“You could just wear that? As a birthday treat for me?” Natasha suggests hopefully.
Sawyer runs her hand down the length of her body and giggles, but once her hand reaches her hip she lets it flop awkwardly by her side.
“Sorry. Can you tell me about your sisters again please?” Sawyer asks, furrowing her brow.
“Sure,” Natasha answers, “Ursula’s the eldest. She’s the architect. She had her own firm in Hong Kong, but she’s divorcing her husband and moving back to Boston. She’s going to join the Department of Architecture at MIT, so that’s quite funny.”
“Hilarious!” shouts Sawyer, rolling her eyes. “When you’ve always been a Harvard family and your eldest ends up teaching at MIT. So fucking relatable.”
“Alisha is younger than me. She’s the same age as you, so I thought you might want to sit together. She works in marketing of some description, but she’s just come back from a sabbatical year.”
“Thanks. Will we be allowed to use metal cutlery like the grown-ups? Or only plastic?” Sawyer’s voice is acidic.
“Oh, shut up. Alisha’s fun, she’s really good at getting people to warm up to her. On her year off she went travelling in Europe, so you can always ask her about that.”
Sawyer nods and moves a little nearer Natasha. Her feet turn pigeon-toed on the bathroom mat.
“Look, Natasha. I’m really sorry that I’ve dragged down the birthday mood with my Harry Potter and The Cupboard Under the Stairs shit,” Sawyer folds her arm under her breasts protectively and fiddles a bit with the under-wiring of her bra.
Natasha plunks herself down on the toilet seat. She says, “Honestly, it’s fine. You haven’t dragged down any mood! Sorry for my family being, er, Weasley-ish.”
Sawyer snorts, “Please. At least if you were the Weasleys then I could relate to you being dirt poor. You’re like a nice version of the Malfoys.”
Natasha laughs outright, “One of my guiltiest secrets is that I once wrote Bellatrix and Narcissa incest femmeslash and got myself off to it.”
“Just so you know, I can barely believe it but I actually prefer the ‘oh yeah, I used to sleep with my dealer but actually he was a really nice guy’ stories, honey,” says Sawyer, wrinkling her nose.
Natasha guffaws. She can’t help but love Sawyer’s disgusting jokes, and she loves how much they tickle Sawyer even more.
“If you drank, I’d just crack out the prosecco,” Sawyer says softly, “I don’t know how else to get the celebratory vibe going. I could put some Spice Girls on?” Her voice lilts up at the end like she’s hoping Natasha will agree.
“You could do that, I suppose…” Natasha nods seriously, “You could also eat me out in the, uh, thirty minutes before my parents arrive?”
“Yeah, yeah I could,” Sawyer smiles mischievously and starts pulling Natasha through the apartment and into the living room. They’re bumping into the door frames, giggling like kids. Sawyer pushes Natasha down onto their couch, spreading Natasha’s thighs and hooking her fingers into the sides of her thong, pulling it down to Natasha's knees.
She bites her way over Natasha’s mons and then sinks further down, sucking firmly over Natasha’s clit. Natasha lets her eyes flutter closed and her head tilt back. She stuffs her fingers down the sides of the couch cushions, so that she doesn’t mess up Sawyer’s hair.
It only takes fifteen minutes to get Natasha off, but by the time she comes, Sawyer’s make up is ruined. The shimmery line down the middle of her nose has rubbed away, and the sharp contour of her cheek is smudged. Natasha kisses the come off her cheeks and under the sharp tang there's a faint scent of perfume.
“I’m sorry,” Natasha slurs, “You’re going to need to re-do your face a bit.”
Sawyer slaps Natasha’s thigh and it sends another little flurry of aftershocks through her pussy.
“You bitch! I looked perfect. Right, I’m going to fix my face again.”
Natasha feels too mellow to point out that it was Sawyer enthusiastically rubbing her face in Natasha. Natasha hauls herself to her feet and off to their bedroom to dress. She goes for a dark green dress with an embroidered denim shirt over the top, and an acrylic evil eye necklace that her sister bought her a few birthdays ago.
As she laces up her boots, Sawyer rushes around behind her. Sawyer sponges on more foundation on the ball of her nose and pats it down so hard that her nose squashes almost completely flat. When she’s satisfied, she grabs a tiny brush and strokes her highlight down the bridge of her nose again. She tries to go over her cheek contour but keeps muttering under her breath that it’s not lining up right.
The doorbell goes and Sawyer shouts, “Fuck!” She’s pressing powder on to her chin, still in her bra.
“I’ll go, it’s fine,” Natasha says.
“But I wanted to greet your parents,” Sawyer whines.
“It’s fine, just come out when you’re ready.”
She sees her parents though the glass panel on the door and lets them in.
“Happy birthday!” Her Mom shouts, brandishing a large green gift bag at Natasha and then grabbing her cheek for a kiss.
Her Dad stands behind her mom, looking tall and looming in the narrow hallway.
“Happy birthday, Princess. 36, I can’t believe it,” He shakes his head and squeezes past her Mom to give Natasha a one-armed hug.
“Come in, sit down. Sawyer is just
