Two best friends

She was tall, at least six feet. She was dressed in black, in a
perfect coachman’s uniform. She wore tight pants fit into calf-high
boots, shiny and well-polished. Her vest, cut to give her a tight
V-figure, was closed with a double row of bright silver buttons.
Those, and her white cravat, were the only thing which were not black,
black to the point of absorbing the light around her. Her hands and
fingers were long and delicate as she casually tapped the palm of one
hand with a riding crop. Her features were strong, aristocratic, not
feminine except in their beauty. Her close-cropped hair was nearly
completely concealed by a coachman’s top hat. But her eyes drew you
most of all. Large, intense, as dark as her clothing, they held to the
promise of lust, passion, power and even cruelty

The band struck up a waltz on a slightly off note, shocking you back to
reality. You dimly were aware of your partner taking your hand and
leading you onto the dance floor, and the movement gradually brought
you to earth. Occasionally as the dance progressed, you would glimpse
her dancing with women (and always leading). But after every dance,
she was someplace else, asking someone else to dance; you could never
seem to get near to her. Finally, the impression of her first
appearance faded, and the evening continued.
lesbian love-making with two best friends