a lot going on inside, so she felt around and hoped for the best.


“What are you—“


“Shh,” Miranda said. She didn’t want to be distracted. She pushed another finger in and curled to rub very firmly. One might even say she rubbed hard. Certainly harder than ever before, since most of the time she was supremely gentle. Andrea was so delicate, like a flower, with fragile bones and slender hands. Miranda was certain she wouldn’t want to be treated roughly, but the website had been very clear. Find the spot, and rub. Hard. Apparently it varied from woman to woman, which was frustrating for Miranda, but she didn’t need to know about any other woman. Just this one, who seemed to be enjoying herself more than usual.


“Uhhh,” Andrea said, leaning back on her hands. Miranda wanted to keep her sitting up so the angle of her pelvis would contribute to whatever mechanics made this possible. She used her free hand to encourage Andrea to fold her legs into a kneeling position on the mattress.


Once settled, she got back to business. “Do you like that?” Miranda asked, her voice low and sexy, hoping she didn’t sound like an idiot. She didn’t often talk while they made love, but perhaps she would have a go of it.


“Ye—um, uh-huh,” Andrea stuttered.


Miranda wanted to cheer. She rubbed a little harder, and Andrea bit her lower lip, spread her thighs wider. Miranda was overcome with a sense of pure power; she was doing this. With just the pads of her two fingers.


She pulled forward, and Andrea yelped. Her hips lifted clear off the bed. “Oh!” she cried. “Oh yeah, do it, Miranda. Like that.”


Miranda’s face flooded with heat. “Like this?” She pushed her fingers in deeper, rubbing with intent.


“Not so—“


Miranda retreated to her previous position.


“Yeah, that, oh fuck, that’s good.”


“Another one?” she asked. Perhaps there was something to this communication thing.


Andrea nodded wildly. “Yeah,” she moaned. “Yeah. Fuck.”


Miranda obeyed, stretching her lover’s pussy open, watching it weep with delight. She pulled her hand forward, curling, rocking, rubbing as Andrea moved with her, unashamedly open, grunting with effort. This—why hadn’t Miranda tried this before? God, it was amazing.


Miranda eased her middle finger a little higher and Andrea squeaked. Her head fell back, and she whispered, “Yeah, that, like that.” Barely shifting her grip, Miranda rubbed, and rubbed and rubbed, until Andrea’s breath was so fast she was sure to come any moment. The grip of the cunt around her fingers was tight, and Miranda stared up in awe. Andrea’s head flopped forward, her jaw working, until her mouth slackened and she pushed her hips up in a furious thrust. Miranda looked down at her hand, and wonder of wonders, a gush of liquid spilled into her palm and over her wrist as Andrea squeezed like a vise.


“Shit, fucking fuck, shit—“ Andrea said, glancing down, but Miranda kept rubbing, and Andrea still pulsed, coming almost against her will.


“Sto—oh, fuck, stop, I can’t stop—“ Andrea jerked, holding Miranda tight inside, until finally she fell back to the bed, an arm covering her face. Her body quivered, and she was silent.


Miranda looked at the growing wet spot on the sheet with enormous pride. She’d done it. They both had. Pulling her hand very gently from Andrea, she lifted it to her mouth and tasted. A little sweet. Different from her usual flavor. The liquid was clear, as the website said it would be. If they made this a habit it might be somewhat inconvenient, but there was nothing a conveniently placed towel couldn’t fix.


Miranda sighed in satisfaction. “Wonderful.”


Andrea uncovered her face and lifted up. “What?”


Miranda stared at her. “That was spectacular.”




“Your orgasm. Wasn’t it for you?”


Andrea watched her for a long moment. “Miranda, you don’t seem particularly freaked out by this.”


“Well, no. I’m not.”


Neither of them spoke, as Miranda caught a strange flurry of expressions cross Andrea’s face. “How did you know I could—did you do that on purpose?”


Something was getting lost in translation. “Perhaps.”


Andrea frowned. “I kept trying not to. I thought you’d be grossed out.”


Miranda’s eyes went wide. She suddenly understood everything; why Andrea didn’t let her do anything on her own, why she always controlled her own orgasm. “I am not, as you may have guessed.”


Andrea laughed then, shielding her eyes with one hand. “Fuck, Miranda, that was great. I’m so relieved.”


“You mean to tell me you do this… regularly?”


With a hesitant nod, Andrea peered at her out from under her fingers.


Miranda exhaled, feeling jubilant. “Thank god for the internet. Get the strap-on. I want to try the reverse cowgirl next.”