Free Erotic Stories
A Lesbian Seduction
Sitting in the lounge, lights low. A few wines between us and I'm beginning to
think well maybe, just maybe, this is the night for me and Kay.
I know she's not a dyke, not yet, which kind of makes this an even bigger
deal. All the same, for weeks now I've sent the signals and she hasn't run a
mile. If anything she's relaxed. She smokes a cigarette, stubs it out, in a
while lights another for herself and one for me, the filter wet with her
saliva. Our conversation gets mellow and easy and sexy. She is sexy. She
turns me on. My body is tight and flushed, and I sigh whenever I imagine that
frightening moment when I must ask her if she will stay the night with me. But
then we are interrupted.
Kay sits up straight, the mood retreating. I go and look along the hall. In
the dim light I see Marcel and Damien and David. And someone else. Damien
strides down filling the room with his noise, past me and Kay, into the
kitchen. He comes back with a bottle of wine. I ask who she is, the woman in
the hallway. He says, 'Fuck knows.'
I watch them, trying to figure whether I can rescue the evening with Kay.
Damien joins the others, all of them almost too drunk to stand up. The woman's
drunk too. The light goes on in Marcel's room and I can see her better. Fuck.
Fifty? Short, plump, hair cut hard and ragged, dyed ink-black. The black skirt
is so tight her middle age stomach bulges under fat shapeless boobs. Her stupid
giggle rattles through the house. In the bedroom she squeals.
Damien's standing at the door not paying any attention to me. I go down and
Marcel is spinning the woman around on her toes like a grotesque music-box
angel, pinching her bottom and breasts as she goes. She grins a hugely excited
eastern-european grin, oblivious to how ridiculous she looks. I guess she
doesn't care. Somehow she thinks she's got lucky with three young shit-heads to
fuck her senseless. She's got no idea of what she's in for. I've seen these
guys when they're like this. Psychotic. I stay away from them.
Damien pushes past me and into the bedroom and I throw him a scowl. With all
the sarcasm I can muster I tell him to have fun. He smiles with raised innocent
eyebrows and gives the air a big long lick and says he'd rather be watching us
two, meaning me and Kay. I don't have to turn around to know Kay is down there
watching this. I tell him, 'You're a bastard.' He blows me a kiss and quietly
shuts the door in my face.
Kay is by the couch. Her body language says it all. She doesn't really need
to say, 'Hey. It's time I was getting home.' That's ok. I see her out, the
two of us ignoring the obscene noises coming through Marcel's door. I apologise
to her, the least I can do. She shrugs and to be most optimistic I'm sure I
detect an element of regret.
The night would have been a loss anyway. I'm tidying up everyone's mess in the
lounge when Jodie arrives through the front door. She is supposed to be away
for the weekend. Something tells me to mind my own business. She goes through
to the bathroom, slams the door, comes out and goes to her bedroom and slams
that door too. She's out of there in ten seconds, goes to Marcel's door and
nearly breaks it down. She screams at him, 'Marcel! If you don't shut the fuck
up in there I'll kill you.' She glares at the door, and then at me, blinking as
if she's just seen me for the first time tonight. She disappears back into her
bedroom and this is the last I see of any of them.
So, had I really hoped for a whole night alone with Kay? Oh well. I brush out
my hair, tie it up in a pony-tail, change into a singlet for bed. Jodie's room
is deathly quiet. I can hear soft deriding laughter, one of the boys, coming
from Marcel's room. My own bedroom is relatively peaceful. I lay on the bed
stroking my pubes feeling let down. Too horny to read. Too tired to do
anything about it.
I would say I'm surprised to hear from Kay the next afternoon, so soon after the
disaster. She says there's a Tati festival on at the Factory. Will I go with
her? Maybe a coffee afterwards.
It will be nice to get out of the house. Jodie's moping in the lounge ready to
burst into sobbing for no apparent reason. And then she's gone, to her room I
suppose. I go out food shopping and when I return Marcel's on the couch where
Jodie's been all day. He has a video playing. Takes me a moment to work out
what's going on. It's them, last night, with the tart. I don't look long
enough or hard enough to see whose arse it is going up and down between her
legs. I tell him it's disgusting and he says, 'Yeah.'
Later Marcel's gone out and Jodie still hasn't surfaced and curiosity kills me
and passing the couch anyway I flick the play button and the tape's still
there. Just like Marcel. From the odd shape of the picture he's had the camera
under a coat or something, on his table, looking straight up the bed. The scene
is one of subdued excess. The tart's laying on her front, not really moving,
legs spread out behind. David is half-heartedly fucking her. He climbs off and
shakes his head and Marcel takes over, doing his best to get a semi-hard cock
into her. David watches for a while. Marcel is a bit more energetic and makes
her groan a protest, but in a moment he too seems bored and gets off. David
gets on again. I am affected by the dullness of it all. Except
I rewind a little to be sure. And yes I can see to the left part of Damiens's
leg. From the glimpses of his hand and cock it's clear he's sitting in a chair
masturbating. As the guys get on and off the tart I see she's watching Damien
with an almost maternal pride. From woman to woman I'd have to say she wants
him. Or perhaps she's had him already and he's the only one who's made her
come. There's just that kind of dreamy wistfulness in her eyes. Nothing that's
going on behind her matters, only her Damien rolling his foreskin up and down as
though he's doing it for her. Soon he stands and watches David fuck his tart.
He comes around, obscures the camera briefly, leans over the back of David.
Without warning I'm watching what almost becomes a fight. David pushes him hard
and Damien retreats out of sight. While this is going on, thinking no one can
see her, the tart gently massages herself from underneath. Now she's looking
the other way, I guess watching her beautiful Damien. I don't think she even
knows who gets on her again.
Decisions, decisions. I decide on tight jeans and sandals, a black top, bare
midriff showing my belly button. Discreet earrings and a hint of makeup. Not
too lez, not too straight. To soften the image I leave my hair out. Kay is
very femme. I'm sure she'll like this.
In the darkness of the cinema our arms meet and touch. She doesn't pull away.
She turns her hand palm upward and I complement it with my own, fingers meshed.
Later she needs her hand to open a mint. This is the anxious moment. Will she
return to the touch? I wait and wait and wait. She throws the wrapper under
the seat, closes the bag, tucks it away. And then there it is. Her arm is
pressed against mine once more. I take her hand. She squeezes my fingers and
It seems that just as Ms. Hulot negotiates the perils of the modern world, we
two negotiate the perils of a lesbian seduction. And that beautiful squeeze she
gave me will go down in my diaries as one of the great erotic moments of my
life. That squeeze said it all. I want you. Take my panties off. Kiss me
till I come. At least I think that's what it said.
Outside the cinema there's nothing more to say. We stand close watching the
crowd dispel into the night. I glance up at her. She is very beautiful
tonight, flushed and yet sure of herself. I ask if she's coming over for a
coffee. She says, 'Are they home?' Meaning the idiot boys. Unfortunately I
must nod. 'What about your place? We could have coffee there?' She says her
cousin's staying with her. I suggest we could have coffee alone in my room.
'I'm never disturbed there. It's like my own little world.' She purses her
lips apologetically. She goes home. I go home and climb into bed aroused yet
numb. I curl into a ball and whisper goodnight to my pillow.
Marcel has gone out and Jodie's still sulking in her room. I call Kay and sit
in the bright morning sunshine. We talk for an hour. I invite her over, but
she's doing something. I find Jodie watching television eating breakfast. Or
is it lunch. Her hair's a mess. Hasn't been out of her room since yesterday
afternoon. She's wearing just a floppy singlet and panties. Her left breast is
exposed through the arm hole down to the brown pointed nipple. Her slit is
perfectly outlined in her panties. I could tell her she shouldn't dress like
this, not around here with the boys likely to turn up at any moment. She
wouldn't care though. I came home once and found her watching Oprah,
spread-eagle, absently stroking her clit with the tip of a pencil. I was the
one who was embarrassed.
I sit with her, amused that the sight of her naked breast does not in any way
interest me. I pat her thigh. 'You can tell me anything. Whatever it is
that's worrying you.' She throws herself out of the couch dramatically. To
complete the theatre she cries, 'For fuck's sake. If you must know. I think
I'm a fucking dyke.' Actually, her tight bottom ripples quite nicely when she
makes an angry stomp. The boom of her door echoes down the hall. I don't see
her again till dinner time.
I find Marcel's tape on top of the cabinet, slip it in the player. Just
wondering. It seems much later in the night now. Damien is on the bed alone
with the tart. She's curled into a plump ball leaning over his hairless
stomach. She holds his limp cock like a hot saveloy, kissing the glans. I need
to sit down.
I turn the sound up a bit. Someone's snoring, Marcel or David. I assume
they're on the floor. Damien smokes a cigarette blowing lazy plumes into the
air, ignoring the tart and his cock. The tart revels. She is fascinated. She
rolls the foreskin, chews it, stretches it with her lips, rolls it down, savours
the knob against her tongue. She kisses the slack glans with genuine
tenderness, slaps it playfully against her cheeks and outstretched tongue, blows
kisses and air. She holds his sack, feels the loose balls inside, pinches the
skin, teases the hairs.
Damien lights another cigarette. He contemplates her and yet doesn't seem to
notice the extraordinary loving she gives his cock, or that she is becoming
excited. She is restless. Her whole body seems to swell with a sensual
voluptuousness. Damien is behind her, so only the camera sees how now and then
she strokes and squeezes a breast, a nipple. She pinches the protruding lips of
her pussy, massages them, pushes a finger deep underneath her belly and hair.
After some time she says something to Damien too low to hear. Damien nods and
stubs out his smoke. The tart rolls over facing him, brings her pussy around
nearer his head. She lifts a leg up and back, resumes kissing his knob. Damien
seems more interested now. I can see his hand working behind her fluffy brown
hair. He is opening her, touching the lips, exploring, fingering. She responds
with a shudder, head drooped in surrender, lips parted. She reaches over her
belly, her nipples hard and long now. She masturbates while he feels her
inside. Damien's cock lengthens, begins to stand up between his legs. She
pulls it over, swallows it to his balls in a single glide. Unfortunately here
the tape ends.
Ok, that's it. I give up. I hurry to my room, get naked, throw myself on the
bed. I spread my legs, hook them back under my arms, pussy stretched. This is
good. I relax the muscles and watch and feel the lips fold open, my hole
loosening into a perfect O. This is good too. Fantasies cascade through my
mind one after the other. Damien lowers his endless cock into my gaping pussy.
Jodie whimpers while an unknown third person forces her mouth down on my cunt.
My ex-lover smacks my pussy and arse with a riding crop, fucks me with the
handle. I am wet and unbearably aroused by three days of frustration over Kay,
by Damien and the tart, by just being alone for so long.
Playtime is over. My whole body tells me it's time to come. Not that I could
stop right now anyway. My favourite way, one lip pulled tight, two wet fingers
scissoring my clit. Delicious friction spreading a warmth becoming urgent. I
start to come, hook a finger inside, pull hard. I vibrate my clit, scratch it
with a fingernail just like my first ever lover taught me. Hovering.
Stroking. Squeezing away the waves of pleasure.
This is what it's all about. These six tiny seconds of orgasmic eternity. And
before long I'm going to do this to Kay.
I read the newspaper, my body still tingling and refreshed, ignoring Jodie at
the table by the window in the late afternoon sun. I can't help wondering if
she will ever get dressed again. She's curled into a ball on the chair, head
bowed, hair hanging limply as she picks at her fingers.
Out of nowhere she asks, 'What's it like being a lesbian.' I have several
pointed answers for her. Instead I say, 'Jodie. You are not a lesbian.' She
pulls a face. After a while she says on Friday night her friend Kelly kissed
her. 'That doesn't make you a lesbian.' She says, 'But after, I wanted her to
do it again. I enjoyed it.' Oh boy. 'Still doesn't make you a lesbian.
You're curious. That's all.' She gives me a stare across the room. I wish she
would go away again.
In the kitchen making toast I daydream it's Kay here helping prepare a
post-coital feast for our room. Jodie leans against the door jamb. She says
softly, forcefully, 'I never come with a guy. When she kissed me, I nearly did
it. You've got no idea how it made me feel.' Maybe I have. I ask, 'Do you
come on your own ok?' She says with credulously zeal, 'Never have any
problem.' I tell her, 'Then you're just not trying hard enough. With guys, I
mean.' She sighs. I force her a sympathetic smile. Her nipples are so hard
her singlet stands out like a circus tent. I don't know what she's thinking
about in that pretty head of hers, or what she's playing at. Fuck. I just want
to eat my toast in peace and think about Kay.
I make my way past and she says, 'But you haven't answered my question. What's
it like?' I think about this. I recall my first time. In a motel room, drunk,
with a woman whose face I can hardly remember, a woman whose infinite variety of
sensual delight are forever imprinted on my psyche. We did that one night
everything it is possible for two women to do. Absolutely everything. My
tongue ached for days. We fucked, showered, fucked, showered, and then fucked
some more. I tell Jodie with all honesty, 'There is nothing like it in the
We are interrupted by a tapping at the front door. I want it so much to be
Kay. My heart pounds. I dash to my room, set down the tea and toast,
straighten myself. But it's the tart, not looking so much a tart, slacks and
conservative blouse, hair tidy. She is very short and squat. She says,
'Damien?' Her accent is heavy, pronounces his name Dam-yen, softly,
sentimentally. I tell her he doesn't live here. She says, 'No, no, no. He ask
me meet him here. Now.' She is nervous. She shouldn't be here.
I point her down to the lounge to wait and leave her and close the door to my
room. This is an odd thing. Am I just a little jealous? Obviously she and
Damien have been in contact, and he wants to see her. He could have just about
any girl he wanted, but I don't need to wonder what it is this woman can offer
him. I do wonder if I couldn't do the same. I could suck his cock like she
did, if I really wanted. I could lay like that, let him finger me, kiss me,
make me feel nice. And his reward would be a tight moist pussy for us both to
enjoy, not some yawning cunt as hairy as an ancient yak.
I nibble at my toast. Other things become clear. Jodie. I can see what has
happened. On Friday night it was she who kissed her friend. Not the other way
round as she tells it. The friend didn't like it, rejected her, and Jodie has
spent the last days upset, angry and confused. And so is she flirting with me
now? Most of the time she parades herself half naked in front of me. She often
comes into the bathroom when I shower. I shudder when I think about it. I
don't like her in that way. I don't want her to like me.
After nearly an hour when I go down the tart is still there, waiting. No
Damien. She asks if she can use the phone, dials a number, lets it ring out and
dials again. She has hardly sat down when she's up at the phone again. This
time someone answers and she slams down the receiver. She is clearly pale,
trembling. She says, 'Tell Damien I cannot wait.' I hear the real fear in her
voice. She makes an apology and hurries away to the front door and is gone.
This is getting weird. A little later when I think of it I press the redial
button. A gruff foreign man answers.
Nearly lunch hour before I am alone in my part of the office. I call Kay, tummy
fluttering. I listen to her beautiful voice, caress her with mine. I ask when
we can get together, for a coffee or something, at my place. She's not sure
about it. We make a tentative date for next Friday night. She'll come over,
maybe a movie, take it from there. Fuck. That's five whole days away. I have
to take it because I can't leave it. I go to the restroom, slip my panties out
from under my skirt, put them in my bag. I call Kay figuring to somehow get the
conversation sexy and tell her I'm not wearing panties, but she's gone out. In
the tram home I sit opposite a beautiful girl of about twenty-three. I
fantasise unbuttoning her blouse, releasing her small pointed breasts, mouthing
her nipples until she hums. I can hear her soft moans. I cross a thigh,
The weather has turned exceptionally warm, the nights hot and uncomfortable in
my room. I wish I could sleep. So many hours to think of my darling Kay, the
ways I could please her. Too many hours. For the fourth time in a night I
switch on the bed lamp, get my sexy book, masturbate but don't come. I am
determined that my next climax will be with Kay, however long that takes. And I
vow the next day not to have sexy thoughts, but in the morning I dress and
anyway at the last moment leave my panties off.
Thursday night Marcel is home, Damien with him. There's a girl sitting primly
with knees pressed together. Seems to be a friend of Damien's. She throws him
adoring glances. Eighteen, just perhaps. Blonde. Freckles. Breasts like
puppy dog's noses. So skinny she'll need to loosen her belt to get all of him
into her peach-fluff pussy.
Marcel's packing a bag and I ask what they are doing. He tells me they're
camping for the weekend. Going over to Damien's tonight. Leaving for the coast
straight after last lecture tomorrow, Friday. Externally I am as cool with him
as ever. Inside I am leaping. I'll need to ring Kay early in the morning. He
says to me, 'Wanna come with us? You look like you could do with some fun.' I
wouldn't go with any of them - except Damien maybe - anywhere. But he's right.
I do need some fun. Badly.
Once they're gone, Jodie turns up out of her room, seemingly to see what I'm up
to. At least she's wearing clothes. I ask what she's doing tomorrow night and
she says nothing, why? I tell her that Kay's coming over - not actually having
asked her yet. I look Jodie in the eye. 'Get the picture?' Jodie shrugs,
ambles superciliously toward the kitchen. She says ungraciously she'll stay out
of our way. She stops and turns. 'Anyway. I've got a new friend.' I'm too
bored and distracted to follow up with the required query. So she says in a
light prancing voice, 'It hums, never goes soft, and you don't have to say
thank-you afterward. Perfect really.' I mutter to myself, 'I thought you were
a dyke.' Or something irrelevant like that. She hears and levels me coolly.
'Oh, two can play just as well.'
A lot of running around to do, getting stuff ready. An outfit for work
tomorrow, that's easy if not boring and I burn a finger on the iron thinking of
other things. An outfit for tomorrow evening requires a bit more thought.
Finally a black dress, short, simple, sexy. In my bottom drawer I have been
saving a pale blue g-string and bra ensemble for a special occasion. This is
it. Pantyhose too, just to give her something extra to take off. I love being
undressed. And she too is going to love this.
I pass the phone and without thinking pick it up and dial Kay's number. A long
time ringing. A sleepy woman answers, Kay's cousin. Kay comes on and I say
almost in a whisper, 'Still okay for tomorrow night. Just us.' She thinks
about it and says through a yawn that's still all right with her. I tell her,
'In fact, I'm alone tonight. I don't suppose ' She says, 'Shit. It's eleven
thirty.' Never mind.
I put the iron away, hang my clothes, tidy up. Jodie strolls through the
kitchen, out to the bathroom. She's wearing only a pair of old white panties.
Actually, she seems to float about six inches off the ground, in her eyes a
weird kind of look, lost and beatific. Her heavy breasts swing as she goes, the
nipples smooth but dark and rampant. She comes back and stands watching me,
rubbing her belly in slow circles, up under her breasts. She pushes one, making
it swell out over her hand. It makes me tingle between the legs to think of Kay
I'm ready for bed, alone. She follows and hesitates at her door, waiting for
something. It obvious what she's been doing. I ask her, 'How was it?' She
rolls her eyes, searching for the words. 'Six times already.' She smiles. 'I
wouldn't mind six more.' I ignore her and say, 'Goodnight '
I lay sprawled on my bed staring up at the shadowy depths of the ceiling, one
hand behind my head. I pull my pussy lips and concentrate on Kay, rehearsing
the evening. The going out, the coming home, a glass of wine, The Kiss, the
invitation to stay. I stroke my clitoris. I feel guilty when I wonder what
she's like down there. Is it proper, even for a lesbian, to think about such
things? And yet I do, secretly. I hadn't even considered such issues till once
I had a woman in my bed and her clitoris was large. Not so much to look at, but
when between my lips it felt like an acorn. When she was really aroused she'd
pull back the skin. Her clit was complete with shaft and helmet, and pressing
with her fingers she could make it stand up erect. If I moistened my lips and
held them lightly together and pushed, her clitoris would penetrate. That made
her moan. And when she moaned I moaned. When she came she liked me to bite the
whole area, roll it between my teeth. My next lover slapped me on the top of
the head for biting her clit just as she was coming. Easy does it.
The clock shows a quarter after midnight. Maybe a whole twenty-four hours
before Kay is here in my bed. That's tomorrow and right now my fingers are
doing delicious things. I've promised myself yet again not to come without Kay,
but as if. I won't stop now, not once I flick my nipples and grind my clit. I
close my eyes and pant softly. Although nothing very fancy tonight, just a
little rapid fingering, very soon my orgasm creeps, hesitates, finally takes me
by surprise with its power and shuddering brevity. I know I've cried out. It
drains me, leaves me luxuriating in a wonderful lethargy, like a rush. I reach
over to switch off the lamp and my whole body feels like lead. That should keep
me going for a while.
Kay's soft rapping at the front door chills me as if with dread. I feel as
though nothing is ready, I am not ready. I can be stupid sometimes.
She's early and I leave her in the lounge while I finish my hair. I hear her
chatting politely with Jodie, and somehow I don't like this. I hurry to finish
and go and join them. Jodie is all dressed up, her black bag in the hall. She
says, 'I'm staying over at Helen's. I won't be here when you get back.' I
sense the point in her tone, meant just for me. Kay stands aside waiting to
go. She doesn't see Jodie look her up and down critically. Jodie doesn't think
much of her. Who cares.
We go to a secluded bar. Drink and talk, relaxing a bit, getting to know one
another again after the long week. She wants dinner at a quiet restaurant she
goes to, and that's fine with me, but I am not hungry. She has a good meal
while I pick at a calamari. We pass an Irish pub, go in, find a table. It's
nine-thirty and the evening seems to drag. A few drinks, great music, a few
crazy dances, and suddenly it's eleven-thirty. We dance together. No one
notices because everyone is dancing with everyone anyway. The girl singing with
a voice distant and plaintive is small and slender, red hair billowing, face
grossly freckled. Now and then she watches me and Kay. She knows. I think she
also knows I fancy her. Anonymous in the crowd, Kay and I hold one another in a
casual embrace. The redhead smiles, sings to us. I smile back at her over
Kay's shoulder. She blows what may have been a kiss and my nipples harden. I
let Kay feel them against her. She whispers to me, 'I need another drink.' She
stands at our table, drains her beer and says, 'Can we go?'
Nothing has been said, just a silent communication between us that everything
so far is just fine. Kay's had a few beers, but a wine would be good. We're in
no hurry. She's not going anywhere and I'm not going anywhere. Take our time.
Make it good. Kay goes to the bathroom and I fetch out the wine and glasses. I
check my room, everything perfect. I stop at Jodie's open door, her room dark
and quiet and blissfully empty. Now I can really relax. I go down and Kay's
leaned back in a corner of the couch. She smiles as though to say, 'Well?
What's next?' This is not the time to sit and chat about the weather. I kiss
I lead her by the fingertips to my room. She follows without resistance, her
boots making a slow marching rhythm on the bare boards. I light a candle and
she sits on my bed. Her hair is tangled already, cheeks puffy and pale in the
candlelight. Her eyes glimmer pensively. She has surprised herself, shocked
herself, and come away from the experience tingling, wanting more. She's
enjoyed our kissing on the couch, the fumbling of hands on clothed bodies, and
with this threshold crossed the time for coyness is over. This is where it all
I stand before her and smile. I whisper, 'Undress me.' She performs the task
as though a ritual. Behind she unzips my skirt, peels it from my shoulders.
She politely steadies me while I step out of it. She folds it, places it neatly
on the chair by the window. A hesitation. The panty-hose next. My gold
chain. She takes my wrist, removes my watch, puts it on the desk with elaborate
care. From again behind she reaches around under my arms, lifts the bra
carefully up over my breasts, cups them in her hands, brushes the nipples just
to see she is making them hard. I hear her soft breathing, then once more the
ritual begins. She unfastens the bra and hangs it on my dress. She thumbs my
g-string down but resists touching me, instead kneels, unbuckles my sandals,
slips them from my feet.
It is an odd thing that I notice a car go past on the street outside my
window. And voices growing louder, shoes clicking on the pavement drawing near,
going past, becoming faint again. They must have gone by within feet of where I
am standing naked, my lover-to-be fussing over me. I wonder how many times I
have past a curtained window, inside being played out the various acts of a
life's innocent perversions.
She seems shy. She has started undressing and I help her. She leaves her
panties for me, facing away, arms crossed over her breasts. I put her panties
on the pile of clothes she has made on top of mine. She has a beautiful bottom,
in fact a very womanly figure in an almost old-fashioned way, if there is such a
thing; robust, sculpted, deeply and generously curved. I don't know what I was
expecting, if anything. The shape and fullness of her delights me.
We take a position on the bed much as we were on the couch, she stretched out,
I along side her, a thigh resting over hers. Of course now the position is far
more intimate. We do more than kiss and hold. My pubic mound is pressed
against her thigh, our naked breasts warm and smooth together. As we kiss I
bring my knee up and gently massage her. The light bristling of her hair
excites me, so soon fills me with a need for her, and she responds with a kiss
becoming wetly passionate. She relaxes her thighs and I rub her more firmly. I
replace my thigh with my hand, feeling her hairs through my fingers. I rub her
in small circles, tugging in a way I know sends pleasant sensations down to the
lips. Once more she responds, her kiss becoming open-mouthed, tongue delving
She whispers, 'Oh yes. Do that ' I lean on one elbow, watch her. Her smile
is suspended. Her nipples harden, distend, become like wrinkled knots. I
caress her lightly from low near the cleft of her bottom, draw my fingers up and
over her pussy lips to her hair. Her legs quiver. I press a finger against the
fleshy resilience of her lips and suddenly she jumps and my finger slips inside
a liquid flowing heat. She curls in my arms, pulls my mouth to her nipple,
fumbles to find my breast and nipple wedged between us. I lift so she can have
it. She can have anything she wants.
She is not content with passive pleasure. I read her, move away onto my back
against the pillows. I lift my legs and open them as I do when alone. She
comes around, crouching, driven as much by fascination as desire. She touches
my breast, scoops it, pokes the nipple. But she is more interested in other
things, other parts more secret, private, intimate. I roll toward her and offer
my pussy, inviting her to explore. I am pleased she needs no encouragement.
She comes around and touches me. I reach down and open myself to let her know
it's ok. She takes over and with an involuntary sigh she spreads my pussy
wide. This is what she wants. This is what I like.
Is it vanity? A warped mind? I don't know what. All I know is the way she
looks at me with such wide-eyed wonder and naked lust, my heart swells and I
nearly choke with emotion. How sexy and delightfully slutty is this, hoisting
your pussy within inches of your lover's face? I squirm and squeeze my muscles,
enticing her with my folds and wetness. I pull back the hood with just the tip
of a finger, show her the smooth beak of my clit. She sees what she's doing to
me. She touches my clit, the first other than her own, discovering it, nudging
it from side to side, pushing it right up under the skin, pulling it down,
stretching. And oh shit, I know she's not trying to make me come, but the white
heat judders through me, and if she's not going to make me come - then fuck! - I
can't take it any more. I snap my legs. She looks up, a quizzical smile. But
she knows. She herself has been here before. And I want to do it to her, take
her right to the brink over and over again.
I tell her, 'You need some ' She flops onto her back next to me, gathers her
breasts, pinches and holds the nipples, waiting. She draws her knees right up
and drops them to the sheet in a single motion. She covers herself with a hand
and whispers, 'Come look at me.' I guide her hand away, rest it on her breast.
Her bikini line is freshly trimmed, otherwise she is adorned with a forest of
dark curling hair. Some hairs cover her lips, sticky with moisture. I part
them, brush them aside.
She is a woman very aroused, her lips wrinkled and heavy, stiff, fringed
purple. Just inside she is scarlet and her clitoris peeps from under folded
arches. I have to wonder if many men know these intimate secrets of her. I
nudge her peaches with my thumbs and hear the tiny wet noises her lips make.
Low near her entrance and inside the whorl of folds is a tiny pink tongue. I
touch it, penetrate a way, stroke her there.
She tosses her head and hair, rolls her nipples rapidly. She's not shy any
more. I slide a finger inside and for a second time she cries, 'Oh yes. Do
that ' She pulls a sharp breath as I slowly slip my finger out. She tightens,
and I feel her tremble. She relaxes with a gush of air and I penetrate once
more. She tightens once more. I love the way her pussy sucks my finger, the
way her lips stretch and flow. Then something new happens. She becomes loose,
cavernous and hollow. I glance up. Her eyes are pressed closed, breasts
lolling on shallow breath. She licks her lips, swallows, pants softly. I push
my finger firmly into her and feel deep inside. She gives me a first low
moan. I have a choice. I can make her come right now if I wish. Or not.
I choose not. I hold my finger and show it to her. She takes my hand and
kisses the fingers one by one. I smile and she sits up as if coming awake. She
says, 'I want yours.' We sit facing one another and I hold her nipples as she
fingers me, gathers my moisture, tastes it.
She drops to the pillows, pulls a hair from her mouth and says, 'Either I really
need a cigarette or I really need to come.' I tell her, 'You need a
cigarette.' But I move my bottom forward, lift, press my pussy lips against
hers. She gasps, 'Fuck! Oooohhh, fuck!' She bites her hand hard. I pull
away, not only because it is she who nearly comes. She looks so beautiful and
sexy like this, eyes hot and lidded, hair in a tangled cloud on my pillow. She
makes a laugh in frustrated surprise. 'Why did you stop!' I tell her, 'Because
you need a cigarette.' I kiss each of her newly risen nipples and she tries to
capture me as I climb from the bed.
I make my way down to the kitchen in the darkness. I fetch a tray, bottled
water, the wine, glasses, cigarettes, ash-tray. I take my time, coming down,
letting ordinary movement subdue the physical tension that at any time could
erupt into orgasm. Returning to my room something is not quite right. I stop
dead in the hallway. Jodie's door is closed. Even before my conscious mind
fully absorbs this I am already whispering, 'You fucking bitch.' She's there.
I know it. Been there the whole time, hiding from us, sneaking around. I am
angry, so angry I could burst into her room and beat her on the head. But that
would be dumb. I can't make a scene. Not right now. That can wait till
tomorrow. In the meantime, let her listen, maybe even look, and enjoy her agony
all alone. These thoughts are clear and sensible in retrospect. Jodie will
never know how close she comes to getting a black eye.
I sit on the bed, in no hurry, pour the wine, arrange our glasses on the bed
table. Kay curls around me affectionately. She rubs my back, slips a hand
under and gathers my breast. She says, 'Do you know what I was thinking while
you were gone?' I shake my head. I turn around and graze my lips across her
tummy. I prompt her. 'What were you thinking?' She doesn't answer. She
guides me down, straddles me, sits on my pelvis. She rocks her hips against my
mound and hair, rides very slowly up and down. She takes my hands, presses them
to her breasts. She says, 'I was thinking this is nice.' There's a devious,
impudent gleam in her eye. She likes being in control like this. Still she
moves, her pussy going lower with each stroke. I spread my legs and she falls
between, her pussy pressed firmly against mine. We nudge one another, enhancing
the pleasure. She's right - this is nice. Very nice. As she moves her breasts
rise and fall in my hands. I hold her hot nipples. She throws back her head,
but in a moment pulls away.
She sips her wine, reaches for the cigarettes. I take them from her. She has
started something in me that needs finishing and it can't wait. I pull her back
on top. I desperately want to eat her, and I want her to eat me, but that will
have to wait. Right now all I know is this is good and I'm going to come real
She grinds her pussy, leans forward, sucks my nipple, bites it, pulls it hard.
She is very perceptive, a beautiful lover who is attentive and generous with the
way she moves. She glides her body up and down the length of mine and I feel
her nipples lightly against my skin everywhere all at once. She stares down at
me, waiting, caressing my pussy with her own, doing wonderful things to my clit
with her mound and hairs. The sensations are elusive, excruciating. My orgasm
fizzes and fades a dozen times, each frustrating peak just that little bit
closer, never quite there. At last I growl playfully, 'For fuck's sake lick
She doesn't make it in time. Doesn't matter. Once her mouth finds me properly
I don't actually stop coming. I want to cry. I want to scream. I think I
scream. I pull her legs and pussy around and that first moment when I bury my
face in her soft hairy wetness I ask myself why I always wait so long. This is
bliss. Heaven. I need do nothing, just lay here with my mouth open, tongue
out, and she does the rest. She comes, fingers me roughly. I am not coming,
yet I am coming. Staccato climaxes rifle through my body. She is cooing at my
pussy, her sounds muffled and distant. Her bottom jerks erratically. I open
her pussy and she melts with a long deep sigh. Sometimes I forget that
everything is new to her, then I remember and this too sends a shiver through
But women are lovers. Kay doesn't need experience or lessons. She opens her
heart to our lovemaking and does what comes naturally, and so naturally she
writhes against my mouth without inhibition. She pulls me open, sucks me hard,
shakes her head. She makes soft whimpering sounds of delight and extreme
I put the tip of my thumb against her anus and push. Her head shoots up and
her bottom twitches forward, away. She gasps hoarsely, 'Oh, don't do that!'
Her body says something else. She returns to me, blossoming. My thumb enters
and her pussy begs at my tongue. I lick her in long firm strokes and thumb her
anus and soon her whole body shimmers. She lays on me with her full weight,
pants softly, lets it all happen.
She allows me this as long as she can stand, long after she has come. She
reaches around, grabs my hand, hesitates as though torn between a moment of
satiety and the guilty excess of eroticism and the obscene. I graze her clit,
bite it. She sits up sharply, kind of growls as though surprised or even angry
that I am making her come again so soon. I can't breath but I don't care. She
bounces on my tongue with new energy. It goes through my mind I really want to
come with her. I drive my tongue and heave my bottom off the bed. My pussy
hovers in the air. I am so close it hurts. She reads me, grabs my pussy,
shakes it hard. Her fingers vibrate across my clit. She hisses, 'Come Come
Her pussy spasms in my mouth and she comes and I come. Our bodies fuse. Her
final orgasm is an outpouring of the animal. It reaches something deep inside
her. She lifts her body, every muscle trembling. There is no noise, no crying,
no desperate moaning, and yet she fills the room with the hush of her pleasure.
She has my pussy clenched in her fist. It hurts, beautifully, and I strain to
prolong my orgasm. I try to kiss the swollen lips hanging just inches from my
mouth but she jerks away. She is silently whispering, 'Don't touch. Leave me.
Just let me be.' Her body is here, but her erotic soul has flown some other
place, somewhere I suspect she's never been before. I am beginning to wonder if
she will ever return to me when suddenly with a long exhausted sigh she snaps
back to this ordinary world. She becomes limp. It is frightening, exciting.
She makes an odd sound. And I think she laughs. She looks down as though
puzzled to see her hand gripping my pussy. She lets it go, squeezes her
breasts, tosses her hair. She says to herself, 'Fuck that was good.'
Somewhere amongst this we have bumped the table, the glasses tipped and wine
spilled, a metaphor. The candle flickers, nearly burned down. Pillows
everywhere, bed a mess. It is a long time since I've been treated to lovemaking
like this. She lays curled, her bottom against my thigh. I touch her skin and
she opens out, stretching lazily. She lifts an arm, dr*pes the fingers in the
air, contemplates them.
She is pleased with life, physically and emotionally. A quiet peace surrounds
her in an aura. I stroke her because I share the experience, and in the moments
after our storm my fingertips tingle to relive the sensation of her. She
misreads my touch and takes my hand, 'I can if you want to.' She doesn't really
want to. I kiss her shoulder, declining. I too, rarely for me, have had
enough. I just want to hold her.
She sits on the edge of my bed, her back to me, brushes out her hair. She
really does have a beautiful bottom. It excites me anew even though I don't
have the energy or the will to do anything about it. My clitoris stings,
retreated into its folds, recovering the onslaught of finger and tongue. I like
it that she is not embarrassed for the things we have just done. I wonder if
she is like this after sex with a man, high, flushed, alert. I hope not. I
hope this has been more than special for her.
I leave her, head for the bathroom, standing up and feeling giddy. A light is
on in Jodie's room, the door open just a crack. I push it. She's sound asleep,
naked on the tangled sheet, sprawled face down, her small purple vibrator on a
pile of tissues on the floor next to the bed. I guess Kay and I weren't the
only ones coming endlessly tonight. I wonder what Jodie thought of us. She was
certainly listening. How could she have missed it? I'd like to think she was
watching, snatching glimpses of our lovemaking, rushing back to her bed,
masturbating, returning for more, tormented. Or did she squat in the darkness
of the hallway, finger herself, hope beyond hope one of us would catch her? I
think that's more like her. I'll ask her in the morning.
The room is dark, the candle extinguished. I hear the rustle of sheets. I
climb on the bed, find her. Or rather, she finds me. Her arms go around my
waist, pull me to down to her. She pushes the sheet out from between us and our
bodies meet. She hooks me, kisses my cheek, and I nuzzle the silkiness of her
shoulder. We need more of each other, but this is not sex now. It is an
intimacy as known only between two women who feel.
I hold her and listen to her breathing, the way it quietens, steadies, and is
soon slumberous and rhythmic. I slot my arm between her breasts, press my belly
against her bottom, hug her. This is ridiculously cosy and suburban, but I like
it. In the morning we will make love. I hope she want me again after that. I
would like to spend the whole afternoon with her in my bed. There is so much I
want to show her, to give her. She is a very natural lover, especially for her
first time. She must have done a lot of fantasising about this. She was a
lesbian before tonight, only now she is consummated.
I kiss her shoulder and whisper goodnight. She doesn't hear. She's asleep. I
snuggle close and if you asked me why, I couldn't tell you why, in these last
drifting moments before sleep I think of the gorgeous little redhead at the
Irish bar. I wonder what she's doing right now.
End of Story
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