She should be shocked, should be struggling, should be mortified.  Something.  She knew this.  Her mind was screaming at her that she should be doing something, anything else.  Not moaning with every lick of Frey's hot tongue.  Not palming her breasts, moving her hands in a circular motion to tease the hardening peaks.  And certainly not wishing for more!  Yet her mind and her body were disconnected, lost in the hazy blur of cheap champagne and new pleasures.<br/><br/>“F...Ffff...Freya!”  Gasping out her roommate's name, Morgan's wet sex quivered and clenched in response to the licks.  It was wrong.  She wasn't a lesbian!  Her mind blanked as the licks continued, grew more aggressive.  She should resist.  Tell Freya to stop.  Yes.  She'd tell her to stop.<br/><br/>“Nnnn...Ffff...Frey...nnnot...clean...yyyyet!”  What had she done?!  As the musician lifted Morgan's hips into a better position, the artist settled her feet flat, supporting the position.  “Please...cl...clean me...lick me!”  Her fingers began to knead her breasts in a frenzy, tugging at her nipples, trying to ease the aching need deep within her womb.  She'd gotten off only moments ago and yet she wanted it again.  Needed it again.  “Please...Freya...Melody...please...”  She whimpered the words, too drunk on booze and arousal to even know what she was begging for.