“Does that satisfy you now, Ron?” Vanessa murmured, her eyes sparkling at me.
Ron gave his head an exaggerated shake. “Yup! That’ll do me. Until later tonight, that is, sweetheart.” He rocked up off the sofa and gave Vanessa a pinch on the arm. Then he turned to Brent and said, “Say, have I shown you our new big-screen HD 3D TV? It’s down in the basement. Come with me.”
While the two men trotted off to talk toys, Ron boasting that his was bigger than Brent’s, Vanessa and I cleared away the glasses and carried them into the kitchen. The sink was full of dishes, and Vanessa was about to turn on the tap and start rinsing some off, when I grasped her right arm and turned her around, then kissed her hard on the mouth.
She jerked back against the counter, stunned, grabbing onto the sink in behind for support. Her breasts bobbed up and down, taut against the thin material of her dress, nipples almost poking right through. Her innocent display of womanly affection for the benefit of the guys had aroused my primal lust for ladies all over again. I suddenly couldn’t control myself, alone with the beautiful woman, the taste of her still on my lips.
I gripped Vanessa’s buff, bare shoulders and then ran my hands down her toned arms. Her skin was smooth and silky. She trembled, a smile quavering on her lush lips. “W-Where’s Ron when you need him, huh?”
I kissed her again, brushing her lips with my tongue this time, sliding my hands down onto her waist. “We don’t need Ron, or Brent. We have each other.” I flowed my hands up the curved contours of her waist and onto the firm mounds of her breasts.
“Oh, Allison! Please!”
It was half remonstration and half exhortation, all pleading. I cupped and squeezed Vanessa’s breasts, pressing my lips into her soft, scented neck. She gasped and almost collapsed backwards right into the sink. But she didn’t try to break away. And I had no intention of breaking it up. It had been too long between ladies for me.
I didn’t think for a moment that I was cheating on Brent, mind you. It was just something – the passion, the lust – that had flared up between two women, to be shared between two women. The situation and setting was just right, the sensuality too overwhelming to be stopped.
I kissed, licked Vanessa’s lovely neck, fondling her beautiful breasts. And she suddenly embraced all that I was feeling, wrapping her long arms around me and pulling me tight to her luscious body.
I brought my head up. She mashed her mouth against mine. Our tongues darted together, joy sweeping through us, both of us shuddering with our unleashed feelings. Vanessa’s hands glided down my back and onto my buttocks. She squeezed the thick flesh, groping my back mounds, urging me – us – on, showing me that this wasn’t her first time with another woman, either. The men had aroused our lust, now we were glorying in it.
Our tongues swirled and swirled together, my hands clutching and working Vanessa’s breasts, her hands kneading my buttocks. Then I pulled my head back, pushed it lower, at the same time scooping Vanessa’s breasts out of her sexy gown.
I cradled the hot cones of flesh in my hands. Her nipples were thick and hard, dark as the night. I stuck out my tongue and twirled it around one nipple, then the other, the contrast of spinning wet pink on stiffened deep black making us both shiver with delight. And then Vanessa shivered alone, as I delighted in sealing my lips over one of her rubbery breast tips and sucking on it.
“Oh, God, Allison! Yes!” Her long fingernails sunk into my buttocks, her breasts thrusting forwards into my face.
I tugged on her one nipple with my mouth, then jumped my head over and consumed half her other breast, pulled on it, my cheeks billowing and tongue flailing, all the time eagerly groping her tits. Her heaving chest shone with my saliva, especially at the tips.
Then I slid down her body, my hands running over her curves the other way now. She swiped the straps of her dress off her shoulders and shoved the garment down. I pulled it all the way down, so that the dress puddled at her feet, and her pussy was exposed right before me.
She was trimmed bare, except for a tuft of downy black fur at the top of her slit. Her lips were dark and glistening, engorged. I breathed deep of Vanessa’s cunt, the spicy scent awakening more semi-suppressed sexual memories in me. Then I looked up at the woman, into her widened brown eyes, which were staring down at me, and I stretched out my tongue and licked her pussy.
She full-body shuddered, and wailed, “Yes! Oh, yes!”
I sunk my tongue into her petals and licked all the way up. Did it again, and again, and again. Her tangy juices rolled onto my stroking tongue, the taste and texture and heat of her pussy making mine brim with simmering liquid, my body flush with shimmering heat. I pressed my tongue as deep as I could into her delicious pink and dragged it the length of her slit over and over.
“Oh, God, Allison! I’m—”
She grabbed onto my head and yanked me into her cunt. She spasmed and squirted, just as I took her swollen clit into my mouth and sucked on it.
Vanessa came violently, vibrating against the kitchen sink and myself, her breasts and pussy jumping. She almost tore my hair out as she drowned me in her hot, ecstatic gushes, my head buried in between her quivering legs.
She was only too willing to comply with whatever I suggested after it was all over.
I rose up and kissed her, swirling some of her essence into her mouth on the end of my tongue. Then I hissed, “Fuck me!”
She gaped at me. “I . . . how—”
“With your fingers! Fuck me!” I tore my blouse open and pulled it off, ripped my skirt open and flung it aside.
I was on fire, burning with lust. My breasts and pussy strained my underwear, swollen with emotion. I jerked my cups down and popped my breasts free, yanked my panties to one side, exposing my cunt. My nipples were erect, yearning for licking and sucking and biting, my pussy dripping to be filled and fucked. I pulled Vanessa’s face down close to my chest with one hand, grabbed onto her wrist with my other hand and jabbed her fingers against my pussy.
Her tongue shot out and flogged my nipples, wet neon pink on jutting cherry red. I shivered and gasped. Her hand covered my sodden mound, fingers stroking my cunt lips. I groaned and shuddered with erotic sensation.
Vaguely, I heard male voices far off somewhere. But barely, above the pounding of blood in my head and my pussy. There was no call for men here; this was pure woman’s work: absolute pleasure.
Vanessa inhaled one of my nipples and sucked on it, plunged two of her fingers into my pussy and pumped. She looked up at me from my tits, anxious to please. I grinned down at her, pleased, very pleased – the vaccing on my breasts and churning in my cunt were driving me wild.
Her fingers penetrated deeply, pumped rapidly, plugging into my pussy with a skill no man could ever match. She unlocked my nipple and then sucked up the other, nursing on my breasts as only a woman knows how.
I was surging, the pressure building and building inside of me, Vanessa’s pistoning fingers and sucking lips and thrashing tongue pumping me overfull to bursting. And then she drove me to the very edge, by slapping my bare butt cheeks with her free hand, stinging me, stunning me; her forceful smacks sending her flying fingers even deeper inside me, jumping more of my tits into her swallowing mouth.
I was up on my toes, ready to explode. Vanessa shot a finger down in between my gyrating buttocks, along my bum cleavage, and slithered it right into my ass. She sunk into my anus up to the third knuckle, then pumped, like she was pumping my pussy with two of her other fingers.
“Ohmigod!” I shrieked, seething with rapture, impaled both in front and behind, rocking on Vanessa’s fingers, the woman biting into my nipples.
I arched, seized up, shattered.
Orgasm scorched through my body in superheated wet waves, as I was sent heavenward.
By the time our husbands finally journeyed back up from Ron’s man-cave, Vanessa and I were back sitting on the sofa, chatting comfortably. It had just been some girlish fun between women, nothing more, nothing less
. And if Brent and Ron want to watch next time, so be it. As long as they don’t get in the way.
THE ROCKING HORSE
Belinda, New York
When I look back, I wonder how I survived. It was sheer will power, I think, with help from a woman. Until her, it would’ve been easier if I’d killed myself, but I was too eager to live and too stubborn to die.
My problems started at home, a hell-hole where mom and I were punch bags for an alcoholic bastard. I hated my dad. One day, when he punched my face, making me fall and crack my head open, I hit him with a frying pan, shattering his nose. “Cock-sucking bitch!” he shouted as I ran away. I was sixteen years old then and I never went home again.
I’ve done too many vile things for someone my age living on the streets. Odd jobs didn’t last, so I soon discovered the easiest way to make a buck was to sell myself; getting my ass slapped and giving blow-jobs in a back alley became routine.
There were terrifying moments when I narrowly escaped a cut throat and being asphyxiated for resisting intercourse – or rape, more like. Most times I had to threaten the brutes with a long kitchen knife stolen from a hardware store by a vagrant acquaintance named Pocky, who had acne and rotten teeth with enough bad breathe to power a tank.
I didn’t win every time and, after a boozed-up old geezer duped me with the promise of food and fifty bucks if I went to his apartment, I walked like a crooked nun for a while. He seemed okay, but it was a grave mistake; alas, when you’re hungry and broke you do idiotic things. He was too powerful and gave me a black eye, bruised ribs and a hard belting on my bare butt; and, when he threw me on my stomach onto the bed while the full weight of his pot-belly kept me in place, he stuffed his stiff, unyielding cock into my virginal anus for so long I nearly barfed. Being fucked dry hurts badly and my ass was sore inside and out.
After he finished, I went to his grubby bathroom to clean myself up. When I got back he was soundly asleep – the fool! I emptied his wallet and quickly left with $275 and change. I’d earned it for being treated like that, so why not? But when you’re a street kid, bravely thoughtless and willingly agree to go with a guy, you take your chances. It was a horrible, rough rutting, but I made good money for one day.
I had brains and wanted to go to college but gave up because my ambition was scorned upon. I remember my dad screaming I was only fit to be a whore; he was right about that. From later experiences, I learnt that men are brutal and despicable; I don’t trust them. Therefore I prefer women, even if some want to spank me – they kiss and make love better anyway.
One night I performed for two ladies in a house in Soho. They let me have a shower and I had my first Martini and hors-d’oeuvres. It was a trio-oral-dildo session and my initiation into the real lesbian world. I had to kneel down and give oral to one of them while the other sat on my back, pulling my hair and calling me nasty names, and then they changed places to start over. Afterwards they made me stand up to receive simultaneous oral from them front and back. Having that done made my legs quiver weakly and my internal muscles juicily vibrate tremulously; it was a different kind of orgasmic thrill. That was when I discovered that women’s tongues were terrific. The three of us were satisfied and I departed happily with cash in hand.
Eventually, I found a safe lesbian bar where I could sit feeling safe and cosy when it rained or was too cold to roam. Nothing much happened there, except laughter, sexy intimations and touchy-feely moves with kisses and hugs.
Living on the streets is a bugger and I became an expert scrounger and thief. I could pick pockets, steal groceries from open boxes outside small stores and grab stuff in supermarkets. It was a cinch. I took soft drugs whenever I could but didn’t inhale or inject the hard stuff – I couldn’t afford them. Protecting myself and doing things I didn’t want to do turned me into a tough, callous bitch with a hard-nosed exterior that disguised my nervous uncertainty inside. I didn’t have a choice; I had to live. Consequently, I learned to put up with a lot of shit.
My sorrowful existence began to take a turn when I met an astounding woman, who would encourage me to change my life. She picked me up in the same lesbian haunt. I was at a loose end, feeling decadent, and had spent my last pennies on a soda and needed some dough.
I’m medium height, cheeky attractive and too thin, I’m told. I’ve got pistachio nut-shaped brown eyes, pouty lips and unkempt short hair, which was badly dyed into the colour of a toffee apple. So I’m called Toffee-Top and look like a boyish waif.
I don’t know what it was about her, but I’d the feeling I couldn’t escape if she got her claws into me. She looked superb, wearing a tight-fitting outfit. Her make-up and coifed hair were meticulous, enhancing her huge, dark, penetrating eyes and sensual lips. She had a generous figure that reminded me of a Romanesque painting I’d seen. She was taller than me, with a curvy waist, nicely shaped booty and boobs sticking out far enough to poke me.
I was surprised when she began to talk to me, because I tended to attract the traffic-battered, dollar-a-slot cheapies. She started chatting like I was a familiar friend without introducing herself first. Instead, she muttered casually that she was fed up going to bed weeping in her loneliness and the time had come to do something about it. She said, “The reason is, to date, I’ve played for the excitement of the game and its pleasures. Yet the end results have been temporary feelings of love – which happens too often – and then I feign the assumption that I’m ahead of the game; but it’s an artificial compromise and not where I want to be. I’m tired of messing around. I want love – real, permanent love.”
Jeez, that was a mouthful! I mean, what kind of person would start off with a new acquaintance like that? I decided to give her the run around for fun, but she upped me on that.
“Sooo, what do you do for a living?” she asked, delicately holding a glass of white wine with her other hand tucked on her waist. Her presence alone was daunting.
“Nothing,” I replied, nonchalantly sipping my soda.
“Sooo, if you do nothing, will you be mine and belong to me, Sweet-Pussy?” she purred. “I think you’ll be very lickilicious!”
What? I didn’t know how to respond . . . even though the lick-y-blah bit intrigued me. Her suggestion jolted my thoughts: Is she for real? Belong to her? Bullshit, I told myself. She’s weird – stay away from her! I said I wasn’t her type, not knowing who or what she was. She queried that and asked how I could randomly classify her. I yelled at her, saying I wasn’t interested and to go away, making some people nearby turn their heads. She was unruffled and asked me what it was I wasn’t interested in, which frustrated me, so I yelled again and told her to get lost.
She reprimanded me, wagging a finger in my face while tut-tutting that I was very rude. She said she’d been told I was a wicked street waif and she’d seen me a few times before. She knew I got spanked for cash and gave ugly men oral. Oh! How frightfully awful!
She was irritating. I retaliated by saying I wasn’t and that it was none of her business. But she persisted and suggested I was lying. I told her vehemently to stop questioning me and for fucks sake leave me alone.
I remember her staring at me. And you know what? Suddenly, for some absurd reason, I felt stripped, like she could read my mind . . . as if she knew the real me. And there was something else. Her stature was riveting and her beauty had a soft aura I rather liked. She was bewilderingly irresistible. But I’m not that easy to get. If she wanted me, she’d have to be a little more persuasive.
She continued to prod and kept telling me I was a little Sweet-Pussy street waif who needed a lesson in manners. I’d heard that ploy before and wondered why people always used the phrase to get me over the knee. A lesson for what? Doing nothing, being half starved and stealing, and they want to give me a lesson? Fuck them!
“You’re a waste,” she accused. “But I think you’re worth saving. Let me help you.”
“And you’re an asshole busybody!” I’d had enough of her tedious babble. Sure, I was a toughie;
no one bossed me around. I’m a drifter and do what I want to do – humph! I turned to leave, but she put a hand on my shoulder and said: “No; please don’t go.” So I stayed.
“What’s your name?” she asked, slowly stroking my cheek with her soft, manicured fingers, drawing herself close, kissing me and then pinching my bum.
I shivered and gave an exaggerated sigh; she was getting to me. I told her, in a la-di-da manner, that at the moment it was Toffee-Top, but my real name was Belinda. She ignored my sarcasm and pointed out how easy it was to politely answer a polite question.
I duly noted her aloof lesson in etiquette and asked what her name was. It was her turn to reply in a pseudo-jeering voice that at the moment it was Flogina Flaggelanti, but her real name was Imogen.
Her answer made me smile. I seldom smiled these days.
Then she informed me seriously that she never said what she didn’t mean and that her suggestion had been truthful. She asked me to go with her, to the safety of her bosom, and that she’d take care of me. I was a wreck, I told her, and nobody cared a shit about me. I said I wasn’t worth the trouble.
She disagreed and told me there was always hope and to trust her. I didn’t believe her. She pondered what I’d said and advised me not to be so miserable and that a bath, proper hair-do and a change of clothes would make a world of difference, adding that I could do with some good food and vitamins to put some meat on my skinny, neglected body.
I asked her what would happen afterwards. She said she’d teach me the importance and meaning of life, whatever that meant, and that she wasn’t going to pay me a dime. Oh, she was deep all right! I was of no importance and had no meaning whatsoever to anybody and didn’t care about anything – except my animal instinct for survival.
She was compelling and I’d nothing better to do; a scrub and grub for my starving belly, new clothes and a hair-do sounded good to me. Then I thought, “Shit, why not?”
I succumbed to her invitation, or should say, her will. I didn’t know exactly what I was in for, but the least I could expect was food – if she kept her promise – then a red butt and sex. It wasn’t too much of a price to pay in my disgusting state.
The Mammoth Book of Lesbian Erotic Confessions Page 14