WARNING: The following story is fetish smut, made for perverts who enjoy natural body magic/detachment/disassembling people non-lethally. If you are not a member of that community, I strongly advise that you turn back now. Things will get freaky. This story was commissioned by user “STOPC”, who wanted a story based on a manip they'd made, https://www.deviantart.com/stopc/art/headless-lesbian-7-808856377. The requester explicitly asked for this piece read like an adult film, so if you are here for anything other than pure NBM smut, you will not find it.
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In the age of cell phone cameras and internet forums, monsters had transitioned from fairy tales and myths to something of an open secret. Most people believed in "spookies", and they thought it rude to discuss them in polite company. Their existence made the world feel less safe, less coherent, and less comprehensible. There were a minority, however, obsessed with spookies. Some sought to hunt the spooky menace, others saw dollar signs in the unknowable forces, but most spooky aficionados simply treated it like any other hobby. They read and shared fan theories, they analyzed and discussed news stories and sightings, they even created artwork and literature depicting their favorite spookies. Rebeka Abram was one such aficionado, a regular of the forums and an avid consumer and producer of spooky related content. In the spooky community, she was what was known as a "stalker", or one obsessed with a specific species of spooky rather than spookydom as a whole. Her object of obsession? Vanished Visages.
Vanished Visages, or “VVs”, were a relatively benign species of spooky. They didn’t thirst for virgin blood like Vampires or create swarms of hyper-resilient hive-minded vermin like Swarm Callers. They were all but identical to humans, apart from the small detail that they had no head on their shoulders. Their only power, apart from being able to see, hear, breathe, and survive without a head of course, was their ability to create the illusory facade of any head they'd touched to disguise their stump. This was sometimes used for mischief or crime, but as they could only maintain the illusion a few hours a day and couldn’t speak or change expression without dropping and recasting the illusion, there wasn't much they could get away with. Mostly, VVs just sought to partake in simple pleasures like attending concerts, driving big cars fast, and dancing in poorly lit clubs.
Like many spooky stalkers, Rebeka had a room dedicated to paraphernalia of her target. She'd bought VV artwork, printed VV posters, assembled figurines of documented VVs and various fictional headless women (while VVs were equally male and female, Rebeka was only interested in the same sex), borrowed three particularly sexy headless mannequins from department stores that she never planned to go back to, and had shelves of books and comics on VVs ranging from the strictly academic to the shamelessly erotic. She'd spent many long evenings in this room, and had spent the majority of this very day inside, entering at 10am and leaving only 3 times since, once to microwave dinner and thrice to shower off after a particularly furious masturbation session. While she'd wanted to save herself for her date tonight, she was far too excited by the thought of finally meeting a VV in the flesh to help herself. She was struggling not to touch herself now, mere minutes before Yvonne was supposed to arrive!
Yvonne, no last name given, had privately messaged Rebeka out of nowhere, saying she was a big fan of her erotic stories and photo-manipulations about VVs. She then asked, rather curtly, if Rebeka's profile picture was of herself or was some porn star Rebeka was a fan of. Normally, a remark like that would end the conversation with a block and a report to the forum moderators, but something deep in Rebeka's subconscious urged her to play along. She answered she was indeed the woman in her profile picture, and when asked for proof she sent a short video of herself confirming her account information.
In response, Yvonne sent a video of herself, headless, performing a short dance with a hand repeatedly sweeping over and rubbing against her stump to prove its authenticity, and holding up a cardboard sign asking if Rebeka wanted to keep fingering her keyboard or the real deal. After a brief exchange of messages, a date was arranged.
Rebeka had one hand on her mouse and the other reaching between her legs, ready to give Yvonne's dance yet another watch, when her phone buzzed. One word, seven letters, and no punctuation set all her nerves on edge.
(Outside)
She did her best to calm herself, tempering her expectations as she left her stalker den and went to answer the door. It could still be an elaborate prank. She could be getting catfished or robbed at gunpoint. She could’ve given her home address to a serial killer along with the useful information that she lived alone and wouldn’t be expected at work for a few days. Then again, for all her date knew, the Rebeka she knew was nothing but a paid actress, and the “real” Rebeka was actually a neck-bearded rapist luring an exotic prey to their murder basement. This date was the dumbest idea either of them had ever agreed to, but both women wanted to believe. As the front door neared, the hammering of her heart drowned out the pattering of her feet across the hardwood. Her visitor hadn’t knocked. She’d been standing on her porch in the howling winter breeze for at least two minutes. A normal person would’ve knock by now. But, if Rebeka dared to dream, then Yvonne was not just not a normal person, she wasn’t even a human.
Rebeka instinctively reached for the knob, but stopped short. She peeked through the peephole, and first impressions were promising if not entirely conclusive. If nothing else, the woman on her porch shared the same dimensions as the one in the video. Average height, slim but not skinny, legs that perfectly filled her distressed jeans, and while it was hard to tell beneath the baggy black jacket, her torso seemed a match as well. Under Yvonne’s drawn hood was a face Rebeka didn’t recognize, one with black glossed lips pierced twice in the left corner and a thin brow ridge with two piercings in the right corner. The face was expressionless, unblinking, had no visible breath in the frigid air, and not a single follicle of its electric blue punk hairdo swayed as the wind batted at the strings of her hood. Pressing her face firmly against the door, Rebeka loudly asked “Hey, could you please… change? Just so I can be sure you’re… y’know.”
Yvonne’s shoulders rose and fell in a sigh, though her expression didn't change and there was no cloud of condensation marking a breath. A moment later, Yvonne’s head and half her neck simply vanished, leaving only a smooth, featureless, sharp edged stump roughly the same color as her remaining neck. Her hood stayed up and kept shape, a network of bent wire hangars hiding behind the illusion. As Rebeka stared into the empty hood, a new head filled it, this one a light skinned African head with corn row hair and a crescent moon tattooed on its cheek, smiling with one eye locked in an endless wink.
Rebeka threw the door open and stepped aside, voice weak with excitement as she squeaked “Come in!”
Yvonne complied, head vanishing as soon as Rebeka closed and locked the door behind her. She shed her jacket and hung it on a coathook beside the door like she owned the place. Her neck twitched a little as she placed one hand on her hip and slowly turned her upper torso, silently taking in her surroundings.
(Nice place. So, not that I mind the gawking, but anything else planned for the evening?)
Rebeka snapped out of her daze as Yvonne thrust her phone in her face, the VV typing so fast she’d barely gotten the phone up before the message was ready.
“Oh, uh, sorry. I... still amazing. You, being here. You’re really real!” Rebeka said.
(I’m not a cybernetic organism, if that’s your concern.)
“Oh, haha!” Rebeka said, too nervous to actually laugh or get the joke. She struggled to remember the evening's itinerary; it'd been surprisingly difficult brainstorming date ideas for a headless girl, what with dinner being entirely self indulgent and social gatherings being a big risk. Still, she’d come up with what she thought was a fun date that catered to Yvonne’s unique anatomy. “So, I’ve got some mix tapes we could dance to, a movie to watch, we can chat, and if you want, I can give you a full body massage. I’ve never had to massage a neck stump before, so I’m admittedly curious to see what that’s like.”
(You give a lot of massages?)
“I’m a licensed massage therapist, yes.” Rebeka answered, her hand shooting into the purse strategically left on the coffee table and drawing a crisp, embossed card she’d special ordered just for tonight. This one card had cost more than fifty of her standard business cards, but Rebeka was banking on it paying dividends. “I have a mini studio here that I use to practice on people outside the office and do some pro-bono work for neighbors and girlfriends and stuff.”
Yvonne took the card, and judging by how long she held it out,Rebeka assumed she was staring in disbelief. Or, perhaps she was eyeing Rebeka herself, though that may be wishful thinking.
(Can I see this “mini-studio”?)
“Yeah! Right this way.” Rebeka said, hopping on the balls of her feet and skipping to a nearby door. She forced herself to slow down, to not get too excited. There was no way things were really going this fast, right? Yvonne was politely curious, that’s all. She’d poke her head in, or whatever, then ask about the music or the movie. Yvonne had come on strong, sure, but that was just to get her foot in the door, right? Rebeka shouldn't overplay her hand now, not when she was so close.
Casually pushing the door open, Rebeka gestured without entering. “Like I said, it’s just a small scale version of my office. It doesn’t have all the equipment and accoutrements, but it’s got all the basics. Massage table, scented oils & lotions, it’s even got a towel warmer!” She said, motioning proudly at the small metal trunk that could perfectly heat 24 moist towels in 12 minutes. Yvonne stepped past, the narrow doorway forcing her close enough for Rebeka to get an up close view of her stump. She bit her lip, blushing as she tried to return to a casual expression. Only after Yvonne passed did Rebeka register the strong, odd combination of scents she was wearing. Lavender and lemon.
(Scented oils? You think I “smell”?)
“What? No!” Rebeka said, panicked. Yvonne’s shoulders shook in silent laughter and her fingers flew across the screen of her phone.
(It’s a joke! Relax! “Smell”, get it? Because of my whole deal?)
“I- oh?” Rebeka said, noticing the quotation marks in her text and remembering the mismatched scents. She laughed, realizing her forum had got it right.
How Vanished Visages saw, heard, and smelled without a head was a mystery. Their stump was definitely some sort of magically enhanced sensory organ, one which could pick up sound, sight, and smell all in one, but the practical mechanics were anyone's guess. The evidence suggested that a VVs vision and hearing were mostly analogous to a human's, but they had no sense of taste and their sense of smell was functional but didn’t provoke biological or psychological reactions. A human smelling decay would gag, and smelling cinnamon rolls would make them hungry; a VV would smell these things and think ‘There, rot. There, pastry.’ It was a detached concept, like the difference between actually hearing music playing in a movie and reading the subtitle [music plays] on a mute. “So, the forum was right? About how VVs sort of but not really smell?”
(Not sure, have nothing to compare it to, but I think you guys basically hit the nail on the head. Most those theories are pretty on point. You have some pretty sharp cookies mixed in with all the perverts. No offense )
Rebeka blushed, giggling. “None taken, I am a sucker for a pretty faceless.”
She could feel the non-eyes of Yvonne roll as her shoulders slumped. She turned and plopped herself down on the massage table, making herself comfortable. Rebeka’s heart threw itself into her ribs like it was trying to smash its way out and launch itself right into Yvonne’s hands. Looks like she didn't plan on leaving the massage room any time soon.
(1/10 joke, and I’m only giving the one point for honesty. For real, what’s your deal? I’ve seen guys with hots for headless hotties, but you’re the first girl and let me tell you, it seems too good to be true. A gorgeous lesbian massage therapist digs creepy face stealing spookies? There’s no way this is happening, right? You’re totally a CIA honeypot and I’m about to get jumped and thrown in a secret government lab. You’ve got to tell me your super villain origin story before they dissect me, it’s only fair!)
Rebeka stepped in and closed the door behind her. She looked calm, like she wasn't suffering from weak knees, a light head, and a crotch so soaked that no amount of detergent would save her dark yoga pants. “Well, there isn’t much to explain about the lesbian massage therapist part. I’ve always liked girls, particularly how they felt, and this job let me turn that interest into dollars.” She explained, propping herself against the wall. “As for the headless thing… well, you know Daisy Dolls?”
(The little girls toy? Had a couple growing up.)
“Right, those.” Rebeka said, cheeks glowing as she suddenly realized just how lame her story was. “Well, I was obsessed with those dolls when I was a kid. Particularly, I loved mixing and matching their outfits; dresses, shoes, accessories, hats, glasses, everything. Only, the glasses were usually molded directly to the heads, they weren't a separate piece, and a lot of the heads had different hairstyles which I obviously couldn’t change unless I wanted all their hair to get progressively shorter as I cut it. Plus the underwear, all of uniquely patterned for each doll, was molded into the bodies, so if I wanted to change them…” She glanced at Yvonne, the surface of her neck twitching in a nod. “yeah. I swapped their heads around. A lot. Eventually, I wound up misplacing some, leaving a few Daisies headless. I had to start sharing their heads, but I’d feel bad about not playing with the ones I left headless, so I experimented with accessorizing my headless Daises to make headlessness a part of their ‘look’, rather than treating them like the leftovers. I started to like accessorizing headless Daisies more and more, until eventually I liked them better headless. My parents thought I was insane, finding drawers full of Daisy heads and a daughter making up stories about headless Daises living their best lives, but I didn’t care. And when I started to grow up, use the internet, and discovered that there was a real race of headless people, with headless women just like my Daisy Dolls… well, when puberty struck, obsession became fetish.”
Yvonne had crossed her legs at some point, her entire body tensed. She raised her phone to type, her fingers less nimble than before. Eventually, with much backspacing and retyping, she managed to make her message.
(If you outgrown dolls, want 2 play with the real deat?)
Instead of informing her date that she in fact still had all her old Daisy Dolls lining a huge display cabinet in her VV room and regularly masturbated to the sight of them like an absolute psychopath, Rebeka said in her most professional voice “Of course. Please, undress to your comfort level while I get the oils.”
She turned and bent over a wicker trunk of oils and lubricants,giving Yvonne a great view of her yoga pants-clad ass, when she heard a synthesized female voice behind her. “-Actually, if you don’t mind, no oil. My skin very sensitive, lubricant can over stimulate.-”
“Why, anything to satisfy a customer.” She said, turning her head to show off her smile without standing up. “Is there anything else I could do to accommodate you?”
Yvonne’s abbreviated neck with its adorable woven choker twitched, her approximation of a nod. She typed, and the computer generated voice said “-Yes. Prefer if you undressed to your comfort level, then did same for me.-”
With much fanfare, Rebeka stood and slowly turned around, glancing down at herself with a confident leer. In truth, she was stalling. If she’d seen this coming she'd've worn more layers to give Yvonne a proper strip tease. They both knew this date was shallow, Yvonne coming for Rebeka’s body and Rebeka inviting Yvonne for lack of head, so Rebeka had decided to hide as little as she could get away with. She wore only grey, ankle length yoga pants and a white tank top. No socks, no bra, not even a pair of panties. Not much to work with.
But, not much wasn’t nothing. Reaching under the hem of her tank top, Rebeka dragged the garment up her flesh, revealing herself an inch at a time. Even without a face to read, Yvonne’s arousal was obvious. The headless body set her phone aside, knowing there was nothing more to say, and straddled the massage table with a leg over either side and her arms clutching its edges to prop up her torso. Yvonne’s knees squeezed the table as Rebeka slid the hem beneath her D-cups, making sure the garment was good and snug with a few side to side wiggles. The cloth hoisted her breasts slowly and steadily, tension rising as gravity fought friction. Then, Rebeka playfully hopped, sending a shockwave through her body and knocking her knockers free. Yvonne fanned her hand over her stump, making Rebeka giggle, and as she slid her tank top up off her slender limbs and dropped it, she saw Yvonne begin to rub one hand across her stump, her entire body shaking. She kicked the garment away and approached her date, whose hand only picked up the pace as she neared.
Yvonne's dedication to the grunge look bordered on parody; camo sneakers either stylistically designed to look worn out or genuine ratty old shit, black cotton socks terminating near the ankle, skinny jeans with more hole than knees, a polyester belt that looked more like a seatbelt than a belt belt, a black and green striped long sleeved shirt worn under an inscrutable band t-shirt that Rebeka couldn’t even decipher the name of, and that black woven choker drawing the eyes right up to her smooth stump. Despite the outfit's absurdity, Yvonne absolutely owned it, and Rebeka decided to start slow in her stripping and grabbed the frayed laces of her left shoe. Pulling the laces undone, Rebeka pushed up her jeans and grabbed Yvonne’s bare ankle in a firm but tender grip, popping her partner’s shoe off and dropping it carelessly, followed by her sock. Finding cute little toes with olive colored polish twitching with anticipation, Rebeka decided to demonstrate her handiwork with a classic foot rub. Beginning at the bottom of the arch, she slowly made her way up and out, pressing in and squeezing the sole with her thumbs before sliding them to the edges. Yvonne clearly did a lot of walking and her shoes must have terrible support, for cracks, calluses, and blisters blemished her long, slender feet. Good news for Rebeka, as that meant the massage would be more of a treat. Rebeka worked the arch longer than she normally would, both because of how weary it must’ve been and also she didn’t really know when to stop. Without a face to glance at or noises to listen out for, it wasn’t as clear how well she was doing.
Either sensing the need for communication or just ready to move on, Yvonne tilted her foot forward and extended her leg, presenting her plump, wiggling toes to Rebeka. One by one, she massaged every digit, rolling her fingers around their sensitive flesh and sleekly polished nails, before popping and cracking each joint with a satisfying snap that had the headless woman arching her shoulders and digging her fingernails into her stump, which seemed to be faintly pulsating. Encouraged, Rebeka gave the foot a parting kiss on the sole, not something typically done with customers, before starting on the other foot. The right foot had fewer and shallower cracks, and while Rebeka was no orthopedist and had paid no attention to her gait, she suspected the VV was goofy footed and walked with trudging steps, as her soles were worn and damaged but her toes were unblemished, like she put little weight on them and didn’t bend her foot.
Noticing details like these weren’t strictly necessary for a good massage, but it's what separated the amateurs from the professionals, and Rebeka showed off that professional status with the most sublime rub of Yvonne's life. Targeting and soothing the most worn areas, working the muscles without hurting them, gliding her thumbs across her flesh fluidly and precisely, Yvonne was forced onto her arching back, rocking the table as the hand that had been supporting her slid up her shirt and clamped on a breast.
Yvonne felt a hand slap across the back of hers, and saw Rebeka cross her arms and frown. “Excuse me? Please leave all massaging to the professionals.” She said, giving Yvonne’s hand another, lighter slap as if to shoo it. Yvonne obliged, lowering both hands to slides for good measure. Now laying in soldier position, she felt like a specimen on an operating table. She was excited for her examination.
Rebeka slipped her hands beneath Yvonne’s shirts and grabbed her hips firmly, feeling like some kind of soft-toothed beast ready to devour her. But like, in a hot way. Really, Yvonne had no way to describe the strange sensations, and she couldn’t even begin to imagine what noises she’d be making if she could as Rebeka moved her hands up her body, dragging the shirts along on her wrists. Tender hands sliding up her sides, fingers subtly dipping into the gaps between ribs, pressing her weight down and pinning Yvonne’s back to the table, the traveling hands moved to Yvonne’s chest. She'd suspected Yvonne had no bra, and while her breasts were smaller than Rebeka’s own they were unbelievably round and perky for their size. Rebeka would've guessed they were packing implants if it weren't for the fact that she'd fondled many store bought boobies before. These were the real deal, and with an impish smile she pushed the shirt up and onto Yvonne’s stump. The VV trembled, both at the sensation and the sudden sensory deprivation.
Covering a VV’s stump, their magical sensory organ, with something as thin as a napkin would blind, deafen, and block their already limited sense of smell. There were plenty of videos showing VVs getting absolutely bamboozled by stump coverings, but Rebeka wanted to see it in action. Yvonne started to panic, arms shooting up to pull her shirt away but bumping into Rebeka’s own arms in the process. The masseuse took tender hold of her client’s wrists, gently enough to let her know she could easily break free if she wanted to. Rebeka slid her hands into Yvonne’s, and squeezed softly, wordlessly assuring her that it was all part of the act. Yvonne allowed her partner to guide her hands, which she stretched above her empty shoulders and rested on the soft, rolled up towels that she’d earlier set on the otherwise useless headrest. Rebeka squeezed Yvonne’s hands again, thanking her for her trust, before running her hands down her date’s arms and back to the VV's unnaturally-natural boobs.
While barely able to get her hands around them, Rebeka massaged her date’s tits like the professional she was. Well, not exactly; she had a much different breast massage she used for clients, one more relaxing than exciting. This routine she used only for girlfriends, and was meant to be as stimulating as possible. Rolling her wrists, flicking her fingertips up their curves, letting her nails dig and scrape, and pressing her palms firmly into her nipples with every twist of her wrists, Rebeka would’ve had her license revoked if she ever did this to a paying customer. But, her dates either didn’t know or didn’t care for authenticity, for none had questioned or complained. Yvonne certainly didn't, nor would she if she could, her stump shaking so vigorously it could be seen through both shirts.
Curious, Rebeka pulled Yvonne's shirt up and left it hanging around her wrists, revealing pale green tattoos on either forearm that perfectly matched her grunge aesthetic. The VV was flooded with stimuli as her senses returned, but she was given no time to acclimatize to the return of sight and sound before Rebeka wrapped her fingers gingerly around Yvonne’s abbreviated neck and began rubbing both thumbs across her stump in tiny circles, pressing gently into the supernaturally soft flesh. It felt even smoother than it looked, smoother than the shiny plastic dolls that had shaped young Rebeka. Her skin gained no purchase as it slid across the surface, which dipped in and returned to shape like warm, quivering foam. She could faintly feel the muscles beneath, twitching and contracting as Yvonne’s body shook like a leaf. Going from tiny circles to short strokes that slowly worked inward and backward, she felt the end of Yvonne’s vestigial windpipe, struggling for nonexistent breath. She felt the edge of her throat, contracting in a moan that filled Rebeka with lust even if it would never be heard. Then, the tips of her thumbs came to her spine hardness and resistance greeting her for the first time. She worked her fingertips around the heart shaped bone, taking in its edges, before tracing them inward and arriving at a squishy bundle of nerves in the center. She pressed down on Yvonne’s spinal chord, too wrapped up in her exploration to consider how it might feel to have every single one of your nerve endings stimulated at once.
Rebeka yelped as Yvonne flung her hands around her partner’s neck, using her shirts to pull Rebeka’s topless torso onto her own as she arched her back and kicked her legs out. She held Rebeka to her chest for a few seconds, allowing the stunned massage therapist to feel a pounding heartbeat straight through their bare breasts as the VV pressed her stump into the intruding fingers, before Yvonne finally slumped over with a leg dangling limply over either side of the table and her arms sliding free of the bunched up shirts, likewise trailing off the table. Were it not for her labored non-breathing, Rebeka would’ve sworn that Yvonne had gotten the memo that she couldn’t possibly live without a head and dropped dead on the spot.
“Holy shit… that made you cum?!” Rebeka asked, laughing to herself and clutching her head in disbelief. With great exertion, Yvonne lifted one trembling hand and pointed it at her neck, at the nerve bundle inside her spine. Then, she held up all five fingers, before flopping her hand down onto her womanhood with a wet slap. So, it was several times more sensitive than her pussy? Rebeka shivered at the idea, unable to even comprehend the pleasure Yvonne was capable of feeling. Wanting to give her some more without utterly wearing her out, Rebeka rested her hands atop Yvonne’s heaving, sweaty stomach. She did nothing at first, simply allowing the warmth of Yvonne’s body to flow into her palms and letting the other woman acclimatize to her touch. When she was breathing relatively normally, she began her work, gently, careful to ease her back down. She rubbed both hands across the surface of her belly, down her sides, and back up. She did this several times, Yvonne’s toned stomach shuddering.
That stomach hitched as Rebeka broke her rhythm, hands traveling down to Yvonne’s belt and unbuckling it. Undoing the double buttons and pulling the zipper revealed a pair of olive green panties, matching Yvonne’s nails. Rebeka peeled her date’s pants away, squeezing her shapely legs both out of necessity and pleasure as the tight jeans fought to stay on. They lost, and all that was left of Yvonne’s clothes were her lace choker and green panties. Rebeka knew which one of those had to go, but wanting to make sure Yvonne had recuperated, she wrapped her hands around one of the VV’s calves and massaged them. They were firm, strong, the amount of muscle stored just beneath the skin surprising even Rebeka. She felt the power beneath her fingertips as the leg tensed and twitched, and as she worked each leg she fantasized what it would be like to have these legs wrapped around her head. She was sure Yvonne would be happy to show her, and that excitement made Rebeka a bit sloppier than normal. She rushed the calves, and went up to the thighs, taking one in each hand and squeezing with no real professional style but pure desire. Yvonne flexed her thighs beneath Rebeka’s grip, easily pushing her fingers back and silently laughing as Rebeka tried and failed to put a dent in her skin. It was like squeezing solid marble, which Rebeka found fitting. Yvonne was already statuesque, her lack of a head reminiscent of an ancient Greek figure that had lost pieces to the ravages of time but maintained a stunning beauty. Rebeka ran her hands along her thighs, allowing the warmth and goose bumps to remind her that this woman was indeed real. She was here, and she was aching for Rebeka’s touch.
Rebeka parted Yvonne’s legs and climbed onto the table between them, the headless girl propping herself on her elbows to get a better view as Yvonne lowered her face. She licked at the area between her navel and her panties, one last tease before her fingers ensnared themselves in her underwear. Rebeka looked up as she licked, locking gaze with the empty space over Yvonne’s shoulders framed perfectly between her cleavage. Her nipples erect, thigh against Rebeka’s ear tensing, the choker vibrating as the neck stump beneath shook, one hand climbing up her breast to tease it, Rebeka knew that while she had no face, she would scream.
Rebeka pulled the panties aside, revealing a cute, shaved, absolutely drenched pussy. Rebeka took a deep whiff, with a twinge of pity as she realized Yvonne would never get the satisfaction of smell that she could. She could however, enjoy Rebeka’s enjoyment, her hot breath rolling across her skin and igniting her senses ahead of her touch. When she kissed, her tongue venturing out and giving a few exploratory pokes, Yvonne slapped the table and let out an imaginary howl. Rebeka went out of her way to exaggerate her kisses, smacking her lips loudly and pressing her face firmly into the other girl’s groin. Rebeka looked up from between her legs, her lips curving into a smile against Yvonne’s flesh and further riling her. Rebeka had actually gotten complaints from a several exes that her mouth wasn’t nearly as skilled as her hands, that she ‘tried too hard’, going for style over substance in trying to emulate lesbian pornos. But, Yvonne had never had head before, and as far as she knew Rebeka was the most cunning linguist alive.
Rebeka closed her eyes and rocked her head up and down, tongue outstretched, savoring Yvonne’s flavor. She felt a hand work its way through her straight, glossy hair, fingers digging into the back of her skull. Yvonne bucked her hips into her lips like she was trying to bury Rebeka up there, not that Rebeka minded. The bucking intensified, and opening up her eyes, Rebeka saw why. While Yvonne was guiding her head with one hand, her other was playing at her stump again, fingers sliding and scraping across the sensitive flesh. Rebeka was almost jealous, wanting more time with her date’s stump, but she knew she’d get it. She knew Yvonne would come back for seconds, maybe they’d even start dating. There was no way she couldn’t after tonight.
The fingers tightened against her skull as Yvonne reached her second climax of the evening, her hand slapping the surface of her neck lightly but quickly as her body tensed and shook. Rebeka slowed her kissing gradually, licking up as much of her moisture as she could, then rose to a sitting position. She beamed at the trembling body beneath her, admiring her handiwork as sweat poured off of it. She opened her mouth to say something, but before a single syllable could come out Yvonne shot up like a movie monster and grabbed Rebeka’s head firmly in both hands. For a split second, Rebeka was convinced that she was about to have her head ripped off, that she’d vastly misjudged this spooky and was meddling in affairs beyond her mortal understanding and was about to pay the ultimate price. Then, Yvonne pulled her date's head to her stump and forced her juice splattered lips onto it, giving her the closest thing she could to a kiss. Rebeka blinked in surprise, the spongy flesh tasting unexpectedly sweet, like honey glazed ham. She licked the stump as much as she properly kissed it, indulged in this bizarre new flavor and texture. She swore she heard squeaking as her wet tongue slid over the smooth surface, like a wet cloth cleaning a window, and prodding at the hidden cross section of muscle and nerves she found that the sweetness intensified around the windpipe, throat, and spine. She was so wrapped up exploring Yvonne's stump that she barely noticed fingers sliding down her yoga pants, not until they squeezed her ass like it owed money. Since Rebeka’s wallet was in her other pants, she did her best to pay in kisses, pressing her face to the stump firmly.
If anything, Yvonne felt that she was the one with a debt, as she’d cum twice whereas Rebeka hadn’t gotten off once yet. She had no idea that Rebeka had spent all day relieving herself, and wanted to give back. Yvonne pulled away from the kiss, waving at Rebeka like she wanted her to get off the bed. Rebeka obeyed, confused but trusting. The headless girl clambered off the bed, pulled Rebeka’s yoga pants down to her ankles, and got down on her knees in front of the starry eyed massage therapist in an unmistakable pose. Rebeka was about to get some headless head.
Yvonne grabbed her ass again, digging her olive painted nails in so hard that Rebeka could already feel bruises forming. She forced her stump against Rebeka’s trimmed pussy, the other woman gasping loud enough for the both of them as she struggled just to remain standing. Yvonne bobbed her shoulders, pulling her stump across the length of Rebeka’s slit again and again. The soft, warm, quivering, frictionless skin was more intense against her snatch than any toy could ever match, and she was instinctively humping the stump and clawing up Yvonne's back without even meaning to. The VV worked through the pain, twisting the hard tip of her spine against Rebeka's pronounced clit as she blissfully screamed.
Before she could even wrap her head around what was happening, Rebeka was having what had to be her most intense orgasm ever. Unlike Yvonne, Rebkea was very much a squirter, spraying down Yvonne's stump with the warm juice of satisfaction. The fluids rolled right over her nerve cluster, the sensation giving Yvonne a third and most definitely final orgasm, her spent body slumping over and falling back as Rebeka’s legs gave out like a pair of wet noodles. They collapsed in a tangled heap of limbs, Rebeka’s limp body pinning the headless girl to the hardwood. They were going to feel like shit tomorrow morning, bruised up and scratched and grody and totally spent. And neither of them would regret a thing. Rebeka kissed Yvonne's stump, lazily licking up the mess she'd made as the pair slowly drifted off to sleep.