#ee22

Moe woke up because she felt the bed shaking. Bleary eyed, she propped herself up on the pillows, smiling dreamily. As much as Moe needed her full eight hours, it was the rare pleasure to catch Julie coming home from her residency shift. Moe's wife sat naked on the edge of the mattress and jilled herself furtively. Arousing as the possibilities seemed, Moe sensed something wrong in Julie's knotted shoulders.

“Morning, Jitterbug.”

“Hey, Moe.”

“You doing okay?” Moe crawled over to Julie. Even in distress, Moe thought her wife was gorgeous in the dark – she adored Julie's auburn skin, the dreadlocks slung over one shoulder like heavy cord, the pixie-ish form that seemed like it could be swept away by the shadows. But tonight, the personality was lacking – Julie slumped over with defeat. She stopped trying to get off and twisted around with a forced smile.

“I'm... no, I'm not. Tonight had problems. I didn't want to wake you up, but I just had to clear my head, to try and sleep.”

“Do you need to talk about it?”

“I do, Moe, but not tonight. I need to sleep. Get this shitty night behind me before I tackle it all.” Moe wrapped Julie in a hug from behind. “We lost somebody in the ER. I can't stop thinking about it.”

“Well, do you want me to help you with that?”

Julie squeezed her eyes shut and nodded. Moe kissed her wife softly on the neck, then reached to Julie's groin. Julie sighed as Moe's fingers found their mark.

“I feel like such a ghoul – trying to get off because a patient died.”

Moe shushed Julie. Two fingers teased the inside of Julie's lips, making her arch back with a hiss. Moe held Julie tight. “There's nothing ghoulish about being human, Jitterbug. Just let relax and tell me if it feels good.”

“It does feel good but...” Julie bit her lip in hesitation. “I need it harder. Please.”

Moe pulled Julie down softly so they lay parallel on the mattress. She wrapped her arm over Julie's collarbone, letting her wife feel the false headlock. Moe hooked her finger into Julie's vag and rubbed the knuckle up and down the walls, feeling Julie's breathing speed up against her own chest. One finger turned into two. Rubbing turned to pumping. Julie's focused her breathing, keeping it steady, taking each ember of pleasure and rolling it over in a cocoon of air.

Moe looked up at the vanity mirror, reflecting the two black women. Julie ran her foot up and down Moe's leg to build up the friction her work-sore soles craved. Moe knew she and Julie were the same height, so it enchanted her how small Julie seemed to make herself when she wanted to be held like this. Moe's heart dropped at the thought of her precious, squirming Jitterbug eaten up with guilt. It was its own kind of masochism to love Julie, loving her for the pain Julie herself absorbed. Moe pressed her chin against Julie's neck and felt the flexing muscles build towards orgasm.