My Blog
 
Welcome to my blog!
Keywords | Title View | Refer to a Friend |
Ouch
Posted:Jul 21, 2019 4:06 am
Last Updated:Jul 22, 2019 5:32 am
324 Views

Whoever said that exercise was good for you never had friction burn on their cock,

Chaffed nipples from running I can deal with but my cock rubbing against my shorts whilst swimming!!!! Aaaggghhh!!!
5 Comments
Frustrating
Posted:Jul 19, 2019 11:05 am
Last Updated:Jul 28, 2019 8:35 am
274 Views

So on and off I’ve been on this site for a very long time, both as a paying & non paying member, I’ve had a lot of fun and laughs communicating with other people on here, but now it seems that if you don’t pay then you can’t even IM anyone.. I could accept it when it was reduced from unlimited messages to just a few but now not to even let you answer IM’s from paying members.... aaaagggghhhhhhh

Anyway rant over
Have fun
Ice
5 Comments
A magical encounter
Posted:Nov 5, 2017 6:13 am
Last Updated:Aug 26, 2019 3:43 am
368 Views

Last week I found a person with a magically naughty imagination who has a way with words that has got me so horny that I get hard just from seeing that she is on-line
0 Comments
Webcam problems
Posted:Oct 29, 2017 7:26 am
Last Updated:Aug 26, 2019 3:43 am
387 Views

Can anyone help, seems my webcam has decided to stop working in the instant messenger environment, all I get when I try to activate it is a grey screen.. the active x is up to date and my cam works if I want to upload a video and works on other platforms...

Anyone any ideas??
0 Comments
Apologies
Posted:Oct 29, 2017 4:08 am
Last Updated:Aug 26, 2019 3:43 am
383 Views

Hi sorry I’ve not posted an update or a story recently but I have been away and been busy at work and stuff, will get posting soon
0 Comments
Another story
Posted:Aug 16, 2017 1:06 pm
Last Updated:Aug 26, 2019 3:43 am
677 Views

Again I can't remember who wrote this story but who ever it was thankyou.. and here it is for everyone else to enjoy

************************************************************************

If you didn't know her, your first impression of Sonya would be that she'd descended from a long and particularly prestigious line of varsity cheerleaders. Tanned, blonde, and sporty—she struck that perfect balance between fit and curvy. But she didn't get her figure from shaking pom-poms at some football game, no sir. She got it from fencing. From stabbing people, competitively. She had a gift for it.

That's how we first met, actually—she joined the university fencing team with me during our second year of college after transferring from overseas. The guys and the girls competed separately but trained together, and I'm happy to say that I fell in love the very first time Sonya jabbed her foil into my breastbone. She beat me without giving up a single point, then tore off her mask and shook out her long, wavy hair.

"You're really good," she said, further charming me with her adorable Australian accent.

I was still trying to figure out how I'd been so thoroughly bested by an opponent six inches shorter than me. "I know I'm good. You're just much, much better."

Sonya scrunched up her face into a guilty smile.

"I'm Michael," I said, extending my hand. But instead of accepting the handshake, Sonya raised her blade, taunting me:

"You wanna try again? Who knows, you might get lucky."

I DID get lucky. Not in the next match, mind you (she kicked my ass again, just as thoroughly as she had before), no, I got lucky later that night, after she invited me back to her dorm room to watch the big swordfight from Scaramouche.

We hit it off so well, we wound up hardly paying any attention to the movie. I couldn't believe how compatible we were. We could practically finish each other's sentences.

She was like a wild, glowing ball of light. Feisty and earnest. Bouncy, flouncy fun. Filled to the brim with art and ideas and an endless supply of energy. And for whatever reason, she was every bit as smitten with me as I was with her. I had never been so happy to lose a fencing match.

By two in the morning, Sonya and I were busy practicing a very different type of thrusting. She was moaning incoherently while I plunged into her from behind, sheathing myself to the hilt inside her warm body. I scooped up those deliciously soft tits in my hands and squeezed...

Sonya cried out in sharp ecstasy—her voice so fucking sexy—that boiling hot body, trembling in my arms—

I pulled out, roaring like an animal as I erupted all over her perfectly formed ass.

When Sonya and I both drifted back down to earth, we turned and saw her roommate standing awkwardly in the doorway, still clutching her keys. Eyes wide open...

At that moment, something snapped inside of us. Suddenly, having somebody else to watch became the biggest aphrodisiac imaginable. The following evening, right after fencing practice, Sonya dragged me into the girls' shower room, plopped me down on the bench inside, and promptly straddled my cock with her beautiful, naked body. Not a second later, all the other girls on the team strolled innocently inside and found Sonya riding me. Most of them ran off, giggling and shrieking, but two of the girls got such a kick out of our little exhibitionist display, they actually stayed to watch us finish.

After that, our little "shows" became commonplace around campus. We became minor celebrities at school, even had a few jokes written about us in the school newspaper.

Sonya was the love of my life, and we were inseparable for the remainder of our college years. We studied together, we ate together, we even tried to survive that awful P90X workout thing together—so it went without saying that we were gonna move in together after graduating.

But then, at the last minute, the school randomly changed its mind and determined that two of Sonya's transfer credits would no longer count towards her degree. Apparently "Semantic Linguistics" wasn't "real" science. Try taking THAT awesome little piece of irony out for a test drive.

We were kind of fucked. The news came so late in the semester, Sonya and I had already signed the year-long lease on our new apartment—across the country in CALIFORNIA. I had a job there, waiting for me to start in a matter of weeks.

So, much as it sucked, our only option was to date long-distance for the summer. Actually, it wasn't even the whole summer, just eight weeks. It was far from ideal, but we'd survive. How hard could it be?

Very, as it turns out. VERY hard. Like, throbbing, engorged, non-stop Viagra-type hard. I found that out on my very first day on the job.

CHAPTER 1 -- MY VERY FIRST DAY ON THE JOB

They called me the "Inter-Departmental Liaison," but really, my responsibilities were basically limited to hauling shit up and down the stairs and driving it back and forth across town, because the two guys who owned the company refused to work in the same building as one another.

Still, I couldn't complain. The pay was absurdly high for what I was doing, and for a guy just out of college it was a great entry-level opportunity to learn the business; meet the vendors, get the lay of the land, and get a sense for how things worked in the real world.

Like I said, I had two bosses, in two different offices, on opposite sides of town. My boss at Site A was Jerry—an older guy who actually made the effort to personally introduce me to everybody. Most of them acknowledged me with little more than a meager, monotone, "Hey." I wasn't particularly taken with any of them.

At least, that's how I felt until Jerry introduced me to—

"Mike, this is Claire, my assistant. She'll be your primary contact here at Site A."

Holy shit.

I tried to play it cool as the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen in my life rose from her desk to greet me. She swept back a few strands of short, copper-colored hair and smiled thinly, giving me a quick once-over with her piercing, ice-blue eyes. Maybe five or six years older than me, Claire had a cool sophistication that would have looked right at home on the cover of a Paris fashion magazine.

"Nice to meet you, Michael."

There was something cold about the way she smiled at me. Sure, it was polite—but it felt deliberately polite. As if she wanted me to know that it required actual effort for her to be nice to me.

Regardless of her frosty personality, there was no denying that the woman was a knockout. Tall, slim, immaculately dressed in a tight pencil skirt that showed off long, exquisitely toned legs. And—because Claire had apparently won the proverbial Puberty Super Lotto—she was top-heavy as well, filling out her designer blouse with a set of big, succulent tits, wholly undeserved on such an otherwise slender body.

The more I thought about it, I decided maybe it was a good thing Claire wasn't warmer towards me. Given that my girlfriend would be out of town for the next two months, the last thing I needed was some gorgeous woman flirting with me for four hours a day.

Which, of course, is exactly what I got with Tami.

She was my contact across town at Site B.

Having grown up in Seattle, Tami brought with her a fun-loving, rock and roll sense of style. She was about 22 years old and at least partially Japanese-American, but she was about as far from the cliché "demure, petite Asian flower" as you could possibly imagine: wild, friendly, and incorrigibly flirtatious.

She also had curves like you wouldn't believe. A soft, voluptuous body with a nicely plump ass and—

And... and...

Damn.

Her tits were huge. Like, same-size-as-her-entire-head huge. Tami had the sort of breasts that invited comparisons to the largest available items at your local produce department.

I silently reminded myself not to drool.

"Hi, I'm—"

"Mike, right?"

She jumped up from her desk and bounced across the room to meet me. I extended a hand to greet her, but Tami just swatted it aside and instead gave me a full-on hug—crushing the entirety of those unbearably soft tits against my body.

As she hugged me, Tami whispered, "I can't tell you how great it is to finally meet you! There are NO people my age at Site B, they're all like fifty or sixty. I have nobody to talk to. Imagine how stoked I was when I found out the new IDL was gonna be some cute, young guy!"

Aw crap. Did she really just say "cute?"

By the time I got home from that first day of work, I knew I was in trouble. My muscles ached from carrying boxes up stairs all day, and yet I was still sporting an erection that wouldn't go away. I couldn't believe my situation. Eight hours of each day—half my waking life—I was gonna be working alongside the two sexiest women I had ever laid eyes on.

And here I was, without my girlfriend for another TWO MONTHS. The sexual frustration was gonna be intolerable.

As I staggered up to my front door and fumbled to get my key in the lock, I consoled myself with the knowledge that I would only have to deal with Tami and Claire while I was at work. At least once I was off the clock, I wouldn't have to—

"Mike?"

It was Tami's voice. I looked up to see her and Claire standing in the hall, three doors down from my apartment.

"What are you guys doing here?" I asked.

"We live here," Claire curtly replied. "We're roommates."

Tami shook her head in disbelief, laughing, "Is that really your apartment?"

"Yeah, I moved in last night..."

"I can't believe it! What are the odds? We're gonna be neighbors!"

Oh, great.

An hour later, I finally reconnected with Sonya via webcam, and even over the computer she could see how flustered I was.

"What's wrong, honey?"

"I just... I just REALLY wish you were here."

She grinned and told me how sweet I was. God, she was beautiful. I reminded myself that I really was a lucky bastard to have a woman like her in my life.

Then the building's electricity went out.

No lights, no computer, and no way to charge my cell phone's dead battery. But worst of all? No air-conditioning. It was the middle of summer, and the temperature in my apartment quickly rose to over 100 degrees.

Luckily—or unluckily, depending on how you look at it—our apartment complex had a pool. My swim trunks were still packed away god knows where, but I figured the black boxer-briefs I had on were modest enough to go out in public. So I stripped to my undies, headed down to the pool, and dove into the cool blue water as fast as I could.

It wasn't as crowded as you'd think, given the insane heat. All told, there were only six other people in the water when I went down there. There were two little wearing floaties, their parents, an eighty-year-old woman in a mumu who just wanted to get her feet wet, and some creepy-looking older guy with a burgundy speedo and a big gold chain around his neck.

I tried my best not to think about the contributions those two little were making to the chemical composition of the water as I floated on my back, enjoying the sensation of weightlessness. At last, a bit of relaxation after a long day of carrying heavy shit up and down flights of stairs.

One by one, the others got up and left the pool area, until only me and the old woman remained. Unbidden, my mind started conjuring up some predictably racy thoughts about my two beautiful coworkers/neighbors. Tami and Claire... I idly wondered what Sonya would think of the pair of them when she finally moved out here in a couple months. Would she be weirded-out when she realized I'd been in such close, constant proximity to two world-class specimens of sexy? Or even jealous?

No, that would be silly. Sonya wasn't the jealous type, anyway, and it's not like she expected me to spend the rest of my life with blinders on, not even noticing when another attractive women crossed my path. Hell, there's no crime in just LOOKING at the two of them, is there? Course not! Just so long as looking was all I did, and nothing else.

NOTHING else.

No matter how badly I wanted to.

Clang! The pool gate slammed shut. I lazily spun my head to see who was joining me at the pool—

And there they were, strolling towards me. My two gorgeous tormentors, their delicious bodies wrapped up in beach towels. I threw them a friendly smile and a casual wave of my hand, trying to play it cool and not let on that my heart was already doing somersaults in my chest in anticipation of what I was going to see when those towels came off.

Please be bikinis, please be bikinis, please be bikinis...

Don't be weird, brain.

"How's the water?" Claire asked politely.

"Wet," I grinned.

"Works for me!" Tami cheered, and she promptly dropped her towel.

Her suit wasn't a bikini, but I wasn't gonna complain about the view. Hot damn, those curves of hers were fantastic. She had on a blinding white one-piece that stretched across her luscious body like a second skin.

She took a running leap into the water, and my cock was already granite hard by the time she popped up for air and swiped the long, wet strands of hair off her smiling face.

"Whoo!" Tami cheered, then spun to face her still-dry friend. "Get in, it feels great!"

But Claire just circled along the edge of the pool, over to the shallow end, and dipped in her toe to test the temperature.

Tami turned to me with a conspiring grin, "She's kind of a chicken."

"I am not a chicken," Claire huffed impatiently. "I just don't like diving into ice cold water without checking the temperature first."

Tami burst out laughing, "How could the water be ice cold, girl? It's a million bajillion degrees in the shade. We're lucky this pool isn't boiling our pretty asses like lobsters."

Claire ignored her and went to strip off her beach towel—but she stopped at the last second, quickly giving me an appraising glance. From the look in her eyes, it was obvious why she was hesitant: Claire was wondering if it would make things awkward at work if I saw her in whatever skimpy outfit she had decided to wear to the pool.

I decided to make things easy on her and looked away, diving for fun down to the bottom of the pool and paddling around, hoping the exercise might do something to bring down my outrageous erection. No luck.

As I popped back up to the surface, I saw Claire's towel strewn across the side of the pool, and reflexively spun to catch a quick glimpse of her glorious, fair-skinned body as it slipped gracefully beneath the water.

Unlike Tami, Claire had decided to wear a two-piece; an itty-bitty little nothing of a suit. The top was gold, just a bit of string and a pair of positively immodest triangles to support the soft flesh of her tits. I didn't get a great look at the bottoms, but they were pink and pearlescent, and the way they were cut really did a great job of showing off Claire's incredibly tight ass and long, lithe legs.

As I tried to start a conversation with them, I silently wondered what they thought of me thus far. I consider myself a decently good-looking guy, and between the fencing team and my fairly active lifestyle, I've always kept in pretty good shape. Still, I didn't begin to approach these girls on the hotness scale, and I seriously doubted they'd been fantasizing about me all day the way I'd been fantasizing about them.

Still, what if one of them was interested in me? Okay, yeah, Claire definitely wasn't, with her icy smile and curt handshake—but what about Tami? She had called me "cute" at the office, and there was no mistaking all that flirting (and no way in hell was that girl unaware of the effect her "friendly" hugs had on me, rubbing those great big titties of hers all over my chest).

Maybe she was just a tease, but I figured it would probably be a good idea if I found a way to subtly drop the fact that I was in a serious relationship sooner rather than later. Who knows? It might even make Claire loosen up around me. Yeah. I should definitely slip my girlfriend's existence into the conversation.

"Does the power go out here often?" I asked instead.

"Oh my god, lately it's been happening all the time!" Tami answered.

Claire added, "Too many people running their air conditioners at once, we think. But we've only got one building manager who can fix stuff and he's only here in the morning."

Tami caught me checking her out, and shot me a naughty smile. "Good thing we have this pool to keep cool in the heat. I bet we'll be bumping into you down here a lot this summer."

She emphasized "bumping into" by literally bumping her body against mine.

Yeah, okay, she's definitely hitting on you, Mike. Better mention your girlfriend.

Tami continued treading water beside me, and I did my best to ignore the way her breasts were swaying beneath the water.

Her name's Sonya, remember? You've been dating for three years. Love of your life? Tell these girls you're off the market!

Was it just me, or had Tami's swimsuit turned just a touch more transparent than it had been before, when it was dry? In retrospect, I really wasn't doing a very good job of maintaining eye-contact.

Actually, I thought to myself, what's the hurry? So this girl is flirting with you, there's no harm in that. She's super hot and it's not every day a girl who looks like this makes a pass at you. Maybe you should just leave it be, for the moment. Tami's having fun, why put a damper on it? And Sonya's not even in the same state as you, she wouldn't get hurt if you flirted back a little, would she? It's not like you're gonna let anything ACTUALLY happen here.

You're not gonna ACTUALLY bring Tami back to your apartment and strip that wet bathing suit off of her body with your teeth. You're not gonna ACTUALLY slip a finger between her legs just so you can hear her moan while you spend hours licking and sucking on her heaving breasts. You're not gonna ACTUALLY fuck her senseless, in every possible position and on every available surface in your home.

Sure, you probably COULD do all that. If you really wanted to. I mean, she is clearly hitting on you...

"My girlfriend's gonna be so pissed when she finds out about these power outages," I hurriedly blurted out. The words sounded more forced and desperate than they probably should have. "She and I already signed a year lease."

Tami kept smiling, but I saw a bit of the wind go out of her sails. She quietly let herself drift a few feet further from me in the pool, for propriety's sake.

Claire, on the other hand, suddenly looked like a completely different person. She hadn't shown me a genuine smile even once, all day—but as soon as she heard me say the words "my girlfriend," she instantly relaxed. She started acting friendly—even silly. It made me wonder if her whole icy persona wasn't just some sort of subconscious defense mechanism she'd evolved to defend against constantly getting hit on at work.

The girls insisted I tell them about Sonya—she was going to be their neighbor too, after all—and so I laid out the facts of our whole frustrating, long-distance situation.

"Eight weeks without seeing each other? That's awful!" Tami said.

"Tell me about it."

"Do you even know anybody else out here?" Claire asked, frowning. "Or are you all by yourself until then?"

"Well, I don't exactly plan to spend the summer holed-up in my apartment with the curtains drawn—but no, I don't really know anybody out here. Not yet, anyway. Haven't quite figured out what I'm gonna do for a social life now that I'm officially a Californian."

My eyes travelled back and forth between the two women in the pool with me: Tami—short, curvy, and cute. Claire—tall, slender, and striking. Each of them ridiculously, impossibly beautiful in her own way.

I laughed, "Although, I suppose I could have had a worse first night here than meeting the two of you."
"Aww!" Tami giggled. "Don't worry, we'll be your friends. We might as well get to know each other, if we're all gonna be working together, right?"

And with that, she surprised me with another of her big-breasted hugs. The soft curve of her hip rubbed up against my still-raging erection, and Tami's eyes widened at the sensation. Then, with her back to Claire, Tami gave me a brief, secretive wink.

"Anyway, it's getting late, we've gotta make dinner soon," Claire sighed, pointing up at the now inky black sky above us.

They both headed off and I stayed behind in the pool for a few minutes, waiting for my penis to calm down before I hopped back on dry land with a boner in full view of my neighbors. When I finally did emerge from the water, I realized that the 80-year-old woman was still sitting at the side of the pool, serenely poking at the water with her toes.

She looked a bit lost, so I walked over to her and asked, "How are you doing? Everything okay?"

"Oh, I'm just thinking," she said.

"Thinking about what?"

She turned to me, her eyes glinting with knowing mischief: "Thinking about how nice it would be if I could still fill out a bathing suit as well as those two friends of yours. Once upon a time, you know."

I just nodded, having no idea how in hell I was gonna respond to that. She saw my discomfort and chuckled genially. "Well, well, well. Mister big handsome man spends all evening flirting with two beautiful girls, but he gets all tongue-tied trying to talk to an old woman."

"Seems to be the case," I smirked.

"Did I overhear you say you're girlfriend is out of town for a few weeks?"

"Yeah."

"Well then, , I suggest you hurry home and rub one out before you do something incredibly stupid. I know how a young man's mind works, believe me."

Blushing all the way down to my most vestigial internal organs, I nodded my thanks and, still naked except for my wet boxer briefs, I hurried back to my apartment, fully intending to do just as she suggested. Thank god for jacking off; the world's single greatest vaccination against infidelity—

I'd locked myself out.

In my hurry to get downstairs to the pool, I had left my keys inside, with the doorknob bolt locked out of habit. Now I was stuck out here, in the dark, with no phone, no keys, no wallet, and no clothes.

With a sigh, I realized there was only one thing to do...

...

"Michael?" Claire greeted me at the door to her apartment, now dressed in a pair of tiny cotton shorts and a simple grey camisole with no bra. She reflexively draped an arm across her swinging tits, soon as she saw me. Regardless, she was more covered-up at the moment than I was.

The girls had set up a few dozen candles around their apartment to combat the power outage, giving the space a soft, romantic feel. I heard the shower running and could only assume Tami was rinsing all the chlorine out of her hair.

Blushing, I said, "Hi, Claire. So, I'm really sorry about this, but it turns out I'm actually a huge idiot and... I locked myself out of my apartment."

Way to score points with your new coworkers, genius.

Claire moved aside and gestured for me to come in.

"Don't worry about it, it's happened to all of us at some point or another." She glanced down at my nearly naked body, and then added, "Albeit not in quite such a vulnerable state, I would imagine. Let me get you a towel or something to cover up."

She turned away and headed towards the bathroom, giving me a frustrating eye-full of her long legs and drum-tight butt. Just as she reached for the knob, the bathroom door swung open and, totally oblivious to my presence, Tami stepped out into the hallway, toweling off her long, black hair.

She was beautifully, utterly, naked.

For a split second, time froze. My jaw dropped open as I drank in the sight of her: Warm, smooth skin. Full, proud hips framing a tiny patch of pubic hair she had shaved into the shape of a heart. Her breasts—well, I almost fainted. I'd spent the better part of the past eight hours fantasizing about what Tami would look like topless, and I gotta admit my imagination didn't begin to do her justice.

As she toweled off her hair, the motion caused her entire chest to shake back and forth.

"Tami!" Claire shouted.

The beautiful, naked girl suddenly realized I was standing in her living room, gawking at her stupendous tits, and we both spun away at the same time, mortified.

There was nothing for it but to laugh. After I heard the door slam shut again, I called out, "Can I turn around now?"

"Yes, coast is clear!"

Claire was on-hand to pass me a large towel, which I gratefully accepted. As I went to cover myself up, I noticed her icy blue eyes dip south—just for an instant—checking out the way my cock was straining against the clinging damp fabric of my briefs.

Tami came out to join us a minute later, red in the face and fully dressed. She made a beeline for the freezer.

"Tamm, the power's out!" Claire cried. "You're gonna let out all the cold air."

"Would you please relax? I for one think we've all earned a sip or two of this."

She retrieved an ice-cold bottle of vodka from the freezer. "How about you, Michael? You look like you need a drink as badly as I do."

Bad idea, I told myself. Don't get drunk, not when your girlfriend's on the other side of the country and the only thing standing between you and the two hottest women on earth is a pair of boxer-briefs. DO NOT DRINK.

Before I could answer, Tami thrust a coffee mug into my hands, half-filled with neat, chilled vodka. The cold rush of air when she'd opened the freezer had perked up her nipples, which were now staring me in the face.

Yes, I should have politely declined the drink, but I was only 22 years old and the idea of turning down free booze was completely alien to me. Instead, I just thanked her and immediately downed about three shots of the stuff.

Tami plopped down beside me on the sofa and took a long sip from her own cup. "Sorry for, like, accidentally flashing you just now."

"I'm sorry for looking."

"Well then, here's to being sorry!" Tami raised her glass, and we both drowned the awkwardness with another swig of vodka.

The girls let me use their phones, but as expected the building manager couldn't be reached and wouldn't be on-site until the morning. I considered calling a locksmith, but Tami absolutely forbade me on the grounds that it was way too expensive.

"You can just crash here tonight," she said, earning a wary look from Claire.

"I can't impose on you guys that much, I only just met you."

Tami squinted comically at me, tapping her chin in thought. "Then we'll just have to find some way for you to make it up to us. You look like you're pretty strong, I'll bet you could barter a night on our couch in return for giving us back rubs."

Claire practically spat out her drink. "Tami! Come on, we work with him! Try to be a little more professional, would you?"

"He's seen my boobs, girl. I think it's a bit late for that. Besides, if you were really so concerned with being 'professional,' you would have gone into your room and put on a bra the second he walked in the door. Don't even pretend like you didn't realize."

Claire reflexively covered her chest and took a deep drink from her cup. "I guess a back rub would be okay," she said, meekly.

Okay, Mike. This is your brain. You've had a fun evening ogling and flirting with these two women, but I'm finally drawing a line in the fucking sand. You are not, under any circumstances, going to get drunk and spend the night giving Tami and Claire back massages. You are gonna pick up that phone, call a locksmith, and when he arrives you are gonna go inside your apartment, jerk off, and go to sleep. Okay?

Wait—is that lasagna I smell cooking?

Turns out, Claire could cook a mean lasagna. They offered me a piece if, in return, I agreed to throw in a foot massage for each of them before we all went to bed.

So we drank, and ate, and generally had a very nice evening cracking jokes about what had transpired.

"So Mike, has that ever happened to you?" Tami asked. "Like, a member of the opposite sex unexpectedly walks in on you naked?"

"Well... I probably shouldn't say."

They both egged me on to tell them the story, so, with the courage of alcohol flowing through my veins, I recounted for them my first time with Sonya, and how hot it had been when her roommate had accidentally walked in on us.

"Oh my god, how embarrassing!" Claire cried out.

"Actually, that's the weird part—it really wasn't. Sonya and I have no shame when it comes to that stuff. It just got us more excited than ever."

"Really?" Tami asked.

"Absolutely. I mean, think about it—obviously it was pretty awkward earlier today when I saw you walk out of the shower. But didn't it also give you like, at least a little bit of a charge? I mean it's not like you've got anything to be ashamed of."

Tami blushed an even deeper red, but she nodded.

"I guess... it was kind of fun."

She glanced nervously at Claire, then turned back to face me, her cheeks flushed with excitement.

"Michael, Claire and I need to discuss something in private for a moment, if you don't mind."

I nodded dumbly as the two of them got up and silently walked into one of the bedrooms. I heard urgent muffled whispers coming through the door, but I couldn't make out a single word.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Claire emerged, alone. Her blue eyes met mine, and with the same cold, detached expression she'd worn when we'd first met, she whispered, "I'd like to have my backrub now."

Without further explanation, Claire stretched out facedown across the couch cushions, her long legs and swimsuit-model butt just begging to be looked at.

"Where's Tami?" I asked.

"She's changing into her pajamas."

Casually as I could manage, I knelt beside her and slowly pressed my fingers into the muscles on Claire's back, rubbing through her camisole. I tried to convince myself that what I was doing wouldn't upset Sonya. It was just a back massage, after all. This was perfectly innocent. True, I was enjoying myself—growing more than a little excited at the feel of Claire's beautiful body in my hands—but what harm was there in enjoying myself?

Her muscles felt unbelievably tense beneath my touch, and I told her as much.

"Stress," she explained. "Had a lot on my mind lately."

"Like what?"

Instead of answering me, she just asked me to focus more on her shoulders. I silently obliged, wondering why Tami was taking such long time to put on those pajamas.

"I think she likes you," she said at last. The dejected tone in her voice was unmistakable.

"Who?"

"You know who. Tami. I think she's gonna try to make a move on you tonight."

My hands froze in the middle of her back.

Suddenly, my head was spinning, and not just from all the vodka I'd consumed. Since I'd started dating Sonya, I'd been hit on by other women plenty of times—but this was the first case where I felt like something might actually happen; the first time I actually, genuinely felt tempted to go for it. The memory of Tami's naked body flashed through my mind and I felt my gut tighten.

I honestly didn't know what I was going to do.

Claire rolled onto her side, her blue eyes imploring, "Listen, your personal life and what you choose to do are none of my business, but please just do me a favor."

"Sure."

"You wouldn't know it to look at her, but Tami just got through a really awkward breakup with her last boyfiend, and she's going through a pretty rough time right now. If you DO wind up like, doing stuff with her—please treat her well. Treat her like a princess. She deserves it, she's..." Claire looked away from me, her voice breaking as she finished her thought. "She's a special girl."

I nodded in agreement, and went back to kneading Claire's back. So Tami's on the rebound, I thought to myself. That explains why she's been so flirty and aggressive all day.

"Nothing's gonna happen between us," I assured Claire, though the words didn't sound particularly confident.

A huge sigh of relief poured out of Claire, and she finally let herself enjoy the massage. The soft moans of pleasure she kept making as I rubbed her body did nothing to slow my racing pulse.

"I'm sorry to get all serious on you like that, Michael. Please don't be offended, I just can't stand the thought of seeing her hurt anymore."

I decided to change the subject:

"So Tami's newly single, but how about you? What's your relationship status?"

Claire frowned, considering for a moment how best to phrase her answer. "Unrequited," she sighed at last.

"What, is he married or something?"

"No, there's nobody else in the picture right now."

"You mean, you've got feelings for some guy, but he's not interested in you? I have trouble believing that, Claire. You're about the most beautiful woman I've met in my entire life. Not to mention, you're smart, a good friend, and a good Samaritan to stupid people who lock themselves out of their apartments."

"Ha! Thank you, Michael. You're sweet. But sadly it is the way it is."

I looked at her in the candlelight, our eyes meeting for an instant.

"If it was me," I whispered, "and I was single, there's no way I would ever be able to turn you down."

She smiled, kissed me quickly on the cheek, and then got to her feet.

"I'm off to bed, see you in the morning. We'll have the building manager let you back into your apartment. Thanks for the back rub."

She strolled over to Tami's bedroom and opened the door:

"Okay, honey. He's all yours."

She threw me a final, inscrutable look, and disappeared into her own room, closing the door behind her.

For sixty unbearably long seconds, nothing happened. I just sat there on the floor, alone in the dim, flickering light, breathing nervously. Then Tami opened her bedroom door and walked into view.

My heart jumped into my throat. She had changed into her "pajamas" alright—though that word typically conjures up images of long-sleeved, button-down flannel tops—not the tiny, pink satin camisole she wore stretched over those massive tits. The scooping neckline was trimmed with white lace, and the whole affair hung limply from a pair of the dinkiest little spaghetti straps I'd ever seen. No support to speak of; her soft, round breasts bounced and swayed totally unsupported beneath the material.

Her bottoms looked like nothing more than a delicate ribbon of pink lace, doing nothing to deter my imagination.

"Wow," I moaned, provoking a big, self-satisfied smile on her adorable face.

"Just the sort of reaction a girl likes to get from a handsome man."

"You look... amazing."

My mouth hung open with arousal as she confidently crossed the room, closing the distance between us. Soon as she reached me, she leaned forward—giving me a torturous eyeful of her heavy, hanging cleavage—and yanked the towel off from around my waist.

I was too dumbstruck to move. We both looked down at my iron bar of a cock, jutting angrily out through the waistband of my boxers.

Her voice was sweet and sexy: "I think I'd like to take you up on that back rub now, if you don't mind."

I gestured for her to lay across the couch, as Claire had, but instead the voluptuous goddess just spun around and settled herself down on my lap. My cock was instantly squeezed between the warmth of her barely-covered asscheeks, which she wiggled for good measure.

Um, gulp? I'd expected her to be a bit forward, but I never in a billion years expected it to be like this. Keep it in your pants. Keep it in your pants. Keep it in your—crap, you're not wearing pants. Keep it in your underwear.

With every fiber of my being just aching to fuck this woman, I gently placed my hands on her shoulders and started the massage. Tami's head lolled to the side, revealing the feminine curve of her neck and giving me an unobstructed view down her shirt. She felt amazing in my hands, so smooth and yielding.

Absentmindedly, Tami dropped her fingernails to my naked thigh and began tracing random patterns in the skin.

"Just like that," she moaned. She closed her eyes, panting. A faint flush of color made its way down the swell of her bosom.

I honestly don't know if I did it intentionally or not, but as I rubbed her shoulders, the two spaghetti straps holding up her top gradually slipped down over the sides of her arms, taking Tami's neckline down with them.

Millimeter by millimeter, that lace neckline travelled down the slope of her breasts, revealing more and more skin until it finally came to an infuriating stop—held up by nothing more than the plumpness of her aroused nipples. If either of us had shifted even slightly, Tami's top would have fallen to her waist and those huge, naked tits would have swung free.

I couldn't help myself: Slowly but deliberately, I worked Tami's massage from the back of her shoulders to the top of her chest, just below her throat. Daringly, I reached forward, my heart racing from the naughty thrill as my fingertips brushed up against the upper curve of her breasts.

Tami leaned back against my chest, forcing my hands a few inches further in the process. Her head fell onto my shoulder and she moaned, encouragingly, into the side of my neck:

"That feels nice, too."

It was like I was in a trance, watching as another man's hands eagerly slid their way over the tops of Tami's breasts and SQUEEZED. The motion finally made her camisole slide all the way down, revealing her full, beautiful chest in all its glory.

My palms slid down, gently grazing across her erect nipples—

"Oh yeah..." Tami groaned.

What the hell am I doing?! The voice inside my head screamed. This isn't you! This is wrong!

Tami slid her ass off my lap and walked her fingertips up my bare thigh, slowing as she tentatively approached my crotch. I looked down at her, panting huskily, her eyes filled with desire—

Our mouths crashed hungrily together.

The second our lips touched, Tami's hand closed the final centimeter to my cock and gripped it hard, sending shockwaves of pleasure through my body. Our tongues teased along each other's lips—moaning, shaking in each other's embrace—

I was as horny as I'd ever been in my life. That nagging voice in my head sounded like he was shouting at me from the bottom of the ocean.

But nonetheless, I could still hear him.

"Tami, I'm sorry," I said, gently releasing her from my arms. "I can't do this. I've got a girlfriend."

Tami forced herself against me, kissing desperately.

"I won't tell her," she said.

"It's not that it's just—that's not the sort of relationship I want to have. That's not the sort of man I want to be."

God, she was so fucking gorgeous, looking at me wide-eyed like that. Her nude skin almost glowing in the soft, flickering light.

Tears welled-up in Tami's eyes. She quietly pulled her camisole back on and modestly crossed her arms in front of her braless chest.

I tried to place a reassuring arm around her shoulders, but she angrily shrugged me away.

"I'm sorry, I—"

"Don't fucking talk to me," she whispered. Before I could respond, Tami ran back into her bedroom and locked the door.

Fuck! I collapsed down onto the sofa, my cock still angrily throbbing against the fabric of my underwear. How the hell was I gonna fix this? What was I gonna tell Sonya? What was gonna happen at work tomorrow?

I still had eight weeks to go until Sonya moved out West. Fifty five more days of being around Tami and Claire. So far I'd only made it through one day—twenty four stinking hours!

This was going to be the longest summer of my life.

CHAPTER 2 - WHOOPS

When the sun came up, Claire shook me awake and curtly informed me that it was time I got the hell out of their apartment. I stumbled around my new apartment complex—still in my underwear—until I finally tracked down the building manager and got him to open my front door.
The power was back on and my cell phone was charged and staring right at me. Three missed calls from Sonya. I felt awful. For a moment, I considered picking it up and calling her back right then and there, but she was probably asleep and I still hadn't figured out how on earth I was going to explain things to her.

I hadn't let things go THAT far with Tami, but I had still betrayed my girlfriend's trust. I had, to whatever degree, been unfaithful for the first time in my life, and it was killing me inside.

I knew I needed to tell Sonya. No twisting things around to make me sound like the victim, either. But that would come later, when we could actually have a conversation. For the time being, I sent her a quick text explaining about the power outage and promised to call her after work.

Which sucked.

For the first half of the day, Claire barely acknowledged my existence, always finding something incredibly pressing to busy herself with whenever I tried to explain what had happened. She was professional, but dismissive.

Tami, on the other hand, just tried to avoid me altogether. I had hurt her more than I'd realized, and she seemed too embarrassed to even look me in the eye. Since I couldn't exactly talk to her with all the other people around the office, I had the bright idea of writing her a discreet letter of apology, explaining that I thought she was great, and I was so sorry that I had hurt her feelings.

She tossed it in the waste basket without even reading the thing.

I spent about 10 hours at the office that day, and every second of it was so awkward it felt more like 10 weeks. When I finally made it back home for the evening, I got out my phone and called Sonya.

"I love you," I started simply. Right off the bat, my tone of voice told her something was very wrong.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

"No, I'm not. I... let something happen. Something really stupid. And I need to tell you about it."

"What are you talking about?"

Every word took tremendous effort for me to force out, like I was pushing a boulder up a mountain. "There's... these two women at my new job. Last night, I—"

"Last night you WHAT?"

"One of them kind of had a thing for me and—I didn't push her away when I should have."

There was a long, painful pause while Sonya gathered her thoughts.

Our relationship had been going great. She was supposed to move in with me in a couple months. A year from now, we both knew I was probably gonna start shopping for a ring. What if my behavior last night had put a wrench in all that?

"How far did things go?" Sonya finally asked.

"Second base."

"What the fuck is 'second base'? Is that like a blowjob or something?" she snapped.

"What? No! It's, you know, second base. First base is kissing, second base is feeling a girl up, third base is—"

"So you spent all night making out with some random girl and grabbing her boobs?"

"No, it was just for a couple of seconds, then I stopped it. I swear."

She made me sit through another of those horrible pauses.

"You promise that's all?"

"I promise. And I promise it will never happen again."

"This is so fucking lame, Michael."

"I know, babe, I'm so—"

She hung up.

"Sorry."

The rest of the week creaked by in pretty much the same miserable way, with Claire and Tami refusing to talk to me, and Sonya refusing to answer her phone or return any of my emails. I was so scared of losing her, I even considered flying back out east to see her in person—but ultimately accepted that she wasn't talking to me because she didn't want to. Maxing out my pathetic little credit limit to buy a plane ticket wasn't gonna change that.

I should have spent that first week going out, trying to get a feel for the city, making new friends and building a new life. But frankly, things were so weird I never felt like leaving my apartment. So instead, I cleaned and unpacked, organized all my shit, and then cleaned everything all over again. I filled what free time I did have discovering just how terrible most television shows really are when you watch them all by yourself.

When Saturday rolled around and I carted my dirty clothes downstairs to the community Laundromat, I stumbled upon Claire, just as she was cramming a load of wet clothes into the dryer. We both froze awkwardly at the sight of one another.

We were all alone. After four days of getting the brush-off from this woman, I finally had her cornered. Finally had an opportunity to explain myself:

"Claire, please just hear me out."

"No need, Tami told me what happened. Honestly, I kind of expected more from you."

"I know, I know, I'm so sorry things got out of hand. But I had to stop it before we went any further. I didn't want anybody getting hurt."

She frowned at me and shook her head. "No, you just didn't want YOU to get hurt. Look, I respect that you're not the kind of person who fucks around behind his girlfriend's back, but I told you—I TOLD YOU—that Tami was in a vulnerable place and you still took advantage of her."

"Whoa, whoa—I never took advantage of her! She was the one seducing me! I never did anything to lead her on!"

"You knew exactly what she wanted and you did nothing to discourage her. You let her keep coming onto you all night because it was stroking your ego to have some hot chick batting her eyelashes at you."

Claire walked right up to me, her icy blue eyes flashing with anger:

"And then, at the worst possible moment—when she was all excited and happy to have someone being affectionate with her for the first time since her breakup—you pushed her away. Do you have any idea how that feels?"

I looked down at my shoes. "I guess not," I sighed.

"And there are other people out there," she choked, fighting back tears. "People who would treat her so much better than you did. People who would love her and cherish her—but instead she set her sights on you."

And then it hit me, all of a sudden. Everything about Claire clicked into place. She wasn't just mad at me for hurting her friend—she was jealous of me. I looked into her eyes, realizing that Claire was hurting, too. Maybe worse than any of us.

"It's Tami, isn't it? That big, unrequited love you were telling me about the other night. It's your roommate."

"You don't know what you're talking about," she snapped.

But I did. There was a sudden, desperate fear in her eyes now that I'd brought it up. Fear of being found out.

"Claire, I'm so sorry. I didn't realize. Does she know?"

She continued to glare at me, furious. But then, ever so slightly, her shoulders slumped, and all at once the steam went out of her. Claire's face fell and she just shook her head. She'd been holding back a tidal wave of a secret for god knows how long, and the pressure finally overwhelmed her.

The tears came back, more freely this time, and Claire slumped against one of the unused washing machines, trying desperately to force her sobbing under control. I sat down beside her, and when I went to wrap a reassuring arm across her shoulders, she didn't move away.

Halting words spilled out of her between breaths of air: "She's the best thing to ever happen to me. She's the best thing in my whole life. We do everything together! If I told her it would just scare her off."

"How long have you two been friends?"

"Less than a year, but—but I've never felt like this about anyone before. It's so great, but it hurts SO MUCH."

I hugged her, firmly as I could, trapping her inside the warmth of my arms.

"Does she even know you're gay?"

Again Claire shook her head.

"Look," I whispered soothingly, "under the circumstances I know I'm probably the last person in the world you'd even think about taking relationship advice from—but you need to tell her. If she's really your friend, she won't push you away. You need to trust her to do the right thing."

"What if everything changes?"

"Of course everything will change. There's no going back from an 'I love you.' But look at what's happening to you—This is tearing you up on the inside, and it's only gonna get worse."

After a few more deep breaths, Claire finally got herself together and withdrew from my arms, apologizing for the wet spots her tears had left on my shirt. She looked hard into my eyes and managed to quirk her lips up into a bittersweet, twisted smile.

"I don't get you, Michael. You're, like, a stupid asshole and a really nice guy all at the same time."

"I really am sorry I hurt her. And I'd really, REALLY like to be friends with you two."

"Please don't say anything to Tami."

"Hey, it wouldn't be my place."

That seemed to reassure her, and for the next forty five minutes the two of us waited for our laundry quite amicably. We chatted about nothing particularly important, just being friendly with each other. Neither of us mentioned Tami.

When Claire went about folding her clothes from the dryer, I caught an eyeful of several pairs of skimpy little thongs and panties, in all shapes and sizes.

"You have some sort of fascination with my underwear?" she teased.

I just shrugged my shoulders, caught:

"Honestly, I'm trying not to think about how they look when you're wearing them."

She rolled her eyes.

...

When I got back to my apartment, I saw that I'd missed a v-chat invitation from Sonya. She wanted to talk to me! Praying that it was good news that awaited me and not bad, I clicked respond and waited for her face to appear on my computer monitor. When it finally did, oh man did she look beautiful. She had just gotten back from a run was still all disheveled. A tiny band of sunburn ran across her cute little nose. Sonya was a knockout when she got all dressed-up, but there was something adorable about the way she looked when she was a sweaty mess that just melted my heart.

"You're a sight for sore eyes," I said.

"You're an idiot," she answered.

"I am, it's true."

Then, ever so slightly, she smiled at me, and my whole world lit up like a Christmas tree.

"I miss talking to you," she sighed.

I poured out my heart to her, telling her all the million things I'd wanted to over the past five days. Made sure she knew that she was the absolute, uncontested love of my life.

"Alright, alright!" she finally laughed, putting a stop to my gushy ramblings. "Listen, as long as it really was just a little harmless fooling around, and as long as you don't go making a habit of kissing other girls behind my back, then I forgive you."

"Thank you! When you get here I promise I am gonna make it up to you by sitting down with you and watching a dozen of those shitty old romantic comedies you love. In a row."

Sonya's beautiful lips curled up into a sinister smile.

"Actually, if you really want to make it up to me—take of your pants."

"Yeah?"

"Just shut up and do it," she ordered, "I've been super horny all week."

I was only too happy to oblige. Positioning myself in front of the camera to give her the best view possible, I slowly unbuckled my belt and unzipped my jeans. Then, without needing to be prompted, I teasingly slid my boxers down and stroked my cock until it was nice and hard for her.

We both did love to put on a show.

Sonya clapped in appreciation, her cheeks turning pink with desire at the sight of my exposed penis. "Aww, I missed him, too," she giggled.

"Wouldn't you be more comfortable without all those sweaty workout clothes?" I asked.

In response, Sonya quickly stripped off her shirt and her horribly constrictive jogging bra, letting her big, soft tits bounce free. My cock gave a little lurch at the sight.

"Oh yeah, we're gonna have to do this more often," I moaned, clicking the "record" button on the video player.

The image on the screen only showed Sonya from the chest up, but from the motion of her arm it was clear that she was already starting to play with herself down below. She bit her lip and let out a little sigh of pleasure.

"Are you recording this?" she asked.

"Of course, are you?"

"Of course!"

My cock flexed even harder in my hand.

"I want—I want you to tell me what she looks like," she moaned.

"Who?"

"The girl you made out with. I bet she was really sexy."

Sonya was rubbing herself harder now, her breathing heavy and aroused. It was kind of an awkward question, and I honestly couldn't fathom what was going through her mind, but I decided to humor her, anyway:

"She's one of the hottest chicks I've ever seen. Adorable face, long black hair, tits out to here..."

"Even bigger than mine?"

"Way bigger."

"Oh, I'll bet she was all over you. Kissing you, groping you, rubbing those great big boobs in your face. I bet you loved every second of it.

"No, it wasn't like that—"

"Shut up," Sonya panted, continuing her story. "I bet you pulled her shirt off and sucked on her nipples like your life depended on it. Then she reached inside your underwear and stroked your cock until you were so hard you couldn't stand it anymore."

The dirty talk was really getting Sonya going. I watched the image on my computer as she raised her free hand to her beautifully aroused nipples and gave them a tug. My fist eagerly closed around my cock and kept stroking as she continued:

"Then I bet you bent her over the sofa, ripped off whatever slutty underwear she was wearing, and slowly buried every inch of yourself into her slit. How did it feel? How wet was she? What was it like feeling her ass bump up against you as you bottomed out? Did you grab her tits while you fucked her? Did you reach around and grab hold of those big boobs? Did you squeeze them as hard as you could? Did she moan for you? Did she shriek with pleasure?"

I grunted with arousal, my head spinning from the mental image my girlfriend was painting for me. Over my computer speakers, I heard the wet sounds as Sonya frantically rubbed her pussy offscreen. The motion vibrated her tits like crazy. Her words became practically incoherent with pleasure:

"I'll bet she—ooh—she came so hard with you inside her. I bet she woke the fucking neighbors with all her screaming. And then—oh my god—"

"Keep talking," I moaned, already feeling my climax approaching.

"Then I'll bet you pulled out and came all over her tits. Just everywhere. I bet you made a fucking mess of those things. And then—and then—"

I was boiling with arousal. Every muscle tightened, preparing for release—

"And then her sexy friend came over and licked it all off."

"Aah!" I screamed, spurting into the air in full view of the camera.

The visual of my orgasm finally pushed Sonya over the edge into her own euphoric oblivion. She sucked in powerful mouthfuls of air, shaking all over before finally—blissfully—collapsing in her desk chair.

"Sonya, holy shit!" I smiled, shaking my head in disbelief. "Where did that come from?"

"I don't know, I just—all week I've had this image in my head of you with that other girl, and as much as I hate to say it, it's been making me really horny! I've actually been fantasizing about it, can you believe that? It's crazy. Fantasizing about being there, I mean. About watching. Is that weird?"

"I don't know about 'weird,' but when you started talking about it—that was so damn sexy, honey. You saw me, I came in like thirty seconds."

"Come on, that wasn't all me. I'll bet you've been thinking about fucking those two ever since you met them."

"Well, yeah, but—just daydreaming. You know."

Sonya smiled, now more adorably disheveled than ever. "Mikey? How about next time you start daydreaming about those girls, you give me a call and... maybe we can daydream about it together."

When I woke up at 10AM the next day, I was already sweating from the intense heat. The weather forecast was predicting one of the hottest summers on record, and I believed it. I made a beeline for the swimming pool downstairs—this time remembering my keys and swimsuit.

Halfway inside the gate, I stopped in my tracks, utterly bowled over by the view of Tami climbing out of the pool. She'd worn a bikini this time—a skimpy one. Flimsy strips of dark blue fabric struggled to cover her bodacious body. Rivulets of water dripped down her curves as she crossed the patio area and took a seat next to Claire, who was soaking up the morning sun in yet another of the tiniest bikinis I'd ever seen.

I wasn't sure where I stood with them, at the moment. Things seemed to have chilled out between me and Claire, but would Tami still give me the evil eye if I said hi? Or would it be even worse if I ignored them?

Claire saw me first, and the fact that she actually smiled at the sight of me was a huge relief. I strolled over—

Tami was not so friendly. Her dark, lovely eyes met mine, silently ordering me to stay away. I stopped in my tracks, held up my hands in surrender, and simply told her, "You deserve someone better than me."

She looked down questioningly at Claire, who mouthed the words, "Talk to him."

Tami nodded, grabbed her towel, and grudgingly jogged over to me—throwing an inadvertent bounce into her steps.

"Tami, I just want to say I'm sorry for—"

"The pool's kind of a public place to have this conversation, don't you think? Mind if we go somewhere else?"

That little voice in the back of my head warned me that going someplace alone with this girl might, once again, not be the brightest idea. But we needed to mend things and I figured the odds of anything EVER happening between us was about as likely as me ever getting into a real life swordfight.

I opened the door to my apartment and led her inside.

"Geez, you settled in fast," she said. "The last time I moved, I took like four months to get everything unpacked."

"Yeah, well, I've had a lot on my mind the past few days and it's helped me think."

She sat down at my breakfast table, now wrapped in a fluffy beach towel that did nothing to disguise the shape of her chest... Focus, Michael! I distracted myself by pouring my guest a glass of orange juice. I spoke quietly:

"Look, what happened the other night—I handled that in pretty much the worst way possible. I swear I never meant to lead you on, it's just—I wasn't expecting you to look the way you did when you walked out in those 'pajamas.' Sorry, I'm making excuses again."

Tami looked down at her glass of juice, thinking.

"How long have you and Sonya been together?" she said at last.

"Three years, almost."

"Tom and I were together for four. I thought he was the one, you know? We were each others' first."

She looked up at me, her lip twitching down into a frown. "It wasn't all your fault, what happened the other night. You told me you had a girlfriend. You dropped it into the conversation a propos of nothing. That should have clued me in right there that you weren't interested, but I just—I just needed—"

"You don't have to explain," I said.

"Have you ever been dumped?"

"No."

"It fucks with your head! Things between me and Tom weren't even BAD. They were going well. Too well, it turns out. It started to feel inevitable that we were going to wind up together. Get married, , happily ever after. And all of a sudden he started freaking out that he'd only ever had sex with one girl. Like he was entitled to some macho right of passage, fucking all kinds of women before he was forced to settle down."

"This guy dumped you because he liked you too much?"

"I know! What kind of sense does that make? And ever since then I've been going crazy trying to figure out what the hell is going on with me. I'm not even acting like myself! I mean, look at you—I was throwing myself at you, even after you said you were in a relationship. What kind of trampy bitch does that? I've never done that ever in my life."

"Hey, I wasn't exactly complaining."

Fifteen minutes later, we'd finished making our amends and were back at the pool with Claire, cooling down in the chlorinated water. Claire had forgiven me, Sonya had forgiven me, and now Tami had forgiven me. Everything was finally right in the world.
Well, everything except the fact that I couldn't take my eyes off those two girls as they splashed around in their itty-bitty bikinis.

"So, did you tell your girlfriend about it?" Claire asked.

I nodded, "Yeah, but—actually, could you guys do me a favor? Would you mind meeting her? Like on webcam?"

"Why?" Tami joked, "so she can hire an assassin to hunt me down?"

"Look, I know it's a weird request, but if she just saw how sexy the two of you are, I think it'd score me a lot of points in the forgiveness department. Let her know just what kind of temptation I was up against."

Both women rolled their eyes. They exchanged some sort of psychic communication between themselves, and then Claire turned to me and said, "Might be awkward, but why not? She's gonna be our neighbor in a few weeks, anyway. We may as well get this out of the way before we have to see her in the flesh."

That evening, I brought my laptop over to their apartment and set it down on the coffee table, so that Sonya could see all three of us sitting on the couch. We waited nervously while the computer started up, and then suddenly Sonya's beautiful face was filling the screen, her eyes bugging out in surprise. I quickly made the introductions:

"Hi Sonya. This is Tami and Claire, your future neighbors. Ladies—this is Sonya, my girlfriend."

The three women self-consciously waved at one another.

"You are REALLY pretty," Tami said at last, breaking the ice.

"Me?" Sonya cried, "You two are like, I mean damn. Michael's des
0 Comments
Current story
Posted:Aug 11, 2017 9:52 am
Last Updated:Aug 26, 2019 3:43 am
697 Views

Just have to say thank-you to FeatherWatt for the latest story I found, its so good I just had to share it with you all...

Mittens
byFeatherWatt

Samantha leaned forward and spat, a sticky white string dangling briefly from her mouth before breaking.

Humiliation, she thought, her mouth full once again, her breasts swaying with the vigorous back-and-forth motion of her right hand.

Lost in thought, she'd been brushing her teeth for a full six minutes.

No, not just humiliation, degradation, she reflected. Nina doesn't just want to feel embarrassed, she wants to feel less than human. She wants to feel like an animal. Absent-minded, she rinsed for the third time. How did we even get into that conversation?

Oh, yeah, that's right. She remembered the purple-gray froth in the sink. Red wine. Lots of it.

Samantha spat, again, and grinned in the mirror. A bespectacled, bed-headed brunette, with the world's cleanest teeth and a tendency to overthink things - especially interesting rabbitholes like this one.

For a moment she wondered what she'd look like, all dressed up in leather and holding a whip - no, a riding crop. No. No, a boxing glove, big and red and shiny and exaggerated, like in a cartoon...

...or not. Sexy, Samantha, think sexy. Not functional.

But why not both? You wear boxing gloves so that you can beat each other up without doing too much damage. Why aren't boxing gloves sexy?

She lifted the lid, slid down her underwear and sat down. And so now you get an intriguing, sexy idea, and give it a turn for the ridiculous - something you've been trying to avoid. Also, why are you even ruminating on this in the first place? What are you going to do, go up to Nina and say "Hey, have you ever thought about getting a pair of big red boxing gloves and just letting someone beat you up with them?" What's the expression, backseat quarterback?

Break it down, Sam. Why boxing gloves? I imagine more along the lines of whips and gags and stuff when I hear "Bondage" or "Erotic humiliation," why am I thinking about boxing gloves?

Samantha always found the sound of running water conducive to any sort of contemplation. Pee works too, albeit for very brief sessions. She sat and followed the thought back towards its hidden origin, brow furrowed, chin resting on her upturned fist.

An observer would have noted the resemblance to Rodin's famous sculpture "The Thinker," except, you know, on a toilet.

Boxing gloves.

Boxing.

Punching.

Impact.

Shock wave.

The path of the shockwave from a downward-angled impact over the solar plexus. The sensation of air being forced out of your lungs, so similar to laughter that it makes you smile out of pure reflex. The shockwave rushing downwards, through your insides, your tummy, your crotch, your thighs, you don't feel it so much in your calves - but then rebounding through your feet from the floor and rushing upwards, angling strangely and dissipating, losing cohesion. The sensation of a phantom force rushing up your inner thighs, a strike now turned to a caress, maybe the slightest ghost whispering underneath your vagina, then it's gone, faded to nothing. And then you're standing there, still alive, stunned but surprised to feel fairly unhurt, knowing that you absorbed that much force, that much of an impact, without even falling over. Knowing that you're a red-blooded animal with a skeleto-muscular structure evolved to spread out incoming blows.

Knowing that you're an animal. Knowing it for sure, without a shadow of a doubt. Knowing it in your bones. Being aware of it, for that moment.

Wipe, flush. Is that sexy? I can't even tell. Is spanking sexy? Or is it just something that they put in porno films so that you can tell if your audio is properly synced up? Like a clapboard, only made out of butts.

Samantha stood up, pulling up her underwear. And I didn't answer my own question. Never mind the boxing gloves; what's the deal with this train of thought? She headed back to the bedroom, to dress for the day.

Is this a purely intellectual exercise? Purely hypothetical? Purely rhetorical? Why analyze it so much, then, if nothing will ever come of my analyses?

"Because I love her, of course," she muttered, and paused for a moment in dressing, the realization sinking in.

Huh. Of course. Silly of me not to notice. I love Nina - platonically, but very deeply, and for a long time. She opened up to me about her problems in her love life. Her happiness is essential to my own, so now I'm thinking about ways to make her happy.

Samantha frowned. But am I even capable of that? Could I, Sam, do that sort of thing with Nina? Could I make her happy?

Could I...

Samantha stared into the wood of her dresser, seeing nothing, testing waters with an image of Nina, her freckles, her smile, her lips, parting. Eyes gently closing, Samantha pressed her mind's lips to Nina's.

Detail. Detail, to be sure.

The pores of Nina's skin. Her eyelashes. Her lips. Soft lips, slipping tenderly, shy, curious, between Samantha's.

Samantha breathed, deeply, and questioned herself.

Yes, came the reply. She smiled, feeling the beginnings of joy bloom in her, spreading out from her stomach like warm, slow sunlight. "Yes," she whispered, "yes, I could kiss Nina. And I can't believe I didn't think of it before!"

Samantha pulled her jeans up the rest of the way before realizing they were on backwards.

***

Nina growled, cords standing out on her neck, pajamas damp with sweat. In her mind's eye, Samantha held Nina's hair tightly in one hand, grinding her cunt into Nina's face - her labia enveloping Nina's nose, leaving slick trails between her eyes and over her lips. In Nina's fantasy, Samantha gripped her hair with both hands and used her, like Nina used the Special Toy right now.

As they usually did, Nina's fantasies had started so innocently - imagining Samantha's eyes closing and moving forwards, their lips touching in a close, tender, nervous first kiss. In the buildup to her first orgasm, Nina disrobed Samantha, kissed her, held her, touched her, made love with her - now, as she approached her second, things were different. Her imagination jumped in brutal, incoherent cuts from scene to lustful scene, deepening and intensifying.

Nina on hands and knees, butt in the air, naked save for her collar and leash, cleaning Samantha's toilet while Samantha smokes and reads a magazine, her feet propped up on Nina's back.

Nina's legs spread wide by a steel bar, Samantha's eyes on her exposed genitals, while her fingers push knuckle-deep into Nina's ass.

Nina bent over Samantha's knee, bare-bottomed and squirming in a public park, receiving a sound spanking while strangers watch, her cheeks tanned red.

Nina holding Samantha's hand, a little drunk, telling her... telling her about...

Telling her about wanting to be tied up... Telling Samantha about her cuffs and collars... Telling Samantha about the gags and the paddles and the chains and the files and...

Telling Samantha everything except how wet she was getting telling Samantha everything...

Telling Samantha...

...!

Nina's back arched, her teeth clenched together, her thighs squeezing tight, the shockwaves flowing. After a few months, she collapsed back to the bed with a little shudder, a little squeak, and remembered to breathe again.

In her afterglow, the fantasies turned to a replay of last night.

Samantha's eyes, enlarged by her glasses, watching Nina talk about the reinforced bolts in her rafters and walls, the little fasteners that hooked under her bed.

Samantha's lips, grinning in something between embarrassment and curiosity, not realizing how inviting they looked.

Samantha's oblivious nature, no doubt already thinking up some new contraption to help, purely as an intellectual exercise...

She'd do that, thought Nina. She'd show up with some fancy pneumatic rack or some amazing computer-controlled fucking machine, and then she'd say "Well, have fun!" and leave me to it. She'd go home, sit on her sofa, pet her cats and think "Mission accomplished!"

And I saw her pondering it, even as I was telling her. I saw those cogs beginning to spin behind her eyes; she was already having some idea. And I wanted to say, "Yes, that's very nice, I know that you're conjuring up some wonderful theoretical thingamajig, but Samantha, would you fuck me now, please?"

I sat there, panties soaked through and clinging to me, cheeks red as traffic lights and nipples that you could hang your coat on, and I told Samantha about my humiliation kink. And she sat there and thought "How fascinating! I, a human, was not aware that humans engaged in such behavior! I must consider how can I help my human friend, who I love as a human, using the twin marvels of science and technology!"

Nina sighed, but not unhappily. Her flirty conversations with an oblivious Samantha were par for the course these days - far more endearing than frustrating.

Still a little frustrating, though.

Nina dialled down the Special Toy until it faded out, leaving her feeling a little numb and tingly but still comfortably full.

And what makes the Special Toy so very Special? Samantha, of course. One throwaway remark about sex toys being so damned inconsistent and unreliable, and she sits there and sips her coffee and thinks about it for a minute, and then she comes out with all this talk about pulse width modulation and variable resistors. Next thing I know, we're at my place, to pick up my broken toys, and then we're at Radio Shack, Samantha bounding around in the drawers of Incomprehensible Doodads like a in a candy store, and then we're in her...

Nina grinned. Her laboratory. Meaning her kitchen table, piled high with the odd things she plays with - smelling of coffee and cookies and cats, and incense and solder and those weird Chinese batteries she goes on about.

For an hour, I watched her concentrate. Saw her little frowns. Heard her little tuts, pulling out inferior components, replacing them with special things from her parts boxes.

I made us coffee, petted her cats, and offered the occasional bit of small talk. She responded, sometimes trailing off mid-sentence as she concentrated on the innards of one of my most intimate items. From time to time I'd ask her what she was doing, and she'd look up, her eyes bright behind her glasses, and she'd explain it to me with an excited tone and a big, silly grin. I followed as best I could, and I think I did quite well, considering. I understood about eighty per cent of what she told me.

I pretended to be interested in what she was doing to my toy. I pretended to watch her hands, examine her tools, ask her what she was doing because I was interested in the mechanics.

But most of the time, I was watching her face. Watching her eyes scan this thing that had been inside of me. Watching her fingertips carefully turn it around, find its joints, open it up - not knowing whether or not it even occurred to her that she was handling something very intimate. I asked her things so that she would talk to me, in that tone of excited, mad-science exuberance. So that she would look at me with those big hazel eyes, while her delicate, careful hands touched something deeply personal.

And I watched it change. My ratty old rabbit became something that was as much Sam's as it was mine - with little wisps of solder smoke it grew new knobs, and switches, and this big battery pack...

I barely registered that she was putting it back together. Her sleeves were rolled up, showing the little light hairs on her forearms, the paleness of her wrists. It took a lot of self-restraint not to just reach out and caress her, saying "Oh, don't mind me, I just wanted to know if your skin was as soft as it looked."

The time came, Samantha said, to take my new-and-improved rabbit for a test run. She grinned, and we were silent for a moment - a very tense moment. For me, at least.

In my imagination, she looked at me with narrowed eyes and a lusty smile, and told me - no, commanded me - to take off my jeans and my underwear.

In reality, she activated it right where it sat - and we laughed as it vibrated itself right off the table, jumping around like its namesake.

Two women in a kitchen that smelled of solder, laughing in the sun, on a cold March morning - both of them happy and content, one of them extremely turned on. One of my happier memories, and it was only a few months ago. The rabbit, of course, hasn't missed a beat since then.

With a sigh, Nina pulled back slowly on the Special Toy, felt it begin to move out of her, leaving behind a yearning, empty feeling.

The next week, buying a new cellphone, realizing with wonder and horror that I am now intensely turned on by the smell of Radio Shack. The salesman asked me if I was friends with the tall lady, brunette, wears glasses, always friendly, always heads straight to the hardcore stuff in the back, I think I saw you two come in together last weekend, Samantha, that's her name. Yeah, Samantha's cool.

I bet he wondered why I was blushing. Thanks, Sam. As if my kinks weren't weird enough already.

Nina's inner labia slid wetly together as the head of the Special Toy left her empty. She turned the warm, wet shaft over in her hands, looking at the motors that were vaguely visible through its pink translucence. Her fluid streaked the toy in little random waves of clear to pale white. Was the toy made less beautiful by her glistening overcoat, or more? Did she spoil this work of art, or collaborate on it? She could never decide.

The whole time we sat at that kitchen table, Samantha never said anything like "Yeah, I tried this on one of my toys once." She was doing this just to see if she could. I don't know if she even owns any toys herself - if she just thinks of sex and orgasms as things that happen to other people.

Nina brought the toy close - as she always did, before and after - and breathed.

And it smells like her. Even when it smells so much like me, it smells like her. It smells of her hand lotion, and her kitchen table, with its odd scents of overheating electronics. She's touched it, and given it something of herself. Given me something of herself.

She reached into the drawer of her bedside table, for her toy-cleaning wipes.

She probably thought I was going to take it home, put it on the mantle and appreciate its engineering.

***

Right. Sex! Here we go!

Samantha's fingers rested on the keys. They tapped once or twice, not hard enough to trigger a contact, the search bar empty.

Here we go.

She bit her lip. She frowned.

Any minute now.

Samantha sat and thought for a second. Then she grinned, and her fingers flew.

"Sex boxing" appeared in the search bar, and a page of very unusual links presented themselves to Samantha.

A few minutes of scrolling, reading stories and looking at pictures, opening and closing tabs, while her right hand drifted absently down to her lap and began to stroke - rhythmic, comforting, warm, a little distracting.

Samantha sat back in her chair. "Well, that wasn't very useful at all, was it, Higgs?" Higgs looked up from her lap, purring.

"You really don't give a shit, do you, Higgs?"

Higgs did not give a shit. He looked at Samantha, blinking in that slow, lazy way that only cats can get away with, as she petted him.

"You don't care one tittle about sex boxing, because you're an animal. You just want me to stroke your head."

Higgs, indeed, just wanted Samantha to stroke his head. Something about that sparked a neuron somewhere, but where that led, Samantha didn't know. She followed the thought.

"Because you're just an animal. A cat."

Higgs was an animal. He was, on some vague feline level, dimly aware that he was a cat.

"An animal," she said again, quietly, trying to jump-start the ideation process.

Higgs blinked at Samantha. To a cat lover, his expression would have said "Why have you stopped touching my head?" To Samantha, obviously his expression said "Yes, I suppose I am an animal. Where are you going with this?" To any other outside observer, his expression said, quite clearly, "I am a cat."

She let the thought go, aware that it would come back and tug on her sleeve when it was good and ready. Instead, she turned her attention elsewhere.

Why am I still fixated on the whole boxing-gloves thing?

She contemplated for a moment. "Boxing gloves" appeared in the search bar, and Samantha tabbed over to the "Images" link.

Page after page of pictures of boxing gloves.

Well, yes. What else did I expect?

She rested her chin on her hand, and frowned.

There's something in particular about boxing gloves. Something that sets them apart from other things like them.

So what are the characteristics of a boxing glove?

It's something that you put on to do a specific thing. It's clothing, that lets you accomplish a certain...

Her eyes widened. She leaned forward in her chair.

It's an article of clothing that you put on to do a certain rough, animalistic thing, that prevents you from doing other things! That's why it's different - it makes your thumb useless! It focuses you entirely on the one thing that you're doing, reducing you - or maybe elevating you - to a perfectly-tuned tool for doing that one very specific thing!

If the subject is unskilled at that given thing, I bet I could turn that very easily into a feeling of degradation. For those purposes, all you'd have to do is duct-tape the thumb so it couldn't move. Hell, you could probably do it with an oven mitt.

Samantha sat and thought for a moment. Our thumbs are one of the very big, very fundamental things that set us apart from animals. To thoroughly degrade someone, take away those differences. You want someone to feel like a lower creature, make their thumbs useless. Language is right up there on the list too, so arrange things so that the subject can't talk. Or can only talk when spoken to, if I'm feeling generous.

Samantha smiled. I'm having good ideas. But I need some context to put them in.

CTRL-Tab over to her email. Apprehensive, tummy full of warmth and light, Samantha pressed a single key and Nina's email address autocompleted immediately - as though the machine were saying "Well, who the hell else would you email right now?"

Tab down to the composition box. Samantha's fingers did all the thinking for her. Halfway through, she realized she was blushing, a pleasant aching below her bellybutton.

She shifted her thighs. Higgs complained, then jumped off.

"Go on, Higgs. Sam-time, now. Go play with Boson."

Higgs stalked off, grumbling.

Her cursor hovered over the "Send" button. She read the message through one more time, took a deep breath, and hesitated.

Detail. Check the detail. How sure am I, that this is something I actually want to do?

Nina's breath, hot and wet, in her ear. Samantha's teeth, applying gentle pressure to Nina's neck. Samantha's hands, running down Nina's back, finding her curves, feeling her warmth, lower, lower, one soft buttock in either hand, squeeze- click.

Breathing hard, Samantha sat back in her chair, squeezing her thighs together and squirming.

"Platonic" my ass.

***

Nina pressed the Power button on her laptop, then headed into the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee. The task accomplished, she came back to the couch, closed all the popup windows, dismissed the nagging update thingies, waited a few minutes as the little light on the front flashed at her and the computer made its pointless grinding sounds, then double-clicked on the Internet icon. Then she got up to pour and adulterate her coffee, as the machine lurched into a waking state and started re-downloading all forty-seven tabs.

She took the opportunity to clean up the kitchen a little, so by the time she came back the machine had woken up to the point where it took less than a minute to register her click on the tab that contained her email.

A message from Samantha - subject, "Can we talk about this?"

Ominous.

Ignoring her other email, Nina clicked the message from Samantha. As the little orange light flashed and the laptop made its silly grinding sounds, she had enough time to be worried.

Did I offend her? Oh God, did I say too much, and frighten her? Nina tried to distract herself by closing some of the popup windows that had since opened themselves. It did little to take her mind off the situation. She seemed interested, but we were drunk - I always think people are interested in what I have to say when I'm drunk. Oh, God...

Finally the page loaded, and Nina read Samantha's message.

***

Hey, Nina!

So this is a little embarrassing, but I've been thinking a lot about the things you said last night. I'm really fascinated by it all!

Does this sort of thing come with documentation? Is there a newbie's guide to erotic humiliation? Do you have any links you can send to me?

Thanks!

***

Nina stared at the message.

What?

She stared some more.

Of course I've got links. I've got blogs open in these tabs. I've got negotiation forms actually printed out! I've got so much material you'll be reading all day.

Why do you want it? Do you want to study me or proposition me?

And am I only considering this because I'm still all happy and damp from this morning?

Nina looked to her list of online friends. The little icon next to Samantha's name was green.

I could ask her right now. I could go on chat and talk with her.

Nina opened a chat window, put her mouse in the box, clicked, and typed "Hey, Samantha!"

She hesitated, her finger over the Enter key. She bit her lip, took a deep breath, and pressed it.

***

Samantha moaned softly, hearing the blood in her ears, her right hand nestled in the warm, damp pocket of her panties, her left hand stroking her nipple, her mind full of naughty thoughts. Thoughts of Nina, lying on the bed - naked and smiling, freckled pale skin all soft and inviting, contrasted with the delightfully ridiculous bright-red cartoon boxing gloves. Trying to beckon Sam, but her fingers don't work - "Oh dear, whatever shall I do, I want to be sexy yet these boxing gloves are so silly, this is a delicious paradox that you have put me in." Sam shivered, imagining Nina biting at the straps.

Detail, to be sure - and to have fun - scan her, her shiny red hair, her gorgeous green eyes, her smiling lips, that bit at the front of her neck that goes all inny-ridgey, her soft-looking breasts, her nipples all pointy and ding...

Ding?

Samantha opened her eyes. A chat window had appeared, with Nina's name in it.

"Oh," said Samantha, and "Shit, hang on..." She grabbed her desk with her left hand, pulling her chair closer so that she could reach the mouse with her other hand, her other hand which was all - "Oh, fuck, no, oh shit." She stood up, stumbled, pulled up her jeans and left.

The notification window blinked at the empty room. Higgs peeked his head in, mewling.

Samantha entered, red-cheeked, wiping down the fingers of her right hand and carrying a box of tissues under her arm. "Out," she said to Higgs, who ignored her. She picked up her mouse and ran the tissue around it, soaking up the worst of her mistake, hoping that none of it would get into the internals.

I wonder just how conductive my fluids are? Must find out someday. Write a blog post: Fun times with an Ohmmeter, sex toys for nerds.

She set the mouse back down again, sat down heavily in the chair, dropped the damp tissue to the floor, told Higgs to once again leave this place, was ignored, took a deep breath, said "Yes, right. Hello," and began to type.

Nina: Hey, Samantha!

Samantha: Hi!

Samantha took a few deep breaths while Nina pecked out her reply. I wasn't expecting this. I was supposed to do this by email. Email, where you've got time to think about what you want to say, and it's nice and easy to catch yourself before you say something silly.

Nina: So you want to know about my kinkier side, huh?

Samantha smiled. Yes. Yes, I do.

Samantha: Yes, yes I do.

There, that's suitably noncommittal. Play it cool, Sam, keep your escape hatch open. You're on dangerous ground, here - you've known Nina for, what, ten years now? It's a lovely friendship at stake. Be careful. Also use lots of smilies, she likes those.

The indicator said that Nina was typing. Then, it said "Nina has entered text," meaning that her chat box had text in it but that she was no longer adding text to it.

The indicator stayed in that status, for a long time. So long that Samantha's heart started to race.

Nina's sat there with the message in the chat box, going back and forth between sending it and erasing it. You'd think that excitement and fear would cancel each other out, not build each other up.

Careful, Samantha, careful - don't get your hopes up too high, and don't weird her out, whatever you do. Stay cool. Talk so that she doesn't know whether you just want to learn, or whether you want to do naughty things to her.

Nina: Do you want to learn from the internet, or were you thinking of doing naughty things to poor little Nina?

Fuck.

Samantha stared.

...fuck.

She started to type. Honesty. Flirtiness. I can do that, right? Gonna be honest and intimate, but still leaving the escape hatch a little bit open...

Samantha: Be careful asking me things like that right now! You caught me at an... inopportune moment.

Her finger rested on the Enter key.

Right now, Nina is seeing me having entered text, assuming her wreck of a computer has caught up that far. She's in that same torture as I was a moment ago.

Samantha closed her eyes, breathed in for a count of four, breathed out for a count of four, looked at the window.

Don't keep her there too long, Sam. You know that predicament. You love her, don't do that to her. Make your mind up.

The status indicator flickered - Nina had begun to type.

No. She thinks she's shocked me. She's going to say "Just joking," or "Wait! I didn't mean that," or "Oh God I haven't offended you have I?" and she'll feel awful and embarrassed, stop her, cut her off, release her from this torture...

Samantha struck the Enter key, a little harder than she had to.

This delicious torture...

Immediately the indicator went blank, stayed there for a second, and came back with "Nina is typing..."

Samantha sat and waited.

Nina: You mean, I caught you while you were, uh...

Nina: Um...

Samantha grinned.

Samantha: Um.

Nina: Um?

Samantha: Just about to um.

Nina: lol

She's lol'ing! I love it when I make her lol.

Samantha: You made me get my mouse all sticky!

And she's still typing. Probably chuckling away. I love her chuckles.

Samantha frowned. Wait, was that too much information? Am I being creepy? I mean, saying I was masturbating, all right, that's one thing, but... actually, no, that's super-duper extra-special creepy, isn't it, fuck. And then I told her all about getting my squelchiness everywhere. She's lol'ing nervously, about to say "Well I'll leave you to it, then," and close the window and lock the door and then take the sort of shower where you spend most of the time huddled up and rocking on your ankles in a corner and then she's gonna pack up and move to another city...

Something rustled quietly by her feet. She looked down, to see Higgs sniffing at the tissue by her chair. Her eyes widened.

"Fuck off, Higgs, you little pervert!"

Higgs bolted. Samantha reached down to pick up the tissue, placed it carefully in the bin, and returned her eyes to the screen.

Nina: Thinking of anyone I know?

Oh God.

Samantha stared.

What the hell do those winky smilies even mean? Who winks at people mid-conversation? Who does that?

She typed out "You, you big tease," erased it, typed "Oh, a certain someone," erased it, then noticed that Nina was still typing.

Good thing Nina hunts and pecks. She'll be looking at her hands, not the typing indicator. She won't have seen me cyber-stammering.

Nina: I had an enjoyable um myself this morning.

Nina: Gotta thank you again for the extra volts.

Samantha: Watts.

GOD DAMN IT FINGERS WHY DID YOU TYPE THAT. Damn things responding for me before I have a chance to even...

...she masturbates with the toy I fixed for her.

She puts it inside herself.

...goodness.

...well, what the hell did I think she was going to do with it?

Nina: Wattever.

Samantha:

Samantha: Well, you know me. Always willing to lend a hand, however I can.

She can just take that however she wants. Noncommittal, escape hatch still open in case of emergencies. Good.

Nina: However you can?

SHIT! NINA, STOP DOING THAT!

Be brave, Samantha. All lamps are green. She wouldn't tease you. She's your best friend. She wouldn't tease you about this sort of thing, unless she figured that you were just joking around, and she probably does think that you're just joking around, and let's face it she damn well would tease you anyway, so fuck it, joke around, why the hell not.

Samantha: However I can.

Nina: You big flirt.

Samantha: Said the pot to the kettle.

Again, the typing indicator switched to "Nina is typing," and then stalled at "Nina has entered text."

Now, here's another wrinkle - does that mean that she's deciding whether or not to send the message, or does it mean that she's been distracted by something, or does it mean she's got her hands down her pants, or does it mean her hard drive's thrashing again?

Nina: You know who I was thinking of, this morning?

Samantha's breath stopped dead mid-inhale.

This is it.

Samantha: No, who?

This is really it.

Samantha sat and stared at the indicator, jammed on "Nina has entered text," feeling the warmth rise up inside her - feeling the ice in her spine, the fire in her cheeks, beginning to suspect that she was right about something wonderful.

This is when I find out that my dreams are coming true.

Nina: My best friend.

Samantha paused.

Samantha: ...you mean me, right?

Nina: ...maybe

Samantha's chair hit the floor. Her glasses bounced on her nose. Samantha's mouse cable ran a swirling ribbon from her upraised hand. Higgs, in the process of creeping back into the room, bolted again.

"YES! Oh hell, yes!"

Nina is typing...

Samantha's fingers flew over the keys.

Samantha: You're not joking, right?

Nina: ...no...

Samantha: Who the hell do you think I was thinking of?

Nina: ...

Nina: ...I'm scared to guess. I don't know what you're feeling right now, Sam. Text sucks.

Samantha: I was thinking about my best friend too.

Nina: ...

Nina:

The two best friends grinned at each other over the Internet on a warm Sunday morning, both aware that the next little while was going to be very, very interesting.

After a few seconds, they remembered to breathe, and to talk.

Samantha: Shall I come over?

Nina: I'll come to you. I like the way your place smells.

Nina: Give me an hour?

Samantha grinned.

Samantha: That's going to be a tense hour. :s

Nina: I bet you can think of something to do.

Nina: I interrupted you, after all...

Samantha stared. Bit her lip. Nina was still typing.

Nina: You can give me a running commentary if you like.

Samantha: You mean... one-handed typing?

Nina: You wanna?

Samantha hesitated. She sat back down.

Samantha: Tell me what to do.

Nina: Tell me what you're doing.

Samantha: Waiting for you to tell me what to do.

Nina: Alright then, put your hand down your pants and then tell me what you're doing.

Samantha, breathing hard and blushing, wriggled her jeans and panties down to her knees.

Samantha: I pulled them down.

Nina: And what treasures did you find?

Samantha: My pussy.

Nina: Yay!

Samantha: I found it!

Nina: Right there in your pants, this whole time!

Samantha: But what should I do with it?

Nina: Say hello.

Samantha: Hello, pussy.

Nina: Shake its hand.

Samantha: It has no hands to shake. :s

Nina: Pet its head, then.

Samantha: ...mmm.

Samantha: still all wet from earlier.

Samantha: from thinking about... you.

Nina: Now you type as slowly as me.

Nina: Maybe I should join in too.

Nina: Or maybe that would be too slow. Maybe I'll just watch and enjoy.

Nina: You still there?

Samantha: thinking about your lips on mine

Nina: Ooh. Tell me about that.

Samantha: feeling your heartbeat

Samantha: touching your neck

Samantha: oh god

Nina: Go lower than my neck.

Samantha: yes

Samantha: thinking of biting your neck

Samantha: and stroking your breast

Nina: Naughty Samantha. Are you touching yourself right now?

Samantha: yes

Nina: What does your pussy feel like?

Samantha: v hot

Samantha: v wet

Samantha: soft and wet and aching for u

Samantha: Now look, you've made me talk in text-speak.

Samantha: And now my keyboard has Sam-goo on it, thanks for that.

Nina: My pleasure. Put your hand back where it was happy.

Samantha: ok

Nina: You don't have to type, just read and make yourself come for me.

Nina: I love you, Samantha.

Nina: And I want you to fuck me.

Nina: God I've wanted to say that to you for years.

Nina: Fuck me, Samantha.

Nina: Please.

Nina: Fuck me.

Samantha: i love you too

Nina: I want to feel your hot breath on my tits, your fingers inside me. I want to squeeze them and let you feel my heartbeat in my pussy. I want you to suck on my nipples, and make me come, and feel me coming around your fingers.

Nina: More than that I want you to kiss me. I want to feel your lips against mine, your tongue in my mouth, forceful.

Nina: More than that, I want you to pull my hair. Could you pull my hair, Samantha? Pull my hair back so my throat's exposed, and bite me while you fuck me?

Samantha: yes

Nina: Would you be rough with me?

Samantha: yes

Nina: Mmm. Would you hurt me, if I asked you politely?

Samantha: yes

Nina: Would you slap me, please? Maybe we can start with a little spank on my butt and work up from there?

Samantha: yes

Nina: Ooh. The thought is getting me very wet. I want you to leave little red marks on me.

Samantha: close already

Nina: Come, then.

Samantha: close

Nina: In an hour I'm going to come to your house and kiss you, Samantha.

Nina: I'll ring the doorbell, and when you answer it, you can wrap your arms around me and kiss me, and I'll kiss you right back.

Nina: And I'll squeeze you close.

Nina: And then I want you to take me into your bedroom and fuck me.

Nina: Fuck me.

Nina: Please, please fuck me.

Samantha:!

Nina: Come for me, Sam.

Samantha: o god

Nina: Come for me.

Samantha:!!!!!

Nina: Nice?

Samantha:!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Nina: Yay!

Samantha: still

Nina: Still going?!

Samantha:!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Nina: Holy shit!

Nina: ...hello?

Nina: ...you there?

Nina: Did you pass out?

Samantha: I'm here

Nina: Did you enjoy that?

Samantha: chair fell over

Nina: Shit, are you all right?

Nina: Hello?

Nina: You okay, Sam?

Samantha: Just had to find my glasses.

Samantha: Get your luscious little butt over here so I can fuck you like you want me to, Nina.

Nina: Yes, ma'am!

Nina has logged out.

***

Samantha, distracted, sat in her living room and watched television, legs crossed, her left foot jiggling in midair.

After Nina logged out, Samantha had bathed in the joyous afterglow of her first orgasm brought on deliberately by her best friend. She had felt elated, content, and giddily excited. Then, after ten or fifteen seconds of pure, unalloyed joy, a little voice had told her that Nina would be here shortly, and that it was imperative that Samantha now clean the entire house, immediately, at top speed.

She'd showered in a heartbeat, performed the fastest pubic trim she'd ever attempted, struggled into her special-occasion underwear and a nice sweater and pants, and began to feverishly tidy up. Halfway through the tidying process, Samantha had caught herself hyperventilating, and forced herself to stop. Better, she reasoned, that Nina see her house in its usual lived-in state, than see Samantha nervous and frazzled.

So, she had spent a few minutes performing her standard thinking-and-calming ritual: eating toast. And yet, not merely eating toast; eating toast as a meditative practice. A comforting set of motions for her hands and mouth and mind. Two slices in the toaster, one on her plate, one in her mouth, alternating butter and jam and marmalade. The secret was to keep the motions flowing as a perfect assembly-line process timed to the second, so that Samantha's mouth was never empty and her toast was always warm. This careful balancing act demanded just enough of Samantha's attention that it cleared her mind effectively, and she was able to calm down quite satisfactorily.

Then she ran out of bread.

Now she sat, and stared at the television as it told her a story on which she couldn't concentrate, and tried to sell her things that she didn't need or want.

This is a cornflakes commercial. I can't masturbate to this.

Eyes unfocused, she looked through the machine and into herself, and her desires. She saw Nina's cool green eyes, her cute little nose, her pubic hair of unknown color...

Detail. Detail, to be sure, to be certain that I can do this.

What will she taste like, when she kisses me? Will she taste like me? How will her breath smell? How will her breasts feel, in my hands? Could I be naked around her? Will she touch me... down there? Will I let her?

Her fingers, stroking down my tummy, through my pubic hair, finding my labia, touching me in my most intimate places...

...yup, that's hot as hell. Silly question, really.

But it feels so good to ask.

The doorbell. Samantha jumped, startled. She turned off the television, took a deep breath, checked her lips for crumbs, and headed out of the living room and into the hall.

She stood at her front door, knowing that Nina was right there on the other side, warm and solid and real, waiting to kiss her.

The handle felt cold. Samantha swallowed, her mouth dry, her pulse pounding in her ears.

For a moment Samantha had the clearest image of the postman waiting on the other side, delivering a parcel.

She turned the handle.

Nina stood in Samantha's doorway, wearing jeans and a white T-shirt, smiling nervously.

"Hel -" Samantha hiccuped, and tried again. "Hello."

"Hello," said Nina.

The two stared at each other, grinning, both red-cheeked, Samantha looking down at Nina, Nina looking up at Samantha.

After seconds that felt like minutes, Samantha realized that they were just grinning at each other, and that perhaps something ought to happen. "Come in," she said, hurriedly.

Nina stepped over Samantha's threshold.

Why does that feel big? Why does that little step feel so significant? She's been in my house hundreds of times. Thousands, maybe.

Samantha closed the door.

Different now, though.

The hallway was narrow. Samantha stood just inches from Nina - she felt almost close enough to feel Nina's body heat.

They looked at each other's eyes, for a long time.

"You're so beautiful," said Nina, quietly.

It's really happening, thought Samantha. She wasn't saying that in a casual way.

"Thank you," said Samantha, so quietly she almost didn't hear herself, her voice breaking.

Then Nina was stepping forward, looping her arm around Samantha's waist, coming close, touching, chest to chest and hip to hip, Samantha's arms knowing what to do without Samantha herself needing to.

The two hugged. Not their typical letter-A, hips-apart hug - this hug was shaped like an I. Samantha noticed, clearly, that Nina's face didn't go against her shoulder like it normally did; Nina stood on tiptoe, her eyes an inch away, her lips even closer.

I must have hugged Nina thousands of times, thought Samantha, and never noticed her curves.

That's because she's not just hugging me. She's pressing herself against me. There's a big difference.

"You're shaking," said Nina, her breath warm and damp on Samantha's lips, smelling of mint - smelling of a Nina who knew that she was about to be kissed by her best friend, and had prepared.

"You too," said Samantha, conscious of her arms full of warm Nina and squeezing, bending her knees a little so that they were roughly eye-level.

"Please kiss me, now, Samantha," whispered Nina, her nose touching Samantha's.

Yes.

"Yes," whispered Samantha, turning to let her nose slip past Nina's, watching Nina's eyes close as her own pupils widened.

I'm about to kiss Nina.

Samantha's lips brushed against Nina's. Their breath stopped, and Samantha became still, as if electrified, for just a moment - then life, breath, movement resumed. Lips slipped gently, tenderly together, warm, wet, quiet. Two bodies, aware of each others' heat, pressed against each other as close as clothing will allow.

I love her, thought Samantha, slowly closing her eyes. I love Nina. I want to know every inch of her, and give her all the pleasure and happiness I know how.

Samantha felt Nina's breath, warm on her top lip. She felt Nina's accelerated heartbeat, through her back. Samantha's fingers found their way into Nina's hair, and across her scalp, and her shoulders, and across her upper back, her mid back and waist, lower... Samantha's hands, just as in her fantasy, found the soft curves of Nina's behind, and gave a gentle squeeze.

Nina sighed happily, and squeezed Samantha, close and tight.

I'm touching Nina's butt, thought Samantha, with something like wonder. And she feels... wonderful.

Her lips are so soft... Should I...?

Samantha parted her lips and, cautiously, slipped her tongue into Nina's mouth. Nina made a tiny noise, like how a moan or a sigh would sound if your mouth was full of someone else's tongue - little vibrations running through Samantha's mouth, a rush of warm breath on her top lip - and ran a hand up into Samantha's hair, gentle pressure on the back of her head.

She really wants me to kiss her. Samantha tightened her grip on Nina's buttocks, then released, sliding upwards. Her left hand found the back of Nina's head, her right hand tightly gripping Nina's left hip, feeling the pockets and belt loops and warm, soft Nina underneath, as Nina's tongue, hot and wet and moving, gently slid against her own.

Samantha opened her eyes, just a fraction, to peek at Nina. Her eyes were closed, and held an expression of joyous relief and disbelief - the same expression Samantha wore now. Samantha's image of Nina shifted slightly as Nina bumped her glasses, moving them around on Samantha's nose. Samantha held Nina tightly, and tasted deeply.

Slowly, as it must, the kiss ended, and Nina opened her eyes.

Hazel looked longingly into green. Green looked longingly back.

"Do you know," whispered Nina, every syllable pronounced close enough for Samantha to feel - the exhalation on her lips, the soft, heaving movement of Nina's chest - "how many hours I've spent, just aching for you to do that to me?"

The words sent a warm thrill up Samantha's spine. "No," breathed Samantha, a little dizzy now, conscious of her own thumping heartbeat - "how many hours?"

"Hundrefph," said Nina, touching her lips to Samantha's, eyes open. They kissed, briefly, sweetly. "Hundreds of hours," said Nina, her face easing to Samantha's left, "thinking about you kissing me." Her breath, hot and damp on the left side of Samantha's neck, ticklish, tingling. "Thinking about you touching me." Her lips, barely touching Samantha's neck, little sensitive kisses upwards, behind Samantha's earlobe.

A whisper, hot and breathy and secret, in Samantha's ear. "Thinking," said Nina, slowly and distinctly, "about you fucking me."

Samantha moaned.

Nina gently closed her lips around Samantha's earlobe, sucked, and let go. "Would you like to fuck me, Samantha?"

"Yes," breathed Samantha.

"Would you like to make love to me?" asked Nina, as Samantha felt a warm hand on her cheek.

"Y-yes," said Samantha, feeling Nina's hair in her fingers as Nina's face came back into view.

And then Nina was grinning, her eyes just slightly narrowed. "Would you like to make love to me," she asked, quietly, and licked Samantha's lips - "and then fuck me?"

"That," said Samantha, and swallowed - "that sounds wonderful." She took a ragged breath. "I love you, Nina."

Nina smiled. "I love you too, Sam."

"And I want to do all those things," said Samantha, her hands sliding down Nina's back. "All those things that make you excited. All the naughty things."

One of Nina's eyebrows raised. "What sort of naughty things?"

Samantha cleared her throat. "Well," she said, her hands at Nina's lower back, "If you'd like me to... slap you, and such, well... I can do that. But..." Samantha looked at Nina's lips. "You might have to be patient with me, because I've never done that before. I want to learn it from you."

"I can teach you." Nina's lips touched Samantha's. "What would you like to do to me?"

Samantha smiled. "Anything you want."

"What do you want to do to me?"

Samantha swallowed. "Um."

Nina stroked Samantha's cheek. "Listen. Sam, I've seen you do your thing, and I know that you think about a hundred things at once, and that's just what you do."

She knows me so well.

And it was true. She knows me so well was just at the forefront of Samantha's remarkable mind - beneath the surface, scores of other tiny trains of thought ran their course. Some were heading nowhere in particular. Others were on track to a realization or an idea that was yet days or weeks in the future. At the present time, nearly all of them concerned Nina - thoughts of boxing gloves, mittens, humiliation, thumbs, engineering, sewing, psychology, biology.

"But this is important," continued Nina. "You know how you can quiet all those little thoughts and just concentrate on one thing? Can you do that for me, now?"

With a practiced mental flex, Samantha brought herself to the immediate present and focused every ounce of power she had on paying attention to Nina. Every other train of thought ran down and stopped, discarded, forgotten.

Samantha took a deep breath, and locked eyes with Nina. She saw Nina watch her, saw the tiny widening of the eyes that told Samantha that Nina had seen her focus and was maybe a little unnerved to see it happen up close.

I hope I don't scare her.

Nina leaned in. "I will never think ill of you for experimenting, or telling me about what makes you excited." She squeezed Samantha. "Never, Sam. If you suggest something, and I'm not all that into it, then I'll most likely give it a go because I know it makes you happy. I'll try nearly anything once. But even if what you say shocks me, Sam, which it won't - but even if it does, I will never, ever laugh at you. And I won't go away and think "What a weirdo," Sam. I love you."

"I love you too, Nina." Samantha grinned. "Doesn't it feel wonderful to say that?"

Nina grinned back. "Yes, it does. I love you, I love you, I love you. And do you understand what I'm saying to you?"

Samantha nodded. "I understand." She kissed Nina on the cheek, relaxing, letting the hundreds of thoughts return to the background of her mind - most of them now having to do with Nina. "And I want to make you come."

Nina gave Samantha a tight squeeze and a happy sigh. "That sounds nice. May I make you come, too?"

Here's your opportunity, Sam. Here's where you let her know how you can make her happy.

Samantha narrowed her eyes, and placed a finger on Nina's lips. "Maybe. But only if you ask me very politely."

Nina smiled. "Would that be okay? If I were to, just..." She shrugged, blushing. "Ask you things? Ask for your permission to do things?"

Samantha grinned. "Yeah. Should I make you beg me, Nina?"

Samantha felt Nina shiver in her arms.

I did that. Just with words, I made her shiver.

"Yes," breathed Nina. "Maybe a little. Shall we leave it at that, for today? Take it slow?"

Samantha leaned into Nina's neck. "I bet there's lots of talking involved," she whispered, her lips close to Nina's skin. "Lots of negotiation and such, talking out each others' limits." She bit Nina, gently, on her neck.

Nina shuddered. "Yes, there is."

Show her, Sam. Show her you can do this. Show yourself that you can do this.

"That sounds like it'll take a lot of time," said Samantha, leaving little kisses up to Nina's ear. "But if you're okay with vanilla," she breathed, sliding her right hand up Nina's side, "maybe with just a few extra sprinkles -" her hand settled on the soft warmth of Nina's left breast - "perhaps a marshmallow or two..." She gripped, gently. "Then I can take you into my bedroom and fuck you right now."

Squeeze.

"Oh, God..." moaned Nina.

"Shall I take you upstairs, Nina?"

"Yes please..."

Samantha grinned, and gripped Nina's wrist, tightly.

***

Samantha's bedroom smelt of incense and fresh laundry. Nina allowed Samantha to pull her in. She looked past Samantha to the bed.

She's going to put me on her bed and fuck me, thought Nina. Just like she said she would. It's actually happening.

Samantha looked at her with narrowed eyes and a grin. Nina watched Samantha reach up to her glasses, take them off, fold them carefully, place them on her dresser, step out of her shoes.

Samantha turned to smile at Nina. "No ropes, no whips, no pain - not until we've had time to talk about it. But for now..." she stepped closer. "Would it make you happy if I say some very impolite things to you?"

Nina grinned, blushing. "Yes, ma'am. Thank you, ma'am."

Samantha curled a hand around Nina's waist. "Can I move you around, and maybe restrict your own movements a little bit? Pull your hair, like you said on chat?"

Nina nodded. "A little bit," she said, nervously.

"C'mere," said Samantha, in a low, lusty voice Nina had never heard before - she had no time to reflect on this new sound, because hands gripped her and the world spun and she landed, breathless, on soft sheets.

Samantha stood over her, grinning down.

"Look at what I've caught," she said, quietly, almost a growl.

Nina shivered. Oh God.

"If you want me to dominate you, then that's exactly what I'll do," murmured Samantha, leaning down to Nina's feet. "I'm going to have such fun with you, little Nina." Nina's right shoe left her, and she heard the thump as it hit the floor. "I'm going to learn all about your buttons and switches." Her left foot was tugged on, exposed to the sock, the same little thump. "I'm going to play with them all, and see what happens."

With a ghostly, fleeting rush of cotton on skin, her feet were suddenly bare. "Cute little cotton socks," said Samantha, grinning, the articles in mention dangling from her fingers. "You won't need those." The socks dropped to the floor, and the bed shifted and creaked as Samantha's knee crept onto it.

"Do you realize, little Nina, that you're on my territory?" asked Samantha, her eyes locked on Nina's as she crawled up the bed, her face approaching Nina's thighs. "You didn't know what you were doing, and now you've wandered into my domain like a silly little rabbit." She reached Nina's shivering belly, one arm ahead of the other, creeping, the bed groaning under her muscular weight. "Didn't you notice how this place smells of me? Of something much, much bigger and stronger than you?" She passed Nina's heart, her teeth edging close to Nina's throat. "What on Earth were you thinking? This is my lair. Do you know, little one," she said, and suddenly she was right there, her face a thumbnail away from Nina's, her wet breath hot on Nina's lips, her weight settling in, pressing Nina into the bed - "what happens to silly little rabbits, in this place?"

Nina gasped as Samantha's weight immobilized her, Samantha's nose touching hers. "What will happen to me, ma'am?"

Samantha's left hand moved behind Nina's head, and Samantha gripped Nina's hair in her right. The pillow disappeared and Nina's head hit the mattress, her throat exposed. Samantha leaned down, slowly, tension on Nina's hair, and growled. That was the only word Nina had to describe the sound - the hot, wet, vibrating breath on her vulnerable throat. She shivered, again, and gripped the bed.

"Awful things," whispered Samantha, and licked Nina's throat, from collarbone to chin, along the left side. "Cruelthings," she said, and then another long, wet, sensuous lick up the right side, as Samantha's saliva cooled on her left. Then, before the lick was quite completed, she moved with sudden, frightening speed and her teeth were on either side of Nina's throat, little points of gentle pressure.

Nina's breath stopped.

Samantha breathed, heavily, growling, into Nina's throat. They stayed like that for a moment, then the bite melted into a kiss, the pressure receding, Samantha's tongue gently stroking.

The kiss ended, and Nina realized, as her breathing resumed, that Samantha's hands were pinning her wrists to the bed. When did that happen?

"But mostly," said Samantha, looking into Nina's eyes, "what happens to little rabbits is whatever I damn well please.You are mine, now, to deal with in whatever manner my whims take me. You're helpless, and completely at my mercy." She smiled, a threatening, condescending smile - and Nina felt shockingly at home with being condescended to. "Do you understand what I'm telling you?"

"Y-yes, ma'am," squeaked Nina.

"Then repeat it to me, little one, so I'm sure it's sunk in."

Nina swallowed, took a breath. "I'm helpless. You're stronger and faster and cleverer than me and I can't overpower you or outsmart you. No one will come and save me." A warm, insistent glow from beneath her navel. "I'm yours to do with as you wish."

Samantha smiled, her eyes narrowing. "You're amusing. I like that. But it's early in the day, yet. If you're to survive this boring Sunday afternoon, here in my domain, you'll have to remain amusing for quite some time." She knelt up, straddling Nina's hips, her hands gripping Nina's shoulders.

She's going to be good, thought Nina, gazing into Samantha's expression of mild, casual ownership. "What are you going to do to me?" whimpered Nina, overjoyed.

Samantha's expression suddenly changed. "Oh God, I'm sorry -" she stammered. "Did I really scare you? Did - am I doing it wrong?"

"No!" Nina said, "no, you're doing it right! Sam, you're doing it so right, believe me! Was I too convincing?"

Samantha exhaled, her smile slowly returning. "I've got a lot to learn, haven't I?"

Probably time to talk about safe words, thought Nina. Well, this serves me right for thinking that we wouldn't need them so soon. She smiled back. "Samantha, you've got me this hot just from talking to me."

"You know I'm only pretending to be scary, don't you?"

Nina nodded, smiling. "Yes, Sam, and that's exactly what I want. That's perfect. And I'm only pretending to be scared. Well," she added, "mostly, anyway."

Samantha's eyes widened. "Did I really scare you?"

Nina reached up and took gentle hold of Samantha's hips. "A little bit. Good scared, though. Rollercoaster-scared, not dark-alley-scared. That's good, Sam, that's kind of the point. I know in my heart that you'd never deliberately hurt me."

Samantha looked confused for a moment. "But I would, though, Nina. If that's what you wanted. If that's what would make you happy."

Nina shook her head. "Even then, you'd never deliberately hurt me more than I wanted to be hurt. I meant that you'd never hurt me in my heart."

Samantha smiled. "I love you, Nina, and I hope you're right."

Nina smiled back. "I love you too, Sam. I love you so much, and you're going to be so good at this, and I am so turned on right now."

Samantha's smile spread wider. "Good!"

"So here's what we'll do," said Nina. "Your scene, with the scary-Sam, we can continue that, or you can just kiss me and take off all my clothes and make love to me." She grinned. "If we continue, then assume I'm pretending or acting unless I say "Redden," or give you two squeezes like this -" she squeezed Samantha's hips, twice, in rapid succession - "in which case, we stop right there, and talk about what happened and what happens next, okay?"

Samantha nodded, grinning. "Redden or two squeezes and we take a break straight away, gotcha." Then, her expression changed again. "Damn it, I'm already fucking up, aren't I? I held your hands down so you couldn't squeeze me."

"But you didn't cover my mouth. That's why we have the squeezes and the word, so you can cover my mouth or pin me down sometimes, just not both at once." She looked carefully at Samantha. "And Sam, if I'd have said "stop" right then, you'd have stopped." Nina saw Samantha angle her head and begin to think about it. "No, really, Sam, you'd have stopped, safe word or no. You stopped the moment you thought I was frightened."

Samantha nodded. "You're right. I'll try to keep it in mind. So I'm really doing okay?"

Nina grinned. "Sam, you're doing better than okay."

"Do you want scary-Sam, or kissy-Sam?" Nina took a breath - "And before you answer," interrupted Samantha, "I really,honestly just want to do whatever will make you happy." Samantha smiled. "Whatever will make you come." She laughed, joyous, her eyes wrinkling. "God, I want to make you come, Nina."

Nina smiled. "Frighten me, Sam. Tell me what happens to silly rabbits."

Samantha leaned in and kissed Nina, tenderly, on the lips. "I love you so much, Nina."

"I love you too, Sam. And after this, I want to make you happy, okay? I like giving too."

Samantha's nose crinkled up in an almost-laugh. "I love meta-selfishness." Then she pulled back from Nina, and her expression changed - it was like watching a cat suddenly turn malicious. "Now, where were we?"

"What are you going to do to me?" asked Nina. "Are you going to do horrible things to me?"

Samantha grinned, slowly, teeth peeking out, her fingernails sliding down Nina's T-shirt like claws. "I'm going to do whatever I feel like, little Nina. I might not even tell you what I'm going to do to you. But right now, I will, because it might be entertaining to watch your face, knowing what's going to happen. I won't even punish you for asking silly questions."

"Yes, ma'am."

"I'm going to do to you what I do to all the little wanderers who don't know what they're doing." She took hold of the bottom of Nina's T-shirt. "I'm going to skin you alive, little rabbit, and watch you hop around denuded."

Nina grinned. "No, please, don't!"

Samantha looked up into Nina's eyes, suddenly startled - then her face went through a series of expressions. First, shock and shame - then, confusion. Then, Nina saw the realization blossoming in Samantha's head as clear as day. Her mischievous grin returned. "Does it amuse you, little rabbit, to play Simon Says with me? I know you didn't use your special word, so I'm just going to go ahead and -"

"No! Please, ma'am, don't take my clothes!"

"I'm going to take your clothes, Nina," said Samantha, pushing the T-shirt up and over Nina's head. "And if you really wanted to, you'd say the word, or try to stop me, but you certainly wouldn't be helping me to get that shirt off, like you're doing now, naughty bunny."

Nina grinned, her hair ruffled, and dropped the T-shirt to the floor. "Just trying to ease you into it slowly, Sam."

"That's ma'am, to you, little rabbit," breathed Sam, her eyes on Nina's chest. Nina looked down too.

She saw her best friend looking at her breasts, encased in the lacy white special-occasion bra. "Are you going to take my bra too, ma'am?"

Samantha swallowed. "Yes," she said, breathily. "Yes, little rabbit, I'm going to take your bra too."

"But whatever shall I do without it?"

Samantha's hands slid up Nina's sides, settled on her shoulders. "You'll do," murmured Samantha, stroking downwards, "whatever pleases me."

Nina watched Samantha's fingers trace across her breasts. Her hands were warm, her fingers slender - the skin was a little dry. A tiny imperfection.

Her hands are so beautiful. "What pleases you, ma'am?"

Samantha's hands stroked down Nina's belly, settled on the button of Nina's jeans. "Taking your clothes," she said, quietly, manipulating button and zip - Nina saw her eyes widening as she realized what she was doing - "that's what pleases me."

Nina arched her hips. Her jeans slid down and off. Matching panties.

Nina watched her best friend, kneeling on the bed, look up and down her body. She saw naked desire, constrained only by Samantha's dwindling efforts to stay in character. She saw Samantha's eyes settle between her legs. She knew that Samantha would be able to see a soft crease through her underwear, dampened with her excitement.

She saw the pulse in Samantha's throat. Samantha, her eyes between Nina's legs, slowly let the jeans drop to the floor.

Nina squirmed, letting her left thigh come up, revealing just a little more. "Can you see my pussy, ma'am?"

Samantha swallowed, and took a deep breath. "Yes," she whispered. "A little bit. You're very wet."

"Oh no!" said Nina, bringing her hands up to her mouth, squirming a little more, revealing a little more. "Please don't look, ma'am! I'm shy!"

"You shouldn't try to tell me what to do, little rabbit," said Samantha, but distractedly, her arm shifting, putting gentle pressure on Nina's left knee, pushing her legs further open. "I might just do the opposite."

"I'm sorry, ma'am. How wet am I, ma'am?"

Nina felt the tip of Samantha's index finger against the soft bump of her mons. Samantha applied just the gentlest of pressure, and ran her finger in a long, slow line down the crotch of Nina's underwear, between her labia. Nina squirmed and moaned, breathy and low.

She watched Samantha bring her finger up to her face. "You're soaking through your underwear," said
0 Comments
Fav stories
Posted:Aug 8, 2017 8:57 am
Last Updated:Aug 26, 2019 3:43 am
614 Views

Ok so I'm going to post a selection of my fav stories that I seem to have collected over time, I will add there not written by me, I could no way write work of arts such of these, but thank-you to the people that have, but I just have to share..

I hope everyone reading them enjoys them as much as i do

************************************************************************

I groaned softly as I settled back at my desk, reaching down surreptitiously to massage one of my calves.

"Too many trips to the copier again, Jessica?" My boss asked me sympathetically on her way by with her third cup of coffee.

I heaved a deep sigh, starting to respond, but she was already back through her office door, letting it swing mostly closed as she settled in, sipping her coffee. I shook my head and shifted my massage to my sore feet. It certainly wasn't my fault they installed the copier on the far side of the floor – and it wasn't Diane's fault that she needed things copied a hundred times a day.

I'd been Diane's assistant for not quite a year, on my fifth attempt at finding a steady job in the field. My first boss had been a kindly older man, but his second heart attack had forced his retirement, and there'd been no other job open for me that wouldn't have required more sucking up than I was willing to do. My second boss had tried to convince me that assistants always worked until 3 a.m. Don't get me wrong – I don't mind long hours. I don't have a life for them to interfere with anyway. Still, if I wanted to work eighteen hour days seven days a week, I could have gone to law school – and then I wouldn't be holding down assistant jobs for crap pay and no benefits. The third and fourth jobs...well, the less said about those, the better.

Then I had come to Elsin and Associates, a tiny law firm that consisted of Diane Elsin and her partner, the elderly man whose practice she had taken over. He was near retirement, but apparently didn't like his wife all that much – so a young, ambitious lawyer who could take over his practice while not making him work too hard fit him like a glove.

Diane also had two paralegals who worked for her, but I rarely saw them much. They worked on another floor of the office building where the law firm had its offices, and we shared them with two other such firms, so I basically only knew them as names on interoffice mail envelopes.

Diane Elsin had made a reputation for herself as a trial lawyer in her late twenties and early thirties – now forty years old, she practiced mostly as a trial consultant to larger firms. She still cut quite an imposing figure on the rare occasions she actually went to a trial, though – tall, fit, blonde, long legs, cold blue eyes – she was the very image of a ruthless, bloodsucking lawyer.

I thought she was actually a pretty nice woman, myself – quiet and private about herself, but always composed, with a ready smile. She was also one of the few lawyers I'd met that didn't treat their assistants like slaves – she wasn't one of those fruity saccharine types either. When she asked you to call her Diane, it wasn't patronizing. When she asked you to get coffee for her, it was because she couldn't get it herself at the moment, being stuck on a conference call or coming in a bit late and needing to rush straight to a meeting.

Of course, by this point in my career with her, I'd barely gotten up the courage to call her anything at all. I'm what you'd call the shy type. Very petite from head to toe, short red hair, big green eyes, still far too many freckles across my nose for a girl of twenty-eight, and a body that I worked hard on but seemed capable of attracting attention only from married men a quarter-century older than me. The fact that I hadn't been on a date with a boy since middle school didn't help with that at all. I couldn't even take advantage of it, for crying out loud – I've known I was gay since I was sixteen, when I realized that my masturbatory fantasies hadn't involved a boy in quite some time and weren't likely to any time soon. It hadn't taken very many dates with women to seal things more or less in stone for me. I was lucky, though – I came out in college, my friends were supportive, my mom seemed relieved that I had finally figured it out, and my dad's reaction consisted of one piece of advice: "Just remember, honey, a woman can be just as much of a prick as any man." Thanks, Dad – not bad advice, though.

Diane, on the other hand, was divorced, though I knew little about her life in that respect. I'd heard something about a law professor, but she'd been divorced for years, and certainly didn't talk about her love life with me. She was one of those people who you'd finish telling your life story to and then realize she hasn't said a thing about herself.

So far, my time working for her had consisted entirely of variations on the exchange I just mentioned, though – basic pleasantries, small talk, and the like. We'd had a couple of very pleasant conversations over coffee and bagels, and she took me out to dinner a few times with the rest of the firm to celebrate a particularly big account, so I hesitantly considered us friends – or at least friendly co-workers.

"Jessica?"

I looked up immediately when she called my name, and got up – wincing again at the ache in my feet and ankles – to see what Diane wanted.

She looked up, her Bluetooth phone at her ear and her desk covered with paper. "Jess," she said, muting her phone again, "I can't find those contract copies they sent over last week."

I nodded. "They're filed, I'll get them." I stepped to the corner of her office where her master files were kept, quickly rifling through a couple of drawers. This wasn't unusual – Diane was a very good lawyer, but she preferred to do everything electronically – by email or scan. Paper documents just got in her way, and she had no patience for them. So I kept the files myself, so that she didn't have to worry about keeping track of documents she hated dealing with anyway.

It's funny, looking back – we'd never actually discussed that, but I'd just sort of done it that way without thinking, and she'd never questioned it. In hindsight, that probably should have told me something.

I pulled the file she was looking for, slipping it onto the desk.

"Yes," Diane was saying into the phone, "I've got them right here." She gave me a grateful look. "Yes, you were saying – about the land agreements?" She glanced up at me, and I nodded, flipping the file open and paging to the document she needed. Another thing I did without ever having been asked.

I stayed there for the rest of the call, flipping to this page or that as I tried to follow half a conversation – I'd gotten pretty good at it. Finally, Diane disconnected the call and rolled her eyes.

"Idiot," she muttered. She shook her head, looking at the large crystal clock on her desk. "I've got a meeting in just a few minutes – make sure I'm not disturbed, okay?"

"No problem," I assured her, re-closing the file and returning it to its drawer, slipping out of the office and closing the door behind me.

This was also common. A few times a week, – or prospective – would come by. Diane's practice depended on these meetings – basically, they were sales pitches. Thus, especially after a call like the one she'd just finished, talking to some annoying mouthpiece somewhere, she'd take a few minutes to relax and get herself together before the meeting, so that she could go in and blow their socks off with the Elsin legal machine. In other words, to make herself look so frighteningly competent and ruthless that the just wouldn't be able to imagine winning without her – and more importantly, unable to imagine losing with her.

Believe me, it worked – I'd sat in on a few of these meetings. I wouldn't be surprised if quite a few of her didn't hire her just to make absolutely sure their opponents couldn't.

I went back to my desk, sinking gratefully back down into my chair – a large, comfortable, swiveling and tilting thing. Diane spared no expense on the office furniture, something I appreciated greatly after years of being the assistant in the "ergonomic" chair that made me feel like I was ninety years old when I went home at the end of the day.

These quiet times that Diane spent before meetings were private – I'd always stop calls going to her phone, and make anyone who showed up to see her wait. Her office had no windows, not even in the door, and she never talked about it, so I never knew what she did to compose herself for a meeting.

No doubt, had I thought about it, I might have guessed. One of my friends from college became a surgeon – according to him, it's much more common than most people think. Diane did the same thing that any number of surgeons, pilots, athletes, performers, and other high-stress professionals do to relax when they really need to be steady and relaxed – she got herself off. The surge of endorphins and other positive mood-affecting things that orgasm creates are more effective for calm and focus than just about any manmade drug could ever be – and cheaper, too.

So, this particular day is the day that the inevitable finally happened. A faulty latch on her office door, of all things, changed my life. I heard a slight click, and saw her door inch open, as happens with latches that don't quite fit right anymore. My desk sits just outside her door in our little corner of the floor, so I saw it immediately. Without thinking, I got up to close the door again, and, quite by accident – I swear – glanced in through the two-inch-wide crack of open doorway.

My composed, oh-so-private boss had her chair swiveled sideways and leaned back, one of her long legs up on the desk, and her hand under her skirt. Her head was thrown back, her eyes closed, and her lips slightly parted. If it hadn't been for the visible movement of her hand between her legs – and the death grip her other hand had on the arm of her chair – I might have thought she was asleep.

Now, before anyone judges me prematurely, I did exactly what any good assistant would do. I set a world record for the slowest, quietest closing of a door in the history of mankind, and crept back to my desk, where I sat perfectly still, waiting to see if I woke up. If it hadn't been for my eyes being open wide enough to actually roll out of my head if I'd so much as sneezed, no one walking by would think anything odd had just happened.

Two minutes later, Diane left her office and went to the meeting – head to toe a calm, confident lawyer. Fortunately for me, she didn't look at me as she went – I hadn't managed to get my eyes back to their normal size yet. After a lot of thought, I realized nothing was changed. She obviously hadn't seen me, and nobody else had to know. I could pretend it hadn't happened. All right, so I was naïve.

Days when Diane had meetings took on a whole different perspective for me. She'd close her door for her private time a little before that day's meeting, and I'd suddenly find myself totally incapable of concentrating on anything. I carefully kept from thinking about what she was doing – if I thought about it, I pictured it, and that certainly didn't help.

For the most part, it wasn't even that I was aroused by the whole idea – mostly, I was confused. I'd certainly never felt any particular attraction for Diane. I thought she was gorgeous, of course, but given her history of being straight and her general private attitude – and her being my boss – I'd never looked at her through that particular lens. Slowly, over the weeks that followed, I found ways to excuse thinking about it. I mean, like any single girl, I needed my relaxation too, and since I hadn't had a relationship in a couple of years I can certainly be forgiven if my mind happened to fix on the only sex-related thing to happen to me in a while. If what I saw happened to pop into my head when I was taking care of myself – usually near the end – that's only natural, since my brain had to be seeking any clear image to focus on. This made perfect sense to me, and I resolved not to feel badly about it.

I realized I was in trouble about two months after my accidental spying, when I realized that I had been sitting at my desk, waiting for Diane to come out for a meeting, and had been contemplating ways I might tamper with the door handle to get it to pop open again. I stared at it, willing the door to slip open, and give me just one more glimpse. I told myself that I just needed to see it once more, and that would satisfy the curiosity that had been raging in me.

Finally, after Diane had left for a meeting one day, I went into her office to file some things, and caught sight of something light-colored under her desk. Of course, thinking like the idiot I was that there were some papers that had slipped off the desk, I knelt down to get them – and found myself holding a pair of lacy white panties. Even that might not have been enough to doom me – but then a fragrance caught my nose. A fragrance I had not experienced in far, far too long. I could smell Diane on those panties, and that sensory addition to the image in my head sent a quiver through my breast – and parts beyond – that I hadn't felt in a long, long, time.

The panties were halfway into my pocket before I realized that Diane would probably look for them later. I replaced them under the desk, slunk back out to my own desk, and wondered how long it would take to get the delicious, softly musky-sweet smell of her out of my nose. That night, I found some of the strongest, spiciest food I could at a takeout place and breathed so deep I half-wondered if I were trying to actually scour my sinuses completely down to the bone. After that, I tried to erase the whole thing from my mind – and might have been able to, if not for our upstairs neighbors.

One day, Diane had a meeting scheduled with a huge – a major downtown firm, the sort that could be a cash cow for our little firm for years, if we made the right first impression and nailed the first job they gave us. Diane had been stressing the meeting for two weeks – she'd been as short-tempered as I'd ever seen her. Her emails to the paralegals got more and more demanding and frustrated, and she wasn't talking to anyone. To top it all off, on the day of the meeting where we expected to be hired – or not – the offices above ours were remodeling their offices. Saws, drills, hammers – you name it.

I was sitting at my desk. The meeting was in five minutes. Diane hadn't come out of her office, and I was worried. I hadn't put two and two together, or anything – don't worry, nowhere in this story is anyone going to accuse me of being terribly perceptive – but I thought that maybe she had fallen asleep...afterwards. That's happened to me several times, so I know how easy it is to drift off after a well-needed orgasm.

I'll never know what I hoped, subconsciously, might be going on, but before I could think, I was up, and knocked lightly on her office door. There was no answer.

I knocked again, slightly harder – still no answer.

So, yes, thinking that I could explain it away if I caught her asleep with her hand up her skirt – or die of embarrassment, whichever – I opened the door.

Diane wasn't asleep. Fortunately for me, she had her eyes closed, and she wasn't listening for the door to open. She was leaned back in her chair, her leg on the desk like before, her hand working furiously. Her head was back, her eyes closed – but her expression wasn't the dreamy look of a woman who has just had an orgasm, or even the straining look of a woman who's very close to one. It was the frustrated, desperate look of a woman who simply cannot quite get there.

I stared at her, thoughts I'll never remember racing through my head – and then the power saw on the floor above screamed again, and she actually groaned in frustration, shaking her head. I realized the problem immediately, having been there many times myself, and my mind slammed into one of those walls that we are all sometimes presented with in our lives.

I had two choices, and just two. If I did the ethical, professional thing and left her alone, I kept my job safe – but we risked losing a huge account, the kind of blow to a reputation from which lawyers sometimes don't recover. Nobody wants to hire the consultant that the big boys didn't think was good enough. If Diane went into that meeting stressed, tired, angry – and now sexually frustrated – and tried to impress a dozen or so veteran male lawyers...

One choice was good for me. One might be good for her. Again, it was probably one of those hints that I chose the one that was good for her and potentially disastrous for me, but...oh well. My brain, I fully admit, was turned off. Diane was the best boss I had ever had, and I dared to think of her as a friend. I had to help her – and I only knew one way to do that.

I walked into her office, closed the door very softly, walked around her desk – and before she even knew I was there, I knelt down, carefully not touching her, leaned in, and just ran my tongue over and between her desperately moving fingers.

I have no doubt that, had she not been as close as she was, as desperate as she was, or as frustrated as she was, I would have either been kicked in the face, fired, arrested, sued, or all of the above. However, Diane was way too close for that. Her fingers, like the rest of her, froze at the first touch of my tongue, in shock – but I didn't waste any time. The flat of my tongue pushed her fingers aside, stroked over her clit, and started to flutter – that was all it took. What her fingers could not accomplish, thanks to stress and a power saw, my warm, wet, soft tongue, combined with surprise, managed beautifully.

Her frozen shock turned directly into rigidity, and her body locked up tight. I felt her spasm, heard a deep gasp, and then my mouth was flooded with the sweet, tangy taste of her. Her breathing stopped for a good fifteen seconds as the spasms continued, and then she went limp with a sigh of suddenly released breath.

I licked her gently through her orgasm, and stopped when she relaxed. I leaned back on my knees, glancing up at her face – I'll never know how I had the courage to do that.

Her head was still back, but her eyes were wide open, staring straight up at the ceiling. Her lips were parted, her breathing still shaky. She slowly raised her head to look at me, and those cold blue eyes were wide with shock, her face still flushed from her orgasm.

I couldn't bear to meet that gaze, so I licked my lips clean, stood up – without touching her – and walked out of her office, opening the door and closing it behind me as though nothing at all had happened.

I knew two things for sure at that point – I would need a new job, and I would never forget what she tasted like.

Two minutes later, exactly the time at which the meeting was scheduled to start, Diane opened her door and walked past me without a glance, striding off to the meeting.

I figured I now had until the meeting ended to pack up my things and run for my life, but I couldn't make myself move. Belatedly, I thought about the pussy that I had just licked, my mind whirling to process the sensory data, since I had not gotten a clear look, as absurd as that seemed. Soft, downy blonde hair, trimmed pleasantly close. Velvety soft, warm skin. That sweetly tangy scent that I knew would haunt my dreams. A taste that made me want nothing more in the world than one more lick.

I sat there dumbly, reliving the experience over and over in my head, wishing I had an office with a door, for a long time, unable to move or think clearly. My thoughts waffled constantly between shock at what I had just done, fear of my career ending, and an arousal that had me throbbing and squirming in my chair
"Jessica?" The sound of my name brought my head up with a jerk. I looked up – into cold blue eyes, staring down at me.

She looked at me and I looked at her, and it was crystal clear that neither of us knew what the hell to say.

"We got the account," she said finally.

I managed a smile that I'm sure was downright ghastly from the other side. "That's wonderful. Congratulations."

She nodded slowly. "I'm...going home for the day – I think I need a little vacation." She looked around uncomfortably – it was the first time I can ever remember having seen her looking awkward. "Finish up the paperwork for the week while I'm gone...I'll see you on Monday."

I tried my best not to let my chin hit the desk. I wasn't fired? "Of course," I finally stammered. "Have a good vacation."

I wasn't deluding myself – she wasn't inviting me to keep doing anything, she was just a decent enough person not to fire me for trying to help, no matter how inappropriate what I had done had been. By the time she came back on Monday, I had beaten myself up enough over the whole thing to be committed to acting as though it had never happened, and Diane seemed to want to pretend the same. That was fine with me. I never wanted to feel that awful sinking feeling again – that feeling that you've just totally screwed up your life.

Nevertheless, life went more or less back to normal after that. Our interactions were polite and professional, and we slowly lost the awkwardness around each other, moving back to where we could smile and make small talk without feeling like fools.

Eventually, I convinced myself that Diane had practically forgotten all about it. I, of course, had not. Diane now featured prominently in my fantasies, no matter how hard I tried to change that. I had never really been attracted to an older woman before, though Diane hardly looked forty. I'm sure the danger of the whole occurrence helped with the eroticism of it for me, but I just couldn't help myself. Every night, I writhed on my own fingers, tasting and smelling and feeling Diane against my lips, again and again.

***

"Jessica?" Her voice sounded urgent.

I rose from my desk, hurrying into Diane's office.

She looked up, muting her phone. "Did we ever hear back from that appraiser guy? I need his figures."

"I don't think so," I answered, "let me check the mail stack again." I rushed out and down the hall to the mail desk, checking out box, but there was nothing new. I headed back to Diane's office.

"No, I'm telling you," she was saying angrily into her phone, "she can't sign the settlement until the appraiser confirms those numbers. I'm not going to advise anyone to sign it blind, and neither are her attorneys." She looked up at me hopefully, but I shook my head. She gritted her teeth, mouthing several things she couldn't say aloud.

"No," she said again into the phone, "you're not listening to me...we can't...yes...no...well, that might be possible. Will he agree to that?" Then her eyes widened. "On their way? You can't be serious. I can't advise..."

I waited attentively, in case she needed anything else. I found my eyes drifting to the chair behind her where she stood at her desk, the memories burning through my brain.

Suddenly I realized she was signaling to me. I straightened.

"Yes," she was saying, "we can be ready by then. Our conference room will be fine. No, it's their call whether or not to call in the . Yes. Fine." She hung up, growling in annoyance.

"What's going on?" I asked.

"The ass wants to change the deal," she sighed, plopping down into her chair and rubbing her forehead. "They put together a new agreement, they want my opinion of it, and they're already on their way – we're meeting downstairs in ten minutes."

"Ten minutes?" I said, taken aback.

"I know, damn it," she growled. "I hate last minute meetings."

"Will you be ready?" I asked. Dimly, some part of my brain sensed an opportunity. "The will be there, it sounded like."

"Yes," she said, suddenly worried. "They're coming along – and they weren't too happy the last time."

I smiled a little nervously. "Do you have everything you need?"

She sighs, leaning her head back in her chair, obviously displeased. "More or less."

Something in my brain told me that it was now or never, and I couldn't stop myself. Not looking at her, I stepped around the desk and took the arm of her chair, swiveling it toward me. She stared at me in surprise as I knelt down, gripping her wrists where they laid on the armrests, and held them down.

"Jessica, what..."

Still unable to look up at her, I leaned in, my head pushing her skirt up.

"Are you crazy?" She gasped. "Jessica, I can't..."

Again dimly, some part of my brain registered only that she did not tell me to stop. Before she could say anything else, my lips were nibbling on her through her panties, my warm breath washing over her. I heard her gasp, her arms flexing under my grip as she tried to squirm away, but I was past rational thought. Holding her wrists firmly, I gave her panty-covered pussy a long, firm lick, and then another, feeling her soft outer lips opening under my tongue, which wriggled, seeking out the spot within that I hoped would obliterate her resistance.

"Jessica," she gasped again, "please, you can't..." She cut off with a surprised little noise as my tongue found her clit, lashing it through the material, and she shuddered deeply, her arms relaxing momentarily – just long enough for me to release one of her arms, pull her panties aside, and burrow my tongue into the pussy that I had been dreaming about for weeks. I immediately lost myself in the sweet, silky velvet of her slit under my tongue, the heat of the opening into her body, and the way she trembled as my tongue eagerly explored her soft folds.

"It's okay," I lifted my tongue long enough to murmur, and before she could respond, lashed my tongue over her bare clit, feeling the now-erect little nub under my tongue. The moment I felt it, I let my tongue flutter, knowing exactly what that sensation feels like, knowing that no woman I'd ever met can pull away from anything that feels that good. Whatever Diane had been about to say was lost in a choked gasp as she wriggled nearly off the chair, her body squirming wildly. I chanced a look up at her now, and reveled in the chest heaving with anxious, excited breaths, the wide eyes once again staring upwards at the ceiling.

My tongue slowed, giving her gentle, luxurious licks, I felt her shudder again...and her eyes drifted closed. I exulted, my own arousal throbbing within me as I burrowed my tongue deeper, swirling it lightly around her clit and then dipping it inside her, holding in a moan as her sweet tangy flavor coated my tongue. Her body relaxed slightly. I didn't know whether she had stopped struggling out of arousal, or just thought it was pointless, or whether she was just that desperate to come before her meeting. I didn't know – and at this point, I didn't care.

I ran my tongue from the top of her slit to the bottom, rubbing it from side to side, exploring every little nook and cranny of her pussy, finding sensitive spots aplenty to judge by her shaky breathing and little gasps of pleasure. I knew that I could do this forever, if she allowed it – but I also knew I had a time limit. I let my tongue slide deep inside her, almost moaning again at the heady flavor of her, her scent filling my head and my mind, and then swirled my now-slippery tongue over her clit, slowly accelerating the motion. My lips gently sucked the little bead into my mouth as my tongue vibrated on the tip, and I felt her hips lift off the chair before she jerked, grunting softly and gasping for breath.

Her hips jerked several times, twitching, and I drank deeply of her nectar, my eyes closed and my hands only resting on her arms. Finally, she relaxed with a deep shudder, her body going totally limp, her breathing suddenly deep and labored.

I gently licked her clean, easing her panties back into place, and sat back, licking my lips clean, my eyes own wide with a kind of shock that I had actually gotten the chance to taste her again. My legs were actually trembling, and I knew that if I so much as grazed my own pussy right then, I would come too. I rose slowly to my feet, my eyes lingering on her splayed, relaxed body.

"I'll call down to the conference room that you're on your way," I said slowly, my voice a little hoarse, and turned to leave her office.

"Jessica," I heard her say slowly, and I stopped, hearing no anger in her tone.

I waited.

"You didn't think...I expected that, did you?" I couldn't identify her tone.

I slowly turned around, meeting her eyes with an effort. "No. I thought that you needed it. I was just..." I swallowed. "Doing what I thought would help the most."

Diane just stared at me, and I finally turned and left her office. I sat down at my desk and bent over some work, shading my eyes with one hand. She walked past my desk a few minutes later without a word, on her way to the meeting.

***

Later that day, to my surprise, Diane came and talked with me about the meeting as though nothing had happened, and she seemed determined to pretend that it had not – though her question had left me wondering how she really felt. I knew that she had enjoyed it – and now, I wondered if she had protested because she had not wanted me to do it, or if she had protested because she thought I felt obligated to pleasure her. I desperately feared the first – I longed to prove her wrong on the second.

"Jess," she said to me a few days later as she arrived, "pull all the files on the Davis account for me – I'm meeting with them at noon."

My heart skipped a beat or two, but I just nodded. "No problem." I followed her into her office, found the files, and left them on her desk. She nodded thanks, still unpacking her laptop and chugging her coffee, and I headed back to my desk.

The morning proceeded as usual – I answered a few calls, ordered her lunch to be sent up after the meeting was over, all the normal things an administrative assistant does. Then, at about twenty minutes to noon, I heard her hang up her phone, and she poked her head out the door.

"Hey, Jessica, call me when the get here, all right?"

"Sure," I replied, watching her close her office door. My heart accelerated about three times over.

I had a dilemma here. I could keep trying to surprise her, but sooner or later, she was going to react badly to that. I could never mention it again – but I couldn't even bear to think of that. She was all I could think about.

I knew that she wouldn't be...relaxing...until about five or ten minutes before the meeting. I figured I could take one shot...make some kind of indirect offer. If my...help...were unwelcome, then no doubt she'd still want to have given me a definitive "stop" at some point. This would give her an opportunity to do that, and then we could go back to being boss-employee. If it wasn't unwelcome...

I rose from behind my desk, walked to the door, and considered knocking, but then just opened it, slipping inside and closing the door behind me before turning to her. She looked up in surprise – she hadn't been doing anything yet, apparently flipping through a few notes before the meeting. I locked my eyes on hers – those beautiful blue eyes – and put everything on the line.

"Aren't you going to turn your chair to the side?" I asked softly.

She stared at me, her mouth open to speak, and she closed it slowly. "Jessica..."

I stepped forward to her desk, keeping my eyes on hers. "Just turn your chair, Diane. Let me help."

She blinked, shaking her head slowly. "Jessica, look...I'm not..."

I licked my lips, and she stopped talking. My heart leapt again. "All you have to do," I said even more slowly, in a voice barely above a whisper, "is turn your chair. It's okay."

She stared back at me, suddenly biting her lip in an uncharacteristic gesture of uncertainty. I stepped around the edge of her desk, and her head turned to follow me. I noticed that the collar of her blouse was rising and falling a little rapidly. The rest of her turned to follow me, and I stepped closer, keeping my eyes on hers. To be honest, I couldn't look away. The mix of emotions I saw in her eyes confused, frightened, and intrigued me, but I just couldn't look away.

I knelt down, and gently raised her leg on to her desk, holding her gaze, leaning forward, waiting for the definitive sign.

Finally, I got it. She watched me expressionlessly for a long moment, and then slowly closed her eyes, leaning her head back.

I almost whimpered with excitement and relief, and slid closer between her legs. I reached up to grasp the band of her panties – a set just like the lacy pair I once found under her desk – and helped her lift her hips to slide them gently down, noting the tremble in her legs as I did so.

I think both of us were holding our breaths when my mouth settled on her again – she let out a long sigh, and I could not help a soft moan.

She was very quiet as my tongue explored her all over again – she did not moan or whimper, but I was able to read her reactions from the little gasps and tiny sighs she gave. I searched with relish and found with glee the spots that made her tremble, the spots that made her gasp, and the ones that made her draw in her breath as though to moan for more.

I felt her shudder when my tongue slid inside her velvety, slick pussy, and I settled my mouth on her fully, my lips teasing and caressing her slit as my tongue delved deeper still, seeking the taste to which I was already hopelessly addicted.

I started gently stroking my tongue in and out of her, letting it swirl against her opening each time I pushed it in, feeling her slick channel grip it each time I withdrew. My lips slurped softly at her, coaxing more and more nectar onto my tongue. As my tongue thrust achingly in and out, I realized that she was gripping the arms of her chair, almost hard enough to make her knuckles white. Her free leg, the one not raised onto her desk, was twitching slightly, her silky thigh brushing my cheek. I couldn't help leaning my face into it a little, and digging my tongue even deeper to make that leg quiver.

I was detecting now what I had hoped to hear – not just pleasure, but surprise. Surprise at some of what I was doing. I wanted to shake my head in dismay. This was a woman who badly needed to meet someone who really knew how to eat her – and I would be happy to show her what one woman can do to another.

I slowly drew my tongue out of her, let it teasingly drift up over her clit, and then softly fastened my lips around it, drawing it lightly into my mouth and pressing my tongue against it.

She gasped loudly. "Oh, god," I heard her whisper very softly as her hips jerked.

I sucked her gently, tantalizing the sensitive bud, then begin stroking it with my tongue, up and down, side to side, then in continuous, swirling circles that brought her slowly but surely to orgasm, opening my mouth wide as I felt her arch up and stiffen so that I could taste her fully. My tongue stroked her creamy slit as she shuddered and twitched, and dipped into her as she relaxed to retrieve as much of her sweetness as I could.

She finally went limp, breathing fast and light. I sat back again, gently sliding her panties back on. As I did, I very lightly kissed her thigh, but I don't think she even noticed, lost in the haze of her orgasm.

She sat up slowly, still breathing fast, and looked at me, wide-eyed.

I smiled, knowing what I had to say. "Anything else you need before your meeting?"

Diane stared at me, took a deep breath, and managed a shaky smile in return. "No, that will be all, Jessica. Thank you."

I left her office, my heart thumping. I was in way over my head, but there was no way I was stopping now.

***

From then on, our work routine was somewhat changed. Work in general was the same, certainly, but each time Diane had a meeting, I would go into her office a half hour or so ahead of the scheduled time. The first few times, she tried protesting, but her protests never lasted, and within a minute or two, I would have her trembling under my tongue.

I noticed, though, that she still did not moan or cry out at any time, and she did her best to stay still, barely reacting to most of my attentions, her body showing her pleasure often only at orgasm. I think, somewhere deep down, she convinced herself that it was all right to essentially use an employee's tongue in this way if that's all it was – her assistant helping her relax before big meetings. While I certainly loved doing what I was doing – there were times that I felt I could almost come just from licking her, especially when I felt her tense up and release onto my tongue – I wanted more and more of her. I continued, somehow, to deny my growing feelings for her, but I determined that I was going to pleasure her to the greatest possible extent, not just be a disembodied tongue.

The next time that I was "helping" her, as I slowly slid my tongue up and down her moist slit, listening to her soft, even breathing and little gasps each time I passed over her clit, I made sure she was close to orgasm, trembling, her legs tense. Then I touched her with my hands for the first time, lightly running my fingertips up the insides of her thighs. I was rewarded with a startled gasp. I was dimly aware that she had raised her head at the contact, but I just flattened my palms on her thighs, massaging her warm, silky flesh as my tongue burrowed deeper, and drove her to orgasm before she could react in any particular way to my touch.

When I finished, I gave no indication that I had done anything different.

I progressed slowly thereafter, starting with caressing her thighs and hips while I pleasured her, and gradually progressing to holding her hips while I made love to her pussy with my mouth. After the first time or two, it even seemed that she was anticipating the touches – when I would touch her, she would always react, with a little gasp or a little shiver or an increase in her breathing. If I only touched her when she was already close to coming, it would set her off almost immediately.

Sometimes, as I ate her, I was amazed at what we had and hadn't done. I had never touched her above the waist – I had never even seen her close to naked. I had not fingered her at all, nor touched her ass. I had made her come, jerking and twitching against my tongue, many times, but had never kissed her.

Finally, one day while I was happily burrowed between her smooth thighs and her head was slowly rolling side to side, her breath coming in pleasured little gasps, I caressed her hips, feeling her shudder with the added arousal, but then I backed off, my tongue barely touching her. At first, she just relaxed, but then I dove in again, caressing her hips as my tongue slid deep – to which she reacted with something almost like a whimper – and then backing off again. This time, I got the reaction I wanted. She lifted her hips slightly, instinctively seeking the source of her pleasure, arching her hips out in need. I immediately rewarded her by drawing her clit into my mouth and slurping it slowly, achingly, letting her shudder, her hips lifted off the chair.

The moment she started to relax, I backed off again, and made her reach for me, or would press my tongue against her but not move it – essentially forcing her to move and seek her own pleasure. Her arousal battled her self-control and won – within a few minutes, I had her rocking and bucking her hips against my mouth, lost in the pleasure of it. When she came, it was intense, with her hips bucking her slick, clasping pussy up and down on my tongue, almost riding it, while her breath escaped her in tiny involuntary grunts, her hands clutching the arms of her chair as I held her creamy, jerking hips.
We continued in this way for almost three months – I would spend a half hour before any meeting with my arms wrapped around her hips, holding her up off her chair and letting her thrust and buck against my mouth as I slowly licked and tongued her out of her mind. I was in heaven – a gorgeous, sexy, wonderful woman was almost dependent on me for pleasure. I was fairly sure I was her only source of orgasm at this point – from her reactions to my touches, I don't think she was pleasuring herself at all anymore. If she hadn't had a meeting in a couple of weeks, she would often come within only a minute or two.

However, the emotional quandary continued. I wondered whether I had feelings for this woman – and if I did, what I should do about it. If I tried to change our arrangement into a romantic relationship, I risked losing everything. I was fairly sure that the dichotomy between our relationship and our physical intimacy was getting to Diane as well – whenever I would slip into her office, she would look at me with a mix of anticipation, desire, and an odd sort of confusion, as if she was not sure how she should emotionally react to my presence anymore.

Eventually, the question was answered for me. We reached a tipping point one afternoon. Diane had a meeting scheduled over dinner with not one, but two , and I slipped into her office almost a full hour before Diane had to leave for the restaurant. She seemed surprised to see me that early, but she turned her chair nonetheless and willingly surrendered her pussy to me. I loved the first sigh she gave when my mouth touched her. It was a sigh of pleasure, of relief, and of a satisfied anticipation, as if she really did look forward to these sessions.

This time, though, I had decided, I was going to take my time. I deliberately avoided her clit – no matter how much her hips reached for me or how much she tried to twist herself to get contact there, I kept from touching it, running my tongue over her lips, sucking and nibbling at them, and then swirling my tongue around her opening without entering, tantalizing her. After almost fifteen minutes of this exquisite torture, she actually surrendered to it, letting her body relax and just enjoy the gentle, restrained caresses of my mouth. I used my whole mouth, my lips and tongue and even my teeth, lightly nipping at sensitive flesh, teasing her until she was just breathing deeply and shaking ever so slightly, all of her willpower going into not pleading with me to pleasure her more directly.

I dipped the tip of my tongue into her ever so slightly, and heard her catch her breath. Then I withdrew, swirling around her opening, and dipped in again without warning, again barely entering. Another little gasping breath, her hips quivering. I waited a long moment until I felt her hips lift, and then licked her opening firmly, not entering, and felt her jerk, a tiny whimper escaping her. I looked up at her face – her head was lolled back, her mouth open, her eyes shut, her body totally relaxed other than her somewhat tense hips. I smiled, swirling my tongue around her a few more times to hear her gasp, and then, in one long, slow, firm thrust, buried my tongue inside her, wiggling and squirming it against her inner walls.

"Oh..."

I drew my tongue out at that, looking up in surprise and eagerness, and swirled my tongue a few more times, lashing it against her opening, tapping sensitive little crevices here and there, until I heard that tiny little whimper again. Then I plunged my tongue as deeply as I could, swirling it inside her.

"Oh, yess..."

I almost moaned at the exclamation from her, and found the sound so wonderful after all the months of listening to her silence that I pulled my tongue out again, hearing her whimper immediately in protest. I proceeded then to tease her unmercifully for five full minutes, caressing her outer lips with my tongue and lips, stroking the hood of her clit with my upper lip but never her clit itself, my tongue tantalizingly circling her opening time after time. To my delight, though, her body stayed relaxed, letting me keep control. Finally, I fluttered my tongue at her entrance, drew another whimper from her, and then, lifting her hips slightly, sank it deeper than ever into her body, my lips caressing her slit from top to bottom as I filled her with my tongue.

"Oh, Jessie..." She moaned out.

This time, I did moan. Everyone in my life called me Jess or Jessica. I hadn't been Jessie to anyone since kindergarten. To hear a real endearment on her lips...I had to hear it again.

My tongue teased, darted, swirled – and then lashed her clit, lightly but continuously, driving her almost up out of her chair.

"Oh, my god," she moaned. I slid my tongue down her slit and inside her again. She moaned.

I was like a with a toy – I did anything that I could think of to make her moan again and again for me, and even though sometimes I sensed her trying to hold them in, she seemed to have surrendered too deeply to stop herself. I started taking her toward her delayed orgasm, fluttering my tongue intermittently on her clit, in between slow, searching thrusts inside her. I made the touches lighter and lighter, almost not touching her at all, feeling her hips rise into the air, and then fastened my mouth to her, sucking deep but gentle on her clit, lashing it with my tongue.

"Oh! Oh, god...oh, god, Jessie..." Her exclamation trailed off into a long, shuddering silence, and then an outright squeal as she climaxed deeply, flooding my mouth with her sweetness. She would have bucked right out of my arms if I hadn't been holding her tightly.

"Oh, Diane," I whispered into her pussy as she relaxed – so softly that I don't think she could hear me. I massaged her trembling hips and thighs as she slumped, splayed open and totally limp in her chair.

***

We definitely seemed to have passed some sort of barrier after she first moaned my name. We both apparently realized that, whatever the complicated emotional underpinning, what we were doing was extremely pleasurable, and didn't seem to be harming either of us. When we worked, we were as we always had been – friendly and professional. When I was between her legs...now, she voiced her pleasure, if with restraint, moaning and whimpering, occasionally squealing when I did something she especially liked. Her moans of my name – especially the diminutive form of it that I loved to hear from her lips – were still rare and precious when I earned them.

Much of the time, Diane would lie back in her chair with her free leg over my shoulder and her other leg up on her desk, and I would take my time pleasuring her while slowly running my hands over her legs and her hips as much as I liked – which was a lot. She loved when I massaged her feet with my hands while I massaged her clit with my tongue. She squealed the first time I cupped her ass and let her thrust herself to orgasm on my tongue entirely on her own.

She definitely was giving in to the entire process in other ways, too. More and more often I would arrive for one of our sessions only to find her panties already gone, or would feel her press her leg against my hand or arch her hips to my touch without my having to guide her. She would signal me with her sounds when she wanted something – if I was teasing her too much, or she wanted contact somewhere else, she would guide me with whimpers or movements of her body.

On one rare occasion when she needed me to work on a Saturday because of a meeting she was having at a local church picnic, of all things, she actually wore a dress to the office – the first time I had seen her in anything but a skirt and blouse. This, of course, provided me an incredible opportunity. With her dress up around her waist, her creamy hips and thighs totally bare to my hands and her body laid back comfortably, I took the opportunity to explore not only her flat stomach – and much enjoyed feeling the quivers and tension in the muscles there – but slid my hands up higher, and for the first time, touched her breasts. They were soft and silky smooth, and their weight felt perfect in my hands.

The first time I touched them, she gasped, arching against my hands, but her hips pulled back with a hint of nervousness. I almost laughed at the idea of a woman who had my tongue buried inside her being nervous about me touching her breasts. I drew my hands back, exploring her torso, and my tongue soon encouraged her to writhe against my hands. I returned to her breasts, gently massaging them, and, already close, she arched, whimpering loudly. When I tugged softly at her nipples, it was enough to push her over the edge, and I luxuriated in the feel of her nearly bare body bucking under my hands.

Now, we had found entirely new territory to explore. Within a few more sessions, even in her usual blouse and skirt, Diane would be laying with her blouse open, her bra and panties gone, and her body exposed to my ceaseless caresses, giving her body entirely over to me to drive to higher and higher pleasure.

All along this path we were treading, though, I never once suggested or at all hinted that I wished her to return the favor – indeed, we both seemed to shy away from any possibility of that ever happening. I dressed conservatively to work, and she made sure that her body did not brush mine in any way that might be taken as a returned caress. Both of us seemed fearful to cross that boundary, knowing that if she ever returned the pleasure I had given her, we would be lovers in truth.

Even now, I am not sure why I feared that so – perhaps even the threat of losing such a lovely, albeit incomplete, relationship was enough. Perhaps it was something else. I doubt I'll ever know.

***

It was inevitable, I suppose, that despite our enjoyment of our "arrangement", something would interfere and finally give our emotions a real chance to complicate things.

I sat at my desk, typing out a series of memos and emails to different people on my daily contact sheet. Diane's last meeting had been a few days ago. We had become a great team – with my help, she had been dominating meetings even more than usual, and the firm had picked up so much business that we were seriously contemplating expanding the firm entirely – though Diane had seemed hesitant to expand, since she really didn't need to work the ridiculous hours that most lawyers do.

Firing off another email, I glanced at my inbox and saw that another email had just arrived – one from an address I didn't recognize. Opening it with a frown, I saw a long series of short messages – apparently, I had been accidentally included on an email string. This happens frequently in any office, of course, so I went indifferently to delete it, but then a single word in one of the replies caught my eye – my name.

Unable to help myself, I scrolled curiously back through the chain of messages.

- I received your quote for the renovations. Can you refer me to a legal employment agency to fill out my staff?

That message was from Diane. The next was from an address I didn't recognize, but was signed with a name I did recognize – the owner and operator of the building in which Diane's offices were located. Apparently, Diane had inquired about the costs of expanding our firm, complete with office renovations and new staff.

- Easily – the firm in the offices above yours just completed their renovations, and hired some new staff. They mentioned that they were very happy with their new staff – I've used the same staffing agency myself. They can supply all the paralegals you might need, and a truly qualified legal assistant.

I stopped in surprise, glaring a bit at the message. What did he mean, "truly qualified"? I was fine at my job, and Diane had certainly never complained. Far from it, I thought with a tiny smirk.

- It would be nice to have some of my own paralegals, for a change – sharing them can get pretty annoying. I'll definitely need some help finding at least one assistant who actually knows her stuff – the last two I've had in here had terrible recommendations, and the most recent one couldn't type her way out of a paper bag.

I stopped again – this time, in shocked dismay. I couldn't believe that Diane would really think that about me. She had always seemed pleased with my work, and had complimented me several times – she even seemed grateful to have an assistant she could work well with.

My almost nerveless hand hit the delete button, and the offending email vanished instantly. I shivered, staring blankly at the screen. How could she think...how could she fake all that? Why?

Some part of me, the logical part, maybe, thought that it might be a misunderstanding. Maybe she meant the girl before me – from what I'd heard, she hadn't lasted long.

Of course, I couldn't deny that the law was no specialty of mine. I had picked up bits and pieces, certainly, but I had no formal training or education in legal matters. Law school had never been a financially viable option for me.

I slumped in my chair. Maybe Diane did need a real legal assistant. After all, if she were going to expand her practice, she'd need a full staff, maybe even a partner or two, and assistants who could offer their own legal insights, not just a glorified secretary like me.

I worked for the rest of the day in something like a dream, going mechanically through the motions of my emails and memos, copying down meeting minutes, barely paying attention to what I was doing. I made sure to leave before Diane finished for the night so that I wouldn't have to speak to her, not trusting myself.

Half of me felt as though what was happening was only inevitable – good things usually came to an abrupt end before they should, in my experience. The other half felt angry. I found myself questioning everything that had happened. I wondered whether Diane had ever even really liked me, or if had just tolerated me. Whether she truly enjoyed what I had been doing to her, or whether she had just used me.

That night, though, as I climbed into bed, I could not stop the fantasies returning to me. As my fingers began to tease along my slit, I could not help but imagine the heaven I had found again and again with her, with the taste of her, the sound of her ecstasy and the feel of her skin on my face and mouth while I savored her. I writhed under my hand, and reached my first climax quickly, gasping and shaking. I lay still, eyes closed, Diane's beauty in my eyes and her moans in my ears.

Then I recalled the words I had read, and my anger returned. The memory of her soft, pleasured moans returned – but now the sounds were harsh, cynical, somehow soured. That delicious surrender in her body as she relaxed each time beneath my questing tongue turned into something else – something accompanied by a smug laugh, the sense of getting something that one wants, not a true desirous surrender.

I bit my lip, my anger increasing until I was nearly in tears – and I found my fingers moving again, this time fast and hard, almost grinding into my sensitive skin. The pleasure came in waves, harsh jolts up my spine and through my stomach, tightening it until it nearly burned. I grimaced, digging two fingers into myself. Instead of savoring the memories, I cursed at them now, glowering at the image of my boss that floated before my confused mind.

For a few brief moments, I hated her. Hated this confusion, this sick fear that was choking me.

"Damn you, Diane!" I gasped, growling as I arched up off my bed with my second orgasm, this one hard and sharp, wrenching my spine and causing my legs to spasm so hard that they immediately began to cramp. I curled up immediately on my bed in a fetal position, the pain mingling with my still-fading pleasure.

Finally, I relaxed, the cramps dying out and my breathing returning to normal.

It was so frustrating – I wanted to be angry. I wanted to be furious, to storm into her office and quit – or even show her what I knew about the law. Maybe trap her in some kind of situation where I could sue her, make her pay for this pain I was feeling.

I wanted so badly just to give over to that fear and anger.

But I couldn't. I couldn't hate her. I know now, of course, why I couldn't hate her – some people can hate someone they're in love with, but I'm just not built that way. I didn't realize that at the time, though. The bizarre arrangement, the strange story of our relationship had walled my feelings off deep inside myself and hidden them under layers of fear, self-delusion – and an honest wish not to hurt Diane, or make her life more complex or difficult than it needed to be.

At almost any other time in my life, I would have probably just quit my job and drained my savings account on therapy trying to figure out how I had botched things so badly. This time, though, I couldn't just walk away. I'd stick around long enough to find out what Diane had meant. If she didn't want me around, then so be it.

***

"Jessica, could you come in here?"

I looked up, and for the first time, I didn't just get up and go in. "What's going on?" I called back.

There was a brief pause. "I need to prepare for my three o'clock."

I glanced at my clock. Barely two. "Now?" I asked.

"Now?" She sounded surprised. "Um, yes, now."

I bit my lip. I almost said no – I swear, I almost said it. I didn't, though, of course. I couldn't help myself. "Coming," I called back.

In her office, I closed the door, and looked at her, my heart twisting all over again at those beautiful cold blue eyes staring across the desk at me, though they seemed surprised and concerned at the moment.

"Is something wrong, Jessica?" Diane asked.

I opened my mouth to shout at her – but, again, of course, I didn't. "No, nothing's wrong."

"Good," she said slowly, still looking concerned.

I knew there was still an hour before the meeting, but I knew that I wouldn't be able to pleasure her for that long the way I felt now...I'd break in two from sheer emotional trauma. I resolved to make it quick – to just get her off and be done with it. Some part of me tried to be clinical, calm, and indifferent. Do it fast, I told myself flatly. Get her to come and she'll leave you alone.

I stepped around her desk, and she turned to meet me. I saw the slight widening of her eyes, the little break in her lips, but my flat thoughts dismissed what I saw. Just lust, I thought. She needs it, no question – that doesn't mean she has any feelings for me. You're just a walking vibrator at this point, I told myself brutally.

I knelt down, slid up her skirt, pulled her panties down – just a bit roughly, I'll admit – and slid my mouth back against her again. She sighed, and I quivered, almost breaking just in that instant, my eyes filling with tears as my lips tasted her sweetness, that tanginess that I so loved, while that anger glittered deep in my mind and other feelings, complicated and frightening, bubbled just underneath, threatening to break free. I knew she wanted me to take my time, but now I didn't want what she wanted. I wanted to hurt her – but I couldn't hurt her. I wouldn't give her what she wanted, though. She'd get what she needed – to come – and that was all.

I ran my tongue firmly over her slit, feeling her twitch in response with a soft whimper, and my tongue softened for a split second, caressing her lips like the petals of a flower, easing them open and sliding within – but my pained heart wouldn't allow me to melt into her again. My tongue hardened, stabbing at her clit almost roughly, and she jerked with a startled gasp, her thighs almost gripping my head as she reacted to my firmness.

I grabbed her legs, my anger heating me, and I took that anger out on her pussy, on the soft, delicious flower that I had worshipped all those times before. I lashed it with my tongue, stabbing and darting my tongue here and there. By now, I knew every weakness in her. I knew where to flutter my tongue to make her jerk, where to stab it to make her gasp, and where to suck her in to drive her over the edge. I made her come brutally fast, with a strangled, startled little squeak, and let her twitch rapidly against my face, my eyes closed and my mouth hard on her soft flesh
I felt a distant satisfaction – she might have been using me, but at least I could make her come whether she wanted to or not – and leaned away from her, licking my lips furiously, already trying to turn my mind back to the work that waited back at my desk.

Then I couldn't move. Not due to any hesitation on my part, but because her hand was gripping my hair, holding me tight. She arched her back, still breathing fast, and pressed her soft folds back to my lips, rubbing them against my tongue as I opened my mouth in reflex.

"Don't stop," she gasped out, making me freeze in place. "Please, more..." She shuddered, breaking off as my tongue unconsciously touched her, some part of me still as addicted as ever to her taste, her wonderful flavor, the evidence of the pleasure I gave her.

Her fingers gripped my hair firmly, pulling, and I closed my eyes with something like a whimper as my anger imploded, evaporating into a desperate emptiness, with something warm and heavenly gleaming just out of sight. I hesitated, torn between wanting that anger back – that simple, uncomplicated rage – and that heat, that desperate need to taste her, to please her. My tongue stroked her again – this time, warm, soft, and loving, sliding over her opening, dipping into her, grazing her still-sensitive clit.

It was Diane that shattered my resistance this time. "Oh, god, Jessie, more..." she moaned.

I shuddered deeply. My hands, of their own accord, grabbed those creamy smooth hips, and I licked deeper.

"Yes," she breathed, arching, her fingers softening in my hair – but they didn't leave. They rested almost limply on my head, staying gently tangled in my red hair. "Oh, yes," she shuddered, both of her legs sliding over my shoulders, enclosing me in her satiny skin.

My whimper was lost in her soft, wet flesh and her gripping thighs, and my hands slid under her buttocks, cupping her and lifting her greedily to me. My eyes opened, looking up the length of her body. Her head was back, her eyes closed, that little gap between her lips that I had savored so many times. Her free hand reached back to grip the back of her chair as she slid down to half lay in her chair, allowing her to arch higher, her pussy sliding over my tongue until we both moaned.

An image flashed into my over-worked mind – Diane, stretched out naked, on a real bed for once, gripping the headboard and arching helplessly as I drove her to whatever ecstasy I could. Another i
0 Comments
Storys or Video? whats better?
Posted:Aug 6, 2017 7:00 am
Last Updated:Aug 26, 2019 3:43 am
517 Views

As much as I love watching other people being naughty either in person, on-cam or an erotic video I have to admit that sometimes I find some very much the same and end up switching off or skipping, but what I do love is a good erotic story that gets me involved in the action and leaves me very horny..

What are other peoples thoughts??
0 Comments
Return
Posted:Aug 6, 2017 6:38 am
Last Updated:Aug 26, 2019 3:43 am
510 Views

Ive been back only for a few days and already making some great fun with new friends and old, don't be shy peeps come and say hello and we can see what fun we can have....
0 Comments

To link to this blog (icecubeheaven) use [blog icecubeheaven] in your messages.

  icecubeheaven 39M
39 M
July 2019
Sun Mon Tue Wed Thu Fri Sat
  1
 
2
 
3
 
4
 
5
 
6
 
7
 
8
 
9
 
10
 
11
 
12
 
13
 
14
 
15
 
16
 
17
 
18
 
19
1
20
 
21
1
22
 
23
 
24
 
25
 
26
 
27
 
28
 
29
 
30
 
31
 
     

Recent Visitors

Visitor Age Sex Date
Jizzfortea 56M7/26
smallballs555  64M7/21
Bobbilly680  49M7/21
lovethestick  74M7/21
CarliJam 46/48C7/21
jayR5469 35M7/21
tungemall  61M7/21
posty2  64M7/21
Oralfun69mm  71M7/21
happyhour195662M7/21

Most Recent Comments by Others

Post Poster Post Date
Ouch (6)Bobbilly680
Jul 21, 2019 5:31 am
Frustrating (5)2Saltie2
Jul 19, 2019 6:34 pm