<div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/9/9a/Steam_baby-avi.jpg)</div><br/><strong>Name:</strong>Agatha Dunwich<br/><strong>Faction:</strong>Unknown<br/><strong>Date:</strong>May 3rd, 1876<br/><strong>Time of Day:</strong>Night, After Dinner<br/><strong>Location:</strong>Agatha's House<br/><strong>Tagged:</strong>Onneca<br/><hr/><br/>A sob of happiness broke from Agatha at those words.  Moments ago she had thought she was losing Onny.  That she was slowly slipping through her fingers like sand and now she felt so solid so real.  That tattered dress, worn and battered like the woman who had worn it into town a year ago and Onneca had mended it as she had mended Agatha’s heart.  “You have my dress?”  She asked a tiny squeak in her voice.  It was a silly thing, her dress so inappropriate for California weather with its many petticoats and heavy bustle, but she had worn it like it was armor, heavy and protective.   “Oh, Onny I…”<br/><br/>Agatha’s breath caught in her throat.  Those feverish lips pressed against the smoothness of her neck stopped time.  She couldn’t hear the ticking of her clock or the soft moan of wind across the mesa.  The words on her lips died, leaving an apparition of a whimper buzzing against Onneca’s lips.  Agatha’s long lashed lips closed as if sight would ruin the sensation of full pink lips along the muscles of her neck.   The absence of sight heightened the moist press of flesh and flickering of fire along her neck where nervous, curious fingers played.  Agatha was embarrassingly aware of how her body reacted to Onneca’s intimate touch.  The warmth that filled her from head to toe, yet centered at the delta cloaked by thighs and gossamer, the quick and sudden stiffening of her nipples that if not for the crush of body against body would have been sharp and defined against her nightgown below the lacy neckline above which Onny’s beautiful lips played.<br/><br/>“I am used to being called loco.” Agatha finally spoke a light smile touching her lips at the murmured breath so hot against her.  The room was hot now, but it had nothing to do with the temperature outside.  She shivered against the light hum of Onneca’s words and smiled brighter at the hand that sought out her own.  Her fingertips playing with Onneca’s, their hands so similar in form and function.  Their fingers were long and dexterous, made for precise and delicate work and they were strong and a touch rough from the pricks of needles and turns of screws.  They were perfectly shaped and molded to please the tender flesh they so wanted to touch and caress and tease.  For only the briefest of instances did Agatha hesitate at the recognition of where Onneca was leading her. The fear of realizing what she so desperately wanted and the knowledge that they were not along in her home brought the moment of pause, but it was only a moment.<br/><br/>Agatha’s hand pressed into Onneca’s soft flesh, gathering and lifting as her fingers indented into that perfect mound.  She wouldn’t have wished them to be smaller or larger, for Onneca to be stronger or slimmer.  She was perfect in Agatha’s eyes as was the gentle flesh held lovingly in her hand.   The undulating of Onneca’s body only increased her sensitivity and arousal and her arm tightened, her hand pressing against the small of Onneca’s back.   Agatha forefinger brushed against engorged flesh that was pressed between then and her legs, unraveled from nightclothes rubbed together in a pillow of rumpled comforter.  Agatha rolled the sensitive nub under her fingertip wanting Onneca to feel what she had only begun to express in words.<br/><br/>“I have wanted to feel you against me for so long.” She confessed her words thick with desire, her hand pressed against Onneca’s chest so she would lay once again flat against the bed.  The smile that met Onneca’s eyes was radiant through the drying tears.  The thin material of their bedclothes clung to their bodies leaving so little to the imagination. The warmth they shared dampening patches of thin nothingness to the point of transparency.  Onneca’s heavy breasts starkly outlined by her gown drew Agatha’s eyes and her hand slowly drifted from one to the other to test and tantalize them.  As if realizing what she was thinking her eyes flickered to Onneca’s face and in a sudden overwhelming need she pressed their lips together.   It was nothing like their first tentative kiss, born out in that confusing time of youth, where innocence held none of the desires of adulthood.   Agatha’s lips were full, yet her mouth tiny like a rosebud yet to fully bloom.  Her lips were soft, caressed with balms to keep them moist and supple and eager.  She explored Onneca’s lovely lips, a tiny moan escaping her own.  She pecked and probed testing Onneca’s willingness, seeking an opening for her pink tongue to enter.<br/><br/>