Shivering in sweet anticipation, Alison Laird sipped her wine and tried somewhat unsuccessfully to curb her impatience. Oh, it was going to be another wonderful night! Just like last time. And the time before. It got better and better with every date and already tonight's beginning seemed to be no exception.
Alison was naked. Naked and proud of her nudity, no longer the foolish little prude she had once been. Now she only wished her dear friend would hurry up and get naked, too. Her dear friend and darling lover! Not that Vera had far to go, with just those flimsy white panties on. Nothing else, nothing at all; even her bra was gone. Just that small pair of panties. But until the final garment came off, she would probably go on talking and telling stories more friend than lover, darn it. Or so it appeared. Only when they were both naked would the night's ecstasies truly begin.
Meanwhile, though, the passing moments weren't exactly dull. The woman was so interesting, so full of witty tales about her old life as an actress and model in the big city. Stories about film stars and nightclub singers, the gossipy world of celebrities and such. And other kinds of stories, too, the kind that might make even a more experienced listener giggle and blush some. Not dirty stories, really, only just a shade naughty. But exciting, of course, and mostly in a sexy way, despite the obvious humor. Until at last Alison had to stand up and stretch and walk around, too agitated to remain parked in one place.
She refilled both glasses, using that as an excuse to rise and move about. But once the wine was poured, she just couldn't go back to that same detached position. Instead, impulsively, she sank to the carpet in front of Vera's upholstered chair, beseeching permission with her eyes and then resting her head against a big soft thigh. Squirming a little, she got comfortably settled on the floor and on that satiny thigh; so delightful! before glancing up to beg indulgence once more.
"You don't mind, do you? My sitting here like this?"
"Silly baby. I love it. Hmm. Reminds me of a girl I used to know. Way back when. Horny little slave-girl… "
"Huh? A a slave-girl?"
"Umm, well, something like that."
"I I don't understand. Vera? Tell me about her. Was she one of the kids in those pajama parties?"
"Uh-huh. That's how it must have started, I guess, at a slumber party. Hard to recall exactly. Anyway, we soon got interested in having parties of our own private, just the two of us and that was when things became serious."
"What things? What do you mean, serious?"
"You know. Real lovey-dovey. But you don't want to hear about that, do you? Young girls cuddling together?"
"Just cuddling? You you did say she was a slave-girl, didn't you? That's what aroused my curiosity."
"Oh. That. Let me think. Hmm. Funny. I can't even remember her name. It was so long ago. My first romance. Even before I had a steady boyfriend. Pretty little blonde… "
"Blonde like me? Is that what reminded you?"
"Wait. It's all coming back now. Florence? Flossie? Flossie, sure, that was it. How we used to cuddle! Every day, right after school, sometimes at her house and sometimes mine. Only it wasn't just cuddling, of course. Not after… uh… "
"After what? Tell me, tell me."
"Honeybunch, I'm trying to. Only it's hard to remember. It just seemed to change, all of a sudden. Oh. I've got it. That first time the first time we changed direction, I mean. I was patting her cheek, just being affectionate, you know? And then she grabbed my hand and kissed it. I figured that was just showing some affection, too until she began licking me. With her tongue, all hot and wet and slippery, licking my hand; ooh, it felt nice. Only it wasn't just nice, not exactly, it was more of a dirty feeling, sexy but dirty kind of a dirty little thrill."
"Sounds weird. Sexy-dirty… "
"You said it. Weird. I sure liked it though, the way she was fawning over me. So what the hell, I just kicked off my sandals and told her to lick my feet, too. Just on an impulse. And she crouched right down and obeyed me, without even a whimper. Worshipping my feet the same as she had done to my hand. Both feet. Kissing them, one after the other. Sucking my toes into her mouth. Rubbing the soles against her face, her cheeks; talk about weird! Hey, look at my tits, the nipples popping out. See? I'll be damned. I'm getting excited just thinking about it."
"M-me too. Excited… " Alison squirmed, almost afraid to glance up, turning her gaze ever so slowly. The vision sent an even stronger excitement streaking through her. Those huge breasts, the nipples already encrusted with passion; was there ever anything so beautiful? "Your little blonde slave-girl must have been fun. Tell me more, huh?"
"My little blonde slave-girl. Yeah. And that was just what she looked like down there on her knees in front of me. Even then, that was how I thought of her. My slave. Someone to do my bidding, whatever I wanted… "
Vera's voice went on, somewhat indistinct now, murmuring to herself and then fading into reflective silence. A new noise became faintly audible, a rustle of motion. Alison gasped. Her excitement grew fierce, almost violent in nature. That hand right there before her eyes was it really happening? She couldn't see it clearly, of course, only as a big moving bump inside the white panties. Digging under the waistband and into that fleshy crotch. The fabric seemed tissue-thin now, stretched like that, sheer enough to show practically everything. The hairy auburn shadow. The pouting pubic bulge with its vertical gash, big, thick-lipped, parted and plundered by those marauding fingers…
"Hey! What are you staring at? My cunt?"
"C-cunt. Love your cunt, love it, love it. Cunt!"
"You're not so bashful any more, eh?" Vera was smiling coolly, an expression belied by her heavy-lidded blue eyes. And by the slow writhing of her buttocks on the cushioned chair. But her other hand lifted the wine glass for an almost unconcerned sip. "You want to suck it a little? Yeah. I guess you do."
"Let me, let me."
"Good girl. Don't worry, you'll get your chance. My cunt loves that pretty rosebud mouth of yours."
The half-hidden hand appeared suddenly, coming up out of its nest. An invitation perhaps? Alison waited hopefully. But no, it was only a casual caress, a benevolent gesture of approval, the moist fingers touching her face, tracing tiny curlicue patterns on her chin and cheeks. They reeked of female flesh in heat; did it have to be that hand? Was the glass too important to be set aside?
Then, abruptly, her momentary vexation melted as the impact of the sexy reek struck a responsive chord. If she couldn't suck cunt yet, wasn't this an intriguing substitute? Nice cunty hand. She kissed it. Nice cunty fingers. She sucked them into her mouth. And when they pinched her tongue and pulled, she followed their guidance and lowered her head with a sense of exhilaration, all but tasting the real thing itself. Nice cunty cunt…
"Through the panties. Suck me through the panties!"
Another delay? Would this torment never end? But then, somehow, the urgency in that throaty voice tapped a corresponding source of urgency somewhere deep in Alison's body, turning her complaint into a need for cooperation. Eagerly she lavished a mumbling myriad of kisses upon the gauzy material, adoring kisses that approached the intimate target with open-mouthed intensity. Or as close to her target as possible, anyhow the netlike nylon crotch, sex-drenched and sloppy and savory beyond belief! She munched it avidly, gluttonous now, no longer frustrated by the oddly exciting barrier; wasn't this just another novel idea from her novelty-conscious lover?
"My cunt now. Suck it! Get rid of those goddam panties and grab yourself a mouthful, baby."
A frantic tug, an equally frantic wriggle of hips that was all it took. At last! How soft it felt, infinitely softer than the softest fabric. Cunt. The real thing. With those voluptuous thighs rising to lock her in now, two big creamy bars of flesh-growing tight, tighter, penning her inside the delectable dungeon. How lovely to be doing it once again, loving her lover in this humble, terribly delicious way…
"Ouch! Take it easy, will you?"
"I I'm sorry."
"It's okay. Don't quit. No harm done."
"But what did I do wrong?"
"Never mind. Just be a bit more gentle, huh?"
"Vera? Teach me? Show me how? I do so much want to please you, make you happy. Won't you help me?"
"Some other time maybe. Don't worry about it. Besides, there's not that much for you to learn. You're a natural. A natural-born cuntlapper, you know? That horny blonde slave-girl of mine was better at licking my hand and my feet, of course but she couldn't suck this good. Not as good as you, darling."
Alison shuddered. It sounded kind of dirty, that name. Sexy, though, real sexy-dirty. But she was already awash in wet cunt, already adrift in the dreamy fulfillment of her newly discovered identity a cuntlapper, a natural-born cuntlapper! and wasn't it a thrill, a sexy-dirty little thrill?
It was only a dream, of course, but such a lovely dream! Judy stirred in her sleep and wondered how a dream could possibly seem so real. So vivid. So sexy! It was sure happening, though; wasn't this what the kids called a wet dream? The wettest of wet dreams. And her body was about to get what it craved so badly. If he would just hurry up and do it! Mike? Fuck me, fuck me? But no, this guy was much too slow, too cautious, nibbling at her neck so gently not like Mike at all nibbling at her neck and kind of inching down toward her tits. Rocco? Eddie? Oh shit, they weren't that slow either. Any one of those guys would have been slipping his meat into her by now. Slipping it in and socking it home, right where she needed it most, right up her craving cunt. Come on, whoever you are, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me!
Not that this guy was so awful, really. Pretty nice in that gentle way of his. But why didn't he identify himself? Judy thought about opening her eyes and taking a quick look. But wouldn't that mean the end of the dream, the end of everything? She didn't dare risk it. Especially since that nice warm mouth had reached her breasts at last, sucking now, suctioning, pulling a nipple between those clever lips. No interruptions, then. Let it go on and on like this, even if she never got fucked. Although he was bound to get around to it eventually, wasn't he?
Well, no, maybe not. Where was that mouth moving to? There? Is he going to suck my cunt? That settled it. Judy knew who her dream-lover was. The old guy, the neighborhood fishqueen, the queer old fart who used to pay her and then go down on it. Ten bucks a crack, that was the standard rate. And there were cracks a-plenty, too every young slut on the block must have tried him at least once; ten bucks wasn't bad for a few minutes' work. Or a few minutes' relaxation, better yet. Even fun, sometimes. How that horny old bastard could eat pussy! He loved it. And an awful lot of pussies loved being eaten, her own included.
But wasn't it weird to be dreaming of him now? Dreaming of a fishqueen? Judy moaned and sank deeper into her comatose state, snuffing out the intrusive spark of consciousness that had aroused her curiosity. That lapping tongue was already on its way. Let her body be aroused, not her sleep-happy mind. Her flesh felt hot and steamy down there, opening in readiness as the ever-gentle hands parted and positioned her thighs. Ah! Yes. Now. What a deliciously dreamy delirium!
It was better than the real thing, somehow. Could that be possible? A dream-tongue better than a real one? The lecherous old John had never been this great. She had to tell him so. That tongue of his, so soft and moist and slippery inside her cunt; oh shit, she just had to let him know how good it was. Even if it was only a wet dream. And she reached out then, her hands groping, flailing, making contact with the bowed head…
Is it still a dream?
Again she refused to open her eyes. Anyway, how could she see in the darkness of night? But the dream sure seemed different all of a sudden. Only now she couldn't even feel, much less see. One touch was enough a touch of that unfamiliar head of hair! and now even her hands refused to investigate any further, breaking the contact and jerking away instantaneously, almost a reflex action. But that was the only broken contact, just her hands, her still-shaky hands, shaky from the shock of that one touch. Her dream-lover remained in control of everything else. And the revelation that her lover was female seemed to intensify all of it enormously.
Uh-huh. Female. No mistake about that. Unfamiliar as it was, that head of hair had been its own identification. Soft and silky and utterly beautiful. Auburn, of course, what else? Even in the inky darkness of this night or of this dream? there wasn't much doubt about the color. Such a lovely, lustrous auburn. She should have known, really. Vera Carlisle had at last come to call. And wasn't it nice to be doing it like this, her lesbian seduction swathed in the dark mystery of a dream? An ease to embarrassment. But then again, well, what could one expect from the hostess of this practically perfect hideout?
Judy sighed in drowsy languor, a faintly audible token of her appreciation. That tongue was so good. A thousand times better than anything the old ten-buck fishqueen had to offer. She was beginning to understand now. Only a woman could truly know where a woman's desires and responses and sensitivities lay buried. And if that sounded like lezzie propaganda, so be it! What more proof did she need? Her body had already aligned itself with the cause, dancing dreamily to the tune of that omniscient tongue-tip, aware of the coming climax. It was even better asleep, somehow, asleep and yet infinitely alive to every exquisite nuance of the prolonged sensation like swimming nude in an unfathomable ocean of bliss. But there were some hazards here, too, dangerous undercurrents to watch out for, a certain peril even in the midst of all this sweet pleasure. Maybe it was wrong to enjoy it so much. Did she dare brave the undertow of lesbianism as a permanent way of life?
It was a chilling thought. She mulled it over momentarily, trying to dissociate her responsible mind from her irresponsible body, hoping for a detached viewpoint. But she was already too late, aware now of her thumping heart and wheezing lungs as though that diabolically cunning tongue had cast a spell upon her. Too late, too late! She didn't want to feel like this, so subject to someone else's whim. Especially in a sexual situation. She would have been more comfortably familiar feeling it under her own control.
But that had become impossible; there wasn't the faintest spark of the old dynamic power left, not even a wistful whisper of resistance. The rapturous sweep was too potent. That tongue was almost too good, tormenting her with its serpentine skill, slithering up and down the pouty lips of her pussy now, flicking fiendishly at her oversensitive clitoris and then poking around lower and plunging into the depths. Into the slick clasp of her hot-to-trot cunt. She could only squirm in response and quit worrying about the hidden currents in her otherwise blissful sea.
No matter. Danger only doubled the excitement. She would have braved anything at this point. And anyway, it was already here hot tongue, hot cunt, hot climax! her spasm of sweet ecstasy. Sweeter than she had known in all her adolescent years. Sweeter by far than those pallid pastimes she had indulged in with Mike and Rocco and Eddie. Not to mention that fucked-up old fish-queen. Or the kids at the reformatory. Oh, it was sweet, all right, an orgasm of flawless perfection in keeping with the rest of this well-nigh perfect place, naturally. She had anticipated nothing less. And it was so nice to feel relaxed and contented once again, just letting this dreamy aftermath lose its glow and fade slowly into the dark velvet oblivion of dreamless sleep…
The morning sun awakened her, filtering through the blinds to chafe her eyelids with the announcement of its solar presence, the dawn of a brand-new day. Judy hugged herself happily. Such a beautiful day! Until she sat up and reached down to scratch an intimate itch and found a stray hair clinging to the bed sheet. A black hair. Black? Very black. And then it didn't seem so nice any more, this beautiful new day, starting off with a suddenly queasy stomach and an impetuous headlong rush for the bathroom to vomit her guts out. Not a very good day at all.