Galatea is taciturn at the best of times but that isn't because her mind is working slowly. Quite the opposite: her senses are always on the verge of overloading, her mind always on the cusp of frying. With every comment directed her way, she must first navigate an infinitely branching tree of hypotheticals before responding. She overthinks, that's her central problem; she cannot move until she has considered every possible outcome, and every possible outcome's contingent outcomes, in every possible detail. Paralysis by analysis. She does it to herself.
Few people recognize this. Only two so far, in fact. To everyone else, she is "creepy," "stupid," "stuck-up" or some combination therein.
Galatea considers herself creepy, too. Not because of what she does or does not say but because of what she thinks, inwardly. She has a mind warped by too much free time and 24/7 access to pornography. She thinks often about what people look like naked, what they would be like to fuck. Women especially. She doesn't think of herself as gay, but women are less threatening to her.
Yet she wants to be threatened, to feel fear. Despite her agoraphobia she has a recurring fantasy of someone stripping her naked in public and fucking her senseless in front of a jeering crowd. Another fantasy of stripping naked herself, writing lewd things on her body, and walking around in the open for everyone to see.
She thinks a lot about Cerise. She thinks about going in tears to Cerise about one thing or another, and Cerise laying a tender hand against her puffy cheeks to comfort her. Saying something like "shh, it's okay, I love you, I'm here for you." And then without warning slapping her. The sudden sting of physical pain and emotional betrayal. The despair of it. Just the thought makes her shiver. She can't understand why.
These are the sorts of images swirling around in her head right now, when she would normally be doing her "consider every possible outcome" thing, while a bunch of strangers congregate in her apartment and discuss their plans as if she's invisible. Only Cerise seems to pay any attention to her, which is just fine by her, but every look Cerise sends in her direction, every little reassuring glance or touch, has Galatea's mind's eye picturing Cerise on top of her. Has Galatea picturing Cerise with her hands tightening around her throat. Has Galatea imagining what it would be like with Cerise's weight pressing down on her, to have Cerise whispering awful things straight into her ear: "Whore. Slut. Useless cunt."
Galatea has to excuse herself. She can't take these people and all the noise they make, and she can't take her own thoughts either. She needs to bury her face in a pillow and sleep it off.
Unfortunately, Cerise follows her into the bedroom.
"Why does it smell like cheesecake in here?" Cerise asks when they're alone with the door shut.
Galatea is too burned out to ask Cerise to go, and wouldn't be able to bring herself to do it anyway. She shrugs lethargically and points at her cluttered desktop, where her vape pen sits. Her most recent juice was flavored like cheesecake.
Cerise rolls her eyes. That hurts, and not in a good way, it just feels like judgment.
"How did you meet Camelia?" Cerise asks. "I'm just curious." She sits in Galatea's chair and faces the bed as Galatea settles in, lies down and curls up around her own pillow.
"she found me."
Most people would be frustrated with the lack of detail here, but what Galatea loves about Cerise is the almost saintlike patience she shows. "How did she find you?" Cerise prompts, gently.
"i ran scams for a long time. online. spear phishing mostly. i don't know how she found out about that... but she came here... and said she wanted to be partners."
"You knew about all this Sand Reckoner shit?"
Galatea shrugs.
"Why would you work with someone like her? Before you knew the truth."
Galatea stares at her bedspread. "i liked doing it. it was like figuring out a puzzle or winning at a game. that's the only reason... it's all just for fun you know."
Cerise stands. Galatea expects her to leave, to storm out in anger at being told it was all just a game. But Cerise doesn't go. Instead, she crawls onto the bed with her. She walks forward on hands and knees towards Galatea, and Galatea's mind goes into a frenzied overhaul now, dreading, anticipating, waiting in frozen terror - waiting for Cerise to reel back and smack her, the way she deserves to be smacked. Galatea isn't sure whether this would make her happier or sadder.
There are no blows. Cerise takes Galatea's trembling face in both hands. "You were never a game to me," Cerise says. Her voice quavers. "You were just my friend. And now you've got me so messed up that I can't even hate you. Even though I want to."
"you can hate me. i hate me."
"That's not..." Cerise shakes her head. "This is your chance to redeem yourself here. Okay? I'm telling you to say something better than 'it's all just for fun.'"
"i don't know how."
"Why?"
"there's too much. i can't get it to come out right. i'm sorry... i'm so sorry cerise... you were my friend too."
There's a long pause. Even Galatea can't bear the silence. She begins again: "i miss you so mu--"
Cerise kisses her. It's not the peck of their first kiss, but a lingering, needy and forceful kiss that sends Galatea into a paroxysm of birdlike trembling. She opens her mouth to Cerise and lets Cerise's tongue have its way.
Cerise's scent is like lilac and her mouth tastes like wintergreen -- and she is so, so warm. Galatea can't believe this woman would even touch her, let alone kiss her like this. Galatea is maybe the only person on the planet who considers Cerise a role model. This is more than just being kissed by a friend, or even by a lover. It's like being kissed by a deity.
"Never lie to me again," Cerise commands.
"never." How could she?
Even in her fantasies, Galatea thinks about punishment. Yet Cerise is heaping love onto her instead. She's trailing long, warm kisses up and down Galatea's face. She's holding Galatea tight and hugging her. Galatea thinks of herself as the ultimate charity case, and still, after all this time, doesn't quite grasp that Cerise needs her about as badly as she needs Cerise.
"It's so nice to touch you," Cerise coos.
"i..." She's too frayed to say anything more.
"Is this okay?"
Cerise's hands are wandering. Galatea nods.
"I can't help it. I just want to touch you." She kisses Galatea again, deeply. Galatea can hear the reverb of Cerise's breath in her mouth and when she closes her eyes she feels like she's floating on a sea of pure warmth. She never wants this feeling to end. Her whole body tingles with it.
Galatea hardly notices that one of Cerise's searching hands has found its way under the hem of her baggy t-shirt and is now tracing the contours of her bare skin. And Galatea is way too frightened, her mind is clanking way too fast, to even try to respond in turn. Cerise has to do all the work here.
Cerise is lying fully on top of Galatea now. The weight is pleasant, not oppressive, but firm. Galatea enjoys the idea that she can't get away, even though of course a simple "please stop" would end it immediately. She wants Cerise to take her.
Cerise's legs writhe and shift. Her knee brushes against Galatea's pantied crotch. Galatea's breath hitches at the sudden sensation.
Cerise holds the back of Galatea's head and draws in close. Her voice has an almost perverted tinge to it. "You're too cute... you're way too cute... it's even better in real life..."
"y-you... y-you can do a-anything... it's okay... anything y-you..."
"Here?" Cerise's fingertips go to where her knee was moments prior. The texture and pressure of her touch translates lewdly through the rough cotton fabric covering Galatea's cunt.
"yes."
But the touch is all too brief. Galatea whimpers as Cerise pulls her fingers away.
Cerise takes one of Galatea's hands now. She guides it down, between their bodies, and Galatea blushes. Because now she understands. Cerise wants to be touched like that, too.
Cerise's ministrations begin again, with renewed energy. She cups Galatea's pussy through her underwear and rubs back and forth. She rubs and rubs, palm and thumb squeezing, pinching. "God you're soft..." she murmurs. She kisses Galatea. Every little pip and exhalation Galatea makes, Cerise drinks down like ambrosia.
Galatea tries to mirror the way Cerise masturbates her. But her attempt is inexpert. Her motions are both too erratic and too timid. Even still, it drives Cerise into a passionate return of wet kissing and uninhibited molestation. That's what this is, Galatea thinks with a thrum of adrenaline, Cerise is molesting her.
Galatea's eyes bulge. Without warning, Cerise's hand is inside her panties.
"y-you're..." Galatea breathes. "you're... nnn-- y-you're inside..."
Cerise helps maneuver Galatea so she can do the same. Galatea's wrist feels the pinch of an elastic waistband clinging to it, the back of her palm feels the cling of the fabric. And her fingers feel the slippery, smooth texture of Cerise's drooling pussy.
"You're inside me too..." Cerise breathes. She humps softly against Galatea's curling fingers. She runs her free hand through Galatea's long orange hair. She showers Galatea with tongue kisses that veer back and forth from romantic, to hot and dirty, to outright obscene. She's slick with sweat and her soft muscles are tensing up. Her eyes are glazed with lust.
"i... i... i..." Galatea stutters.
"Me too!" Cerise squirms and moans senselessly atop her, lost in pleasure.
Galatea cums. She can't help it. Her pretty little pussy contracts tight around Cerise's invading digits, and finally shudders and spasms in delight. Galatea goes dizzy, almost to the point of passing out, but she can easily feel the same thing happening to Cerise as well. Cerise cums on her. She cums so hard that the wetness of it leaks out and stains Galatea's shirt and bed. Her jaw goes slack as she gets herself off in Galatea's hand.
"I love you!" Cerise cries. "I love you!"
"i love you too!"
Galatea can say it easily in this state. She doesn't need to overthink or stammer. They share a final kiss as the after-quakes of their orgasms roll through their convulsing bodies.