B and V Get It On

“OK bitches, allow me to make your cookie-cutter dull-fuck lives a little more interesting. And this is not gossip, hearsay or a dumbass theory. You wanna know who’s really a bona-fide, ball-sucking, up-the-ass, suck-my-shit-covered-dick homo in this town?” Snow White tipped her chin up and blew a fat smoke ring, ice-blue eyes glinting dangerously. “Freddy F.”

“Fred Flintstone?” Rainbow Brite, known to the table as RB, gave the princess a withering look. “Every girl and her flying horse knows Flinto prefers his conquests a little more vaginal and a lot more underage.”

Velma nodded thoughtfully. “The Peppermint Pattie and Marcie three-way thing. Jinkies. That is all sorts of wrong.”

Snow White slammed the table with irritation. “Fred is not doing those two little lesbos. He’s blowing Barney and that’s all there is to it. George fucking Jetson is the one who likes slamming little girls…”

 

“Jesus Snowy, calm down,” Velma popped a couple of Valium and washed them down with a swill of white wine. “I’m totally wiped. 86 the princess factor, OK?”

Snow White directed a snarl at the girl in the chunky orange sweater. “Another challenging shoot in a haunted castle exposing it’s – gasp! – not really haunted after all? Or is perving on Daphne’s rack just taking its toll today.”

“Snowy,” said RB warningly, but Velma met the pale brunette’s sneer evenly. “I’ve been in the hospital. Shaggy ODed again.”

This shut everyone up. Things had long been touch-and-go with the hopeless if quite likeable stoner Shaggy, but the ever-present marijuana-laced Scooby Snacks had recently been traded up for smack ever since the kid started hanging with:

“Sailor Moon?” asked RB. Velma nodded numbly, eyes misting up beneath her chunky square-rimmed glasses. RB shook her head angrily, buttercup yellow tendrils shaking from side to side. “Fuck-a-duck, that chick is constantly wasted and it’s passed off as ‘cute’. I think it gives us all a bad name.”

“You can talk, you acid freak,” muttered Snow White, inspecting her cuticles.

“Dude, you know I’ve been clean since with 90s,” RB lit a cigarette. “I don’t get those guys together anyway. Seriously, it’s the weirdest couple since…”

“Jessica Rabbit and Smurfette,” Snow White answered. “Think about it – she’s three apples high for godsake.”

“What about Daria and Quinn?” RB blinked, swinging her multi-coloured moonboots absent-mindedly under the table. “Who’d have thought Daz was into femmes?”

“It’s a sick, sad world,” Velma sighed, and the other two nodded in agreement.

 

The sound of squealing tires then the crunch of a car slamming into the kerb broke through the low buzz of the dimly-lit bar.

“Jesus Ronnie, you could’ve killed us!” came an irate girlish cry.

“Grow a pair B,” growled the response. A car door slammed viciously.

The trio inside stiffened in anticipation. It was as predictable as She-Ra’s earnest diatribes about women’s liberation or Sylvester’s interest in speech therapist recommendations. Betty and Veronica were fighting again.

The pair blazed a trail towards the group’s back table. A red and white cheerleaders outfit clung to the generous curves of Veronica’s tits and hips, while Betty was dressed in a giant chicken’s outfit, minus the head. “Oh, as if B,” spat Veronica. “Why the fuck would I deliberately be messing up my lines? I told you, I’m just hungover.”

Betty spun to face the haughty brunette, quivering with rage. “Stop treating me like a dumb blonde Ronnie. You knew exactly what you were doing.”

“OK, time out kids,” RB jumped nimbly onto the table, bringing herself to eyeline between the pair. “What’s happening in Riverdale?”

“Four hours,” hissed Betty, eyes sparkling with tears. “Four darn hours to shoot the day’s simplest scene, but this one here kept ‘forgetting’ her lines. Was it a scene involving me dressed as the football’s team’s stupid chicken mascot, while Ronnie cozies up to ‘Archie-kins’? Why yes it was.”

“I didn’t hear Archie complaining,” purred Veronica.

“That boy would get with a lamppost,” snapped Betty. “You don’t even like him.”
Veronica rolled her eyes. “God, you really are girl next door.” Then, deliberately, “You know he’ll never fuck you.”

Snow White coughed laughter as RB clapped her hands together, “Alright, alright,” said the child-sized blonde, “Let’s all just calm down. We are not our characters, we are bigger than our storylines, it’s Friday night, it’s time to relax and get toasted.” Then, as an afterthought. “Should I roll a spliff?”

Betty took a step away from the group, and sighed tiredly. “Thanks RB, but I’ve got ‘scripts’ to learn. More male fantasy bullshit  from the imagination of horny writers with a distinct lack of an actual sex life. See ya.”

A few yellow chicken feathers hung in the smoky air as the blonde left the bar.

Veronica lit a Silk Cut petulantly. “Someone can’t take a joke. Jesus Christ, she irritates me.”

“Yeah, sure she does,” smiled Snow White sarcastically. Velma and RB exchanged amused glances.

“What’s that, what’s all that supposed to mean,” hissed Veronica, waving her glowing cigarette tip at the group.

“Nothing,” said RB, “C’mon let’s just get high.”

“No,” Veronica tapped a perfectly manicured fingernail in front of Snow White. “Spill, slut.”

The princess folded her arms with satisfaction. “OK Veronica. Archie does not refuse to fuck Betty. Betty refuses to fuck you. Hence, your ‘problem’ with her.”

Veronica blinked rapidly. “Oh, please, that is rich, that is… Right, yeah. Good one. Go fuck a dwarf.”

“C’mon V,” RB swilled the last of her whisky matter-of-factly. “She’s the only girl in Riverdale you haven’t nailed. You can’t win ‘em all. Just stop torturing her for it.”

“I have no interest in Little Miss Perfect. Besides…” A self-righteous flip of glossy black hair. “I don’t do blondes.”

The trio snorted laughter. “Striperella, after that awards show, in the spa and the limo.” began RB.

“Cinderella,” added Velma. “What was it: ‘It wasn’t just her…

“Shoe that fits’,” chorused the other two, cackling. “Ah, that chick from Josie and the Pussycats, the anime gang-bang last summer and the one of Mayor Quimby’s girlfriends gave you herpes.”

“Oh, whatever,” snapped Veronica. “I could get that skinny bitch moaning for me to fuck her six ways till Sunday in a New York minute. I just don’t want to.”

“No you couldn’t,” annunciated Snow White. “There are just some truths we have to accept, Veronica. I cannot tan, and you will never screw Betty Cooper.”

 

 

“Huh,” V said, glancing around her. “My trailer’s like, twice the size of this. You don’t even have a mini-bar”

Betty gave her a withering look, tightening the sash on her silk dressing gown protectively. “What do you want Veronica? It’s late and I’ve got boot camp tomorrow.”

Veronica sat on the small sofa, tucking her long, tan legs under the fluted cheerleader skirt. She pulled a bottle of Hendrick’s Gin from her handbag. “Peace offering?” A sly smile tickled her lips. “This is your favourite, right?”

Betty shook her head, amazed. “You’re too much.”

“C’mon,” pouted Veronica. “One drink. It’ll help you relax. I’m sorry ‘bout today OK? I was a total megabitch.”

“You can say that again,” muttered Betty, sitting somewhat reluctantly next to Veronica as the brunette sloshed gin into two glasses. “Woah, V, that’s heaps.”

“Cheers,” smiled Veronica prettily. She watched Betty tip her head back slightly as she drank, noticing – not for the first time – the pale pink blush of her cheeks, her perfect slender neck, her moist lips. Her golden-blonde hair was pulled back into the trademark high ponytail which was, admittedly, girlishly sexy. Veronica’s gaze dropped automatically to the gap in Betty’s dressing gown that hinted at the full swell of two lush, pert breasts beneath the silk. Veronica Lodge liked tits. She liked sliding her hand inside a girl’s dress and squeezing them while they made out, she liked leaning back against a mountain of pillows and sucking them, one at a time, she liked watching them bounce up and down while being ridden, transfixed at the sight of two gorgeous tits, on a gorgeous girl, fucking her like her life depended on it. And Betty had amazing tits.

“Are you staring at my boobs?” asked Betty.

Veronica landed back on earth with a thud. A wet, sticky thud. “Why the fuck would I be doing that?”

Betty shrugged. “I don’t know. You’re jealous. They’re twice the size of yours. You’re really petty like that”

“Fuck off,” Veronica sniffed, flushing. “We have the same sized boobs.”

A tiny smile flashed over Betty’s face. She shook it away. “Well,” said the blonde. “Let’s see.”

Slowly, Betty closed her eyes and started touching her breasts. Squeezing them. Massaging them. Veronica’s breath caught in her throat as she watched the beautiful blonde girl touch those gorgeous, eatable tits. Betty opened her eyes.

“That’s me,” she said softly. “Let’s see about yours.” Betty scooted herself a few inches towards Veronica, her hands hovering inches above the cheerleader’s sweater. “That is,” she whispered, her voice rasping in Veronica’s ear, “If you want me too.”

Veronica nodded, skin crawling with electricity. “Please, Betty,” she whispered. “I want you to.”

Veronica Lodge moaned as the blonde started touching her, eyes squeezed shut in pleasure, head cocked back as Betty’s fingers grasped the fullness of her two torpedo-sized tits.

“All this time,” Veronica’s breath was ragged. “I’ve wanted to fuck you more than Jughead likes eating or Mr Weatherbee likes detention.”

Desire overwhelmed the spoilt teen. Ronnie was used to getting what she wanted, when she wanted. And right now she wanted Betty. Dropping to her knees, she pulled Betty towards her, tearing the dressing gown open as she kissed best friend/ worse enemy hungrily. Her cherry-red tongue slid in and around her perfectly straight teeth, as Ronnie’s hands started moving south. Just as she predicted, the girl next door was as wet as a waterpark, and just as wild. As she started sliding her fingers over Betty’s clit, a gasp escaped the blonde’s lips, tight thighs spreading wide, surrending completely to the cheerleader between her legs. Ronnie started sliding two, three fingers inside her, kissing her mouth, her tits, her arms, her neck, feeling as if she could devour her completely.

This was hotter than the time she’d fucked Midge with her strap-on while Moose barebacked Reggie, everyone high on MDMA.

Lowering her mouth to Betty’s pussy, she started massaging Betty’s clit with her tongue, her sparse pubic hair soft like matted silk. She tasted sweet as sugar, incidentally reminding her of the Number One hit their band The Archies had in 1969 the pop classic “Sugar Sugar”. Even just hitting a tamborine, beautiful Betty looked fuckable. With the skills of someone well on home turf, Veronica bought the Grade A student slash star athlete slash competent auto-mechanic to an ear-shatteringly powerful orgasm, pleasure completely flooding her entire body.

‘That,’ thought Veronica, panting. ‘Was even more fun than shopping’.

Standing up, Ronnie leant in to French kiss the blonde girl deeply.

“Mmmm,” smiled Betty. “Baby, that was amazing.”

“Are you ever gonna let me tell them?” whispered Veronica, licking her earlobe. “You know – about us? It’s so hard pretending to hate you.”

“No way,” Betty started pulling her girlfriend’s skirt off, grinning wickedly. “Make believe is so much hotter.”

By Georgia Clark

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About Georgia

I'm a young adult novelist with a weakness for hot nerds and cheese platters, not necessarily in that order. I am currently working on my third novel. I'm pretty excited about having just turned 30 because it means I can justify spending a lot of time thinking about homewares.
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