Bound By Desire Season 1, Episode 5

Frisk Business

Freya Parker & Katrina Colt

Freya is dressed for the part: businesswoman, black hat, a tie knotted at her throat, the suit cut close. Katrina joins her. They do not sit down to negotiate. They start to strip together, dancing, jackets opening, shirts loosening, the tie staying longer than it should. Nipples harden in the cooler air as fabric comes away. The dance carries them into the next room.

A wall of panorama glass looks out over the city. Their silhouette is clear against it. Freya stands, Katrina in front of her, and the trousers come down. Katrina goes to her knees. Her mouth finds Freya, slow at first, then sure, tongue along her folds and up to her clit. Freya’s hat tips. One hand rests in Katrina’s hair. Anyone at the glass would see only the shape of them: one standing, one kneeling, the city behind.

They move to the bed still in that rhythm. Oral continues, unhurried. Fingers join mouths. Nipples are pinched, rolled, kissed between breaths. They trade places. Katrina on her back, Freya over her, mouth at a breast, then lower again. The exchange is even. Each takes a turn at the other’s nipples, licking, a light pull, a palm cupping while the other hand wanders down.

They settle into sixty-nine. One rubs a clit with two fingers while the other licks, wet and close, then they swap the work without breaking the line of their bodies. Fingering starts in earnest, one then two fingers, curling, the free hand still at a breast. Moans stay soft. They finish face to face, the suits abandoned, kissing as if the meeting never ended, mouths open, hands still between thighs until the kiss is all that is left.

The Moaning Melodies

Kenna James & Anna Claire Clouds

The apartment is empty, brick, spacious, well lit, a lift open on the room like a second door. Both women are in erotic lingerie and long latex boots, the shine of the boots catching the light. They pose for the camera first, caressing themselves, hands over breasts, over the line of a thong, eyes on the lens.

Then the pace quickens. On a velvet carpet they are already kissing, already at each other’s nipples, mouths open, a lick, a bite that is barely a bite. One slides a hand inside the other’s thong and finds her clit, rubbing in small circles while they kiss. The kiss is wet. They share saliva, a thin strand when they part, then gone again as they come back together.

More comes off. A thong is drawn aside, then down. One lies back, latex boots in the air, and the other licks her, tongue broad, then narrow on the clit, moans filling the brick room. They swap. The second thong is removed. Licking continues, patient, boots still on, legs still lifted or hooked over a shoulder.

They reach an old piano. One sits on it, legs spread, boots braced. The other stands or kneels between them and licks her clit until the climax takes her, thighs tightening, a broken sound, hand in hair. After, they sit on the piano chair, one in the other’s lap, hugging, kissing, the lift and the empty apartment quiet around them, lingerie half gone, boots still on.