Somehow it irritated me to see her on the bed like that when I came out of the bathroom. It seemed so cut-and-dried. After all, this was only our second date, too soon for her to start taking me for granted. Even though we both knew I'd signed out from the dorm and would be staying overnight here, did she have to be so smugly self-complacent about it?
Last weekend's "fuck" session must have instilled her with an overweening sense confidence. Or maybe it was the way I hat acted at dinner tonight, accepting her solicitous but nonetheless firm guidance without protest, even letting her order for me. I really hadn't minded at the time; on the contrary, it was nice to be wined and dined at a fine restaurant, nice to put myself in those capable hands to be fussed over and not have to worry about paying the check. I had even dressed for the part, wearing a frilly blouse and skirt in deliberately demure contrast to the anticipated sleek sophistication of my lady escort. And just now, after freshening up in the bathroom upon our return, I had come out barefoot to preserve the illusion-an innocent young girl about to lose her sweet innocence in a smoothly planned seduction-thus continuing the evening in the same vein that it had begun.
Hah! Not a chance. The dance was over, now it was time to pay the piper; what did she expect me to do, sing for my supper? No wonder I felt annoyed! She was lying there almost naked, a cigarette between her lips, impatient no doubt but still very much at ease, the image of an attentive but lazily expectant lover. Like a college boy with a sure-thing date, waiting to get his money's worth. Except that there was nothing boyish about Florinda Brokaw, not with only that pair of diaphanous black panties to protect her from my fretful but nevertheless fascinated gaze. The elegantly tailored look was gone, discarded with her dress. Now there was an elegance of a different sort in that willowy body of hers, classical but authentically feminine. With breasts that rose defiantly even in repose, the darkish nipples pert and provocative…
"Honey? Aren't you going to undress?"
"I'm thinking about it."
"Well, come on! Get naked and come to bed."
"Don't rush me. You're not naked yourself yet."
"Damn near, wouldn't you say? I just thought you'd like to work on my panties with your own hot little hands. Like last time after I started to fuck you-remember?"
"Is that all you care about, just fucking me? Aren't there any other ways to make love? I mean, uh, if we keep doing the same thing over and over… " My tone was petulant, purposely so, mostly out of spite, not because of any objection to her style of lovemaking. I just wanted to shake her up a little, signifying a certain displeasure without offering any reasonably valid explanation for it.
She matched me with a petulance of her own. "Hmph! Getting bored already, darling?"
"Silly. On our second date? Of course not. I just don't think we ought to take one another for granted, that's all. Like some old married couple, you know?"
"Oh. Maybe you're right. I-I almost wish we were, though."
"Hmm? How's that again? You wish we… uh… "
But she had already lapsed into silence, disposing of the issue with a spuriously casual shrug, an awkward gesture that belied itself in a woman of such natural grace. As if she had already said too much and just realized it. I remained silent for pretty much the same reason then, perversely aware of having come too close to the underlying truth of my resentment. Oh shit, let her figure it out for herself! It didn't even seem important any more, not after that bombshell she had just dropped, a bomb that had been only a dud until her obvious cover-up backfired and brought it to life. So my lover wished we could be a married couple, did she? A lesbian-type marriage, imagine, wasn't that practically a declaration of love?
Uh-huh. How nice! Love. Nice to know, too. It was like a big jigsaw puzzle, with the important central pieces just beginning to fall into place. Everything appeared clearer now, even her dubious but unforgettable behavior in the restaurant, the pride and apparent pleasure with which she had dominated our secluded booth and yet managed to cater to my every desire. Or to convey that impression, at least, testing every new dish herself but always with me in mind. Mixing the salad dressing and spicing up the shrimp cocktail sauce, things like that, doing it for both of us and allowing me to sample the finished product only after she smacked her lips and rolled her eyes in approval. As if mine was the only opinion that mattered, even though it had been foisted upon me in a manner that precluded protest. As if I was her pampered angel-child-hmm, angel-wife?-too naive and ingenuous to be trusted to make such earth-shaking decisions by myself.
Nor could I forget her unconcealed contempt for the males within visual range, especially those who kept craning their necks and straining their eyeballs for an unobstructed but hopefully surreptitious glimpse of us. For which I couldn't exactly blame then, not even the ones with wives or mistresses or dinner-and-bed dates of their own. We were by far the most spectacular women on the premises, a duo of gorgeous beauties dining unescorted and unconcerned, haughtily ignoring the quizzically sneaky glances of our bedazzled male audience; what a blow to the masculine ego! Only they weren't really ignored, those squint-eyed satyrs-but that would have been the lesser of the two evils, what with scornful Florinda leaning across the table to croon her gleefully perverse refrain in my ear. If they only knew, she kept saying, if the poor stupid slobs only knew! Or words to that effect. Lecherous old bastards, for instance, a phrase that wavered between a chortle and a curse, depending on her intonation.
Dubious indeed, such behavior in a grown woman. Unforgettable, perhaps even unforgivable. And yet, juvenile as her attitude had seemed at that juncture, I understood it now. She was maneuvering me toward a total commitment to her way of life, of course, but that was only the first step. Down with men! College boys were clods. Indigent bums. Selfish beasts. While my lesbian lover was sweet candy. An indulgent beauty. A sophisticated belle, the soul of benevolence. Wouldn't you rather be taken care of than taken advantage or? Is your honeydew ripe enough, dear? A little more sugar in your coffee, sweetheart? Won't you try the delicious cherry liqueur, darling? I was getting the royal-treatment no doubt, but there was more to it than met the eye. Winning me was too easy, It was possession that represented the challenge. And the real Florinda Brokaw was a very possessive person! Our barely begun romance had already given her a sense of ownership; why risk the embarrassment of an "I love you" speech, why not just let nature take its course? It was all so simple from her viewpoint sitting there in the driver's seat, in the restaurant, in the car-in bed?-all she had to do was follow her nose to the foregone conclusion: the happy couple joining hands in illegal matrimony, a permanent lesbian marriage. Simple, oh sure-not if I could help it! And now that I had finally figured out the rules of the silly game…
"Sue? Are you going to stand there all night?"
The buttons of my blouse almost undid themselves. I could see her interest mount as new areas of my flesh were exposed. It took only a shrug and shake then, and the unbuttoned garment slipped off my shoulders and fell away. She uttered an unintelligible sound almost like a laugh but kind of raspy-as though something had caught in her throat. My sexy nylon net bra had served its purpose, presenting a striking contrast to the demure blouse that had just come off. My breasts seemed to he struggling to break through and out into the open. Why did they feel so hot? Not sexually so much as physically, hot in temperature, the kind of neat that would have cracked a thermometer. But why?
I saw her eyes then, focused on my bosom and in the midst of that colorless light diffraction, the phenomenon that had struck me as magical all those other times. But my own gaze was free and unrestricted now, not locked into hers, allowing me to remain more of a spectator than a participant. I could examine the change without that earlier emotional reaction. Not that I learned much, just enough to gain a certain familiarity and balance that with an equal loss of fear. There was no magic in the phenomenon, nothing that I cared to exalt to such an esoteric level, just an interesting prismatic effect in the pupils of her eyes.
No, that wasn't quite true. Unless maybe I could blame it all on my imagination. Anyway, whatever the reason, my breasts were still hot and the concentration of heat was most noticeable at the points of impact from that intense gaze. As if those eyes could actually send burning beams across the room to penetrate my bra and strike at the flesh underneath, at the agitated peaks, the stirred up and swollen nipples that were now a throb with the need for freedom.
Slowly but casually, avoiding any exaggerated movement that might appear overly seductive, I put both hands behind my back and turned them up to fiddle around with the bra-strap fasteners. It was an easy job that I made deliberately difficult, drawing it out endlessly. As if my fingers were too nervous for the intricacies of such a troublesome task. It was just to shake my lounging lover out of her lethargy, that was all, letting her stew in the secreted juices of her own anticipation while I held that pose as if it was simply awful to stand there like a screwed-up statue with my shoulders scrunched back and my tits stuck out and straining to split the bulgy nylon net before the liberation ceremony could be properly performed. And it didn't hurt a bit, really-even my throbbing nipples were glad to delay the unveiling and wait for further developments, glad to participate in the shaking-up of this lazy lesbian bitch who was hot paprika in a restaurant but cold pizza in bed.
"You know something, dear? This could become a real war of nerves if we don't end it right now." She took a final drag and crushed out the cigarette butt. Then, still lying there, the smoke curling from her nostrils, "So come here, won't you? Darling? I'll help you unhook it, otherwise you'll be all night. Come on, before you tie yourself up in knots."
"Uh-huh. Oooh, my shoulders ache." Swinging my arms to get the kinks out, I started toward her, setting one bare foot in front of the other with each step, an artifice that induced a rolling sway of the hips. I halted at the edge of the mattress and looked down at her. "Care to give a girl a hand?"
She slithered across the bed, a serpentine motion that made her bonelessly fluid form look like two separate segments twisted together and held by a makeshift loop of tape, the narrow black panties stark against her skin. Reaching me, she hoisted herself up into a kneeling position and then hesitated, spreading her knees slightly to build a broader base of support on the springy surface. I should have spun around then, turning my back to make her job easier. And by the same token, she should have groped for the back-strap wherever it happened to be. Wasn't that the purpose of the entire maneuver, to unfasten my bra?
Somehow, as if by tacit agreement, neither one of us followed the script. I just stood there and waited for her to begin groping. And she just knelt there and waited. Then, cautiously, almost timorously, she slid her arms around my waist until her hands touched and clasped in the middle, centered on the ridge of my spine. And now, having dared that much, she was apparently hyped-up enough to cast caution to the winds and act on impulse. The embrace tightened suddenly and she pressed her face into my belly, gliding around there to lavish a flurry of suck-kisses on the surface and then dig into my navel with her tongue.
It was totally unexpected, an exquisite shock that turned a comparatively small thrill into something grand. I uttered an appreciative moan and tangled my fingers in her hair, getting an ego boost from the random recollection of how this welcome change had come about. Was it only minutes ago that I padded out of the bathroom and had myself a private little tantrum? I must have shaken her up right then and there, sure enough, with my spiteful remark about her lovemaking. Not very nice of me, but look at the way it was paying off! She was trying to redeem herself, trying to erase the stigma of possible boredom. Hmm. Trying to lick it off with her tongue?
But it was too soon to let her get carried away like that. I gave her hair a little tug, just sharp enough to interfere with her concentration. It worked fine. She recognized it as a signal of some sort, a call for her attention at least, and tilted her head back to peer up and question me with her eyes.
"My bra, remember? You were supposed to… "
"Oh!"
End of communication; message received and acknowledged. And obeyed already, just like that, her hands racing up my back to undo the strap and then continue on up to make short work of the shoulder loops and at last peel the whole thing away. Pleasing as her haste was, though, I couldn't attribute it to obedience, oh no, she must have been motivated by personal gain. How that woman went for my bare tits! It was chaotic for a while sheer confusion as she buried her face between them and simply lost her head in the surrounding softness of my flesh, cooing and whimpering alternately in rapturous gratitude for what she could suck and excited frustration over what she couldn't swallow. But then she calmed down somewhat and seemed to summon up all her skill evidently putting mind over matter long enough to recall her status as an experienced lesbian who had something to prove to the untutored little tyro whose breasts she was chewing on. Not that I had minded the chaos, actually, it was flattening Indeed to be loved with such frenzied enthusiasm by so generally poised a personage.
But her more restrained technique was good too. Those knowing lips of hers had a knack for generating a kind of inexorable suction which was felt only in waves, an ebb and flow that imparted a certain rhythmic empathy to whatever fell under its spell. And so each nipple m turn suffered the excruciating delight of a slowly pulsating vacuum an accumulative effect that was like the tension and released of a diminutive climax repeating itself ad infinitum, an almost scary approximation of the impossible plateau of sensuality: unbearable pleasure infinitely prolonged. Oh, that bubble-mouthed bitch had a way with tits, no doubt about it. She could make mine sit up and beg, practically. I was almost tempted to go on like that and forget about the rest of my body.
It turned out to be one of the few temptations I was able to resist, though. With a little help from my lover. As a matter of fact, it was easy as she began pushing my skirt down. Easier still when I realized that she had hooked onto my panties in the same swipe, husking both off at once. With your own hot little hands! Wasn't that what she said to me after we got back from dinner? Hmm. So much had changed since then. She was still wearing those controversial panties; odd how the one unchanged thing could symbolize all those changes! I was the naked one now. Naked and ready…
There was a moment of panic when I slumped onto the bed and felt her coming down on top of me. More fucking? But no, she had learned her lesson and was already kissing her way across my belly, moving at an unhurried pace but with a resolute sense of direction, right toward the hair. As if she could hear it bristling in readiness and was being guided by the sound. She stopped there, though, just inches away from where I needed her, my pubic lips all pursed and puckered for that first romantic kiss. I figured it was only a pause at the brink, a little time-out to psych herself up for the big one. Maybe a pep-talk from me would help.
"You're great with tits, you know? Florinda? If you're even half that good with my cunt… "
"Oh darling, I will be! I swear it."
"Yeah? Glad to hear it, lover. I'll bet you’re an old-timer in the game. A cuntlapper from way back, huh?"
"Mmm… "
"What are you mumbling about? You haven't even started yet. Come on, tell me, don't be bashful, it's just between us. What kind of cuntlapper are you?"
"What-what can I say? I'm a good one. I've had plenty of experience. But a lot depends on who I'm doing. I'll be the best for you. The best in the world."
"You'd better be. I'll hold you to that. After all, it isn't every cuntlapper who gets to go down on Helen of Troy."
"Wait. You'll see. I'll make you feel wonderful. Just wait and see. I'll love your cunt and make you feel more beautiful than the real Helen ever was."
"Could be. I'm beginning to believe you." I jiggled my hips peremptorily. "Just don't make me wait too long, hmm? I'd say we were both in the right mood now."
A wheezy moan sounded. It struck me as amusing, for some unaccountable reason, and I had to seal off an incipient giggle. Maybe it was just the exhilaration I felt, a lingering reaction to the weird dialogue I had just conceived and carried out-like a well rehearsed interview, practically-and wasn't it lovely to bask in such an inspirational glow? She was there now, there, and I looked down at the top of her head and was further inspired by its aesthetic appearance, the way we had cleaved together in seamless unity, as artistic as a carefully wrought piece of marble in some museum. Sculptural, every detail perfect. And yet somehow-all the more impressive from my objective viewpoint-we had managed to preserve and perpetuate the urgency, a sense of the impromptu, the essence of spontaneity. It was as if we had hit upon a miraculous new formula, an amalgam of abandon and restraint.
My lover might take a different view, naturally, finding it less aesthetic but surely no less appealing or appetizing, not with her buried face still borrowing and her pointed tongue probing and her gluttonous mouth gorging on the goodies down there. An amalgam of cuntlapper and cunt; talk about miracles! There was beauty in the old formula too, a formula as ancient as time itself. Only I couldn't look any more as the top of my own head became a source of wonderment, about to blow like a geyser or burst into a thousand souvenir fragments to commemorate the occasion of my transcendence. But it was only an orgasm, of course, a bit premature but already predominant, and I lurched up and locked my legs hard around her head, squeezing out and gulping back all the goodies-and then some!-just as gluttonous in my own slippery way. Never underestimate the power of a cunt!
It was delightful. Even the unexpectedly short fuse of my climax was merely a minor disappointment; after all, I wasn't going anywhere tonight, this was only the beginning. Nothing so trivial could upset me now not while I looked forward to spending the night In such charming company. And in such auspicious circumstances. So obliging, this cunt-mired lover of mine! We might even got drunk and have ourselves a party. Or a trial honeymoon, perhaps. And then again well, we might just lie here like this and maintain our sculptural seamless unity to the point of sheer exhaustion-if I so desired. I probably wouldn't even have to ask. My indulgent hostess wasn't shy, just self-effacing.
Something penetrated my consciousness. I stirred languidly, no longer asleep and yet not quite awake. My nostrils twitched, affected by the scent that seemed to be drifting up, emanating from my own body. But that wasn't what had disturbed my slumber I was sure. My eyelids came unstuck and flickered open, but there was no sign of anything in the darkness. Nor did I feel anything down below down where everything had become almost painfully sensitized before we finally dropped off sometime during the night. What could it be then, the aftermath of a dream?
No. My mind was more alert now, less disoriented anyway, and the position of my body gave me a positive clue. I was lying on my side. There was something going on behind me, sure enough, my skin was reacting to it, breaking out in goose-bumps, no doubt; what was she doing, breathing down my neck? Well, no, not exactly, not if I was still naked, the angle was too direct, the impact of her breath too clearly defined…
Oooh, what now, a kiss?
Uh-huh. Midway between my shoulder blades, faint at first but apparently losing diffidence in its subsequent movement, an unhurried down sweep. She was trailing her lips along my spine, punctuating the prolonged caress with tiny darting dabs of the tip of her tongue. Ardor arose hot and thick within me, forcing an involuntary sob from my throat; at the same time I rolled forward instinctively to go face-down and smother the sound in my pillow, a course of conduct that seemed pretty stupid an instant later as the contact was inadvertently broken. It was a mistake to pull away like that and leave my lover in doubt, a mistake I had to rectify in a hurry.
"Florinda… sweet… "
"Hmm?"
"Are you for real?"
"Huh?"
"Don't stop. Or else I'll think it's just a dream."
"Oh. You darling… "
Her response was immediate, a renewal of the contact even as her voice continued its delighted murmur. She was still at it, still saying something, mumbling into my flesh now, but I couldn't decipher the flow of words. Nor was she trying to make me understand, really. It didn't matter, not to either of us; wasn't it an obvious case of actions speaking louder than words?
Anyway, I was sure glad to have that pillow handy. I buried my face in it, muffling a moan that might have risen to an ecstatic wail as she lavished a trail of kisses down the middle of my back and all but devastated me with the gliding caress of her bosom in that same slow sweep. It got so I couldn't tell which was affecting me more, her mouth or her mammaries, the trailing tongue or those advance guard tits. Or-intangible but just as exciting!-the direction of her movement and the thought of where it might lead, the noticeable if not quite believable goal.
My buttocks yielded and flattened.beneath the gradually encroaching pressure of her breasts. Softness mingled with softness and somehow became even softer, except for the stiff thrust of her still stiffening nipples, now almost abrasively harsh by contrast. Which only added to the thrill, of course, an unforeseen enhancement. I was almost disappointed when she continued on downward, sliding those big-nippled bazooms down the backs of my thighs and at last fitting them into the highly sensitive hollows behind each knee. Cause for a brand-new progression of thrills, it seemed-only there wasn't time for that now, not when the switch in position had already stunned me in to believing the unbelievable. My priorities were no longer in doubt, it was her tongue I needed, not her tits. It was her tongue that started my legs spreading and my ass squirming and my asshole sucking, squish-squish-squish, and I shuddered in a long spasmodic convulsion and practically saturated the pillow that no amount of biting could stanch the shrill wet squeals that squirted from my insides.
Vaguely, in my swirling sensuality, I knew that she was still being possessive. Wooing me, even worshiping me-and yet showing a kind of ownership. Staking a claim, as it. were, staking her claim to all of me, even in the midst of this admittedly novel demonstration of her ability to carry a lesbian wife across the golden thresh hold of eternity and bypass boredom on the way. But it wasn't anything I cared to dispute at the moment. If this was her proof of possession, I'd be happy to let her go on proving it all night. Just as long as she didn't change her tune, squish-squish-squish…