When I couldn’t hold back anymore, I threw back my head and cried out. She gritted her teeth and panted through her own climax, then collapsed on top of me. It was the first time I had ever been that spontaneous and open with my sex life. I felt like I had taken a big step forward with my sexuality. I couldn’t help but express my gratitude to her.
We heard scratching at the glass door that led from her bedroom to the patio. It was Miss Priss, my wayward cat.
“You see,” my new lover sighed. “I told you that you had a way with pussies.”—T.L., Tallahassee, Florida
SHE’S NO TANDOORI CHICKEN
WHEN IT COMES TO EATING INDIAN
I always end up seeing dumb “guy” movies like “Batman and Robin” and “Men in Black” with my boyfriend Brad, but I can never get the prick to take me to anything romantic. I had wanted to see the film “Kama Sutra” for weeks, but kept getting dragged to movies full of guns, gore and special effects. Finally, I decided to go by myself.
Apparently, I wasn’t the only girl who had resorted to that tactic. Of the dozen-or-so people in the nearly empty theatre, five were women like me who had come solo. I had expected the movie to be sensuous and lush, but I was surprised at how hot and horny it made me feel. The reason I was surprised was because it was the main female character, not any of the male ones, who got me all worked up.
Her name was Maya, played by an actress who was absolutely beautiful. She had exotic Indian features: huge black eyes, very full lips and long, jet-black hair. One of the movie’s other characters described Maya’s flawless, golden skin as being the color of freshly harvested wheat.
The first time she appeared nude on-screen, I actually caught my breath. Her bare body was strikingly beautiful. Her big breasts hung and swayed the way a real woman’s should, instead of jutting straight out like some silicone-implanted bimbo’s. Her hips were wide and her pubic hair was thick, not clipped and shaved into some unnatural shape.
When she rolled onto her side with her back to the camera, I could make out her shadowed pussy lips in the deep cleft of her crack.
The sight of her womanly body in that position made me want to touch myself. There was no one sitting in my row or the one behind me, so I used my fingertips to rub my crotch through my jeans.
Like a lot of girls, I had done some experimenting with girl-girl sex. I thought it must have been just a phase after I hooked up with Brad. But sitting in that theatre watching Maya make love, I felt all of those old feelings awaken.
My pussy felt good as I massaged it. I looked around to make sure that no one was watching.
I froze when I locked eyes with one of the other women who was sitting by herself. From the flickering light of the screen, I could see that she was Indian herself, and nearly as pretty as Maya.
She smiled as if she knew what I was doing, even though I was sure she couldn’t see my hand.
Maybe I should have been embarrassed at that brief, silent contact, but it only made me rub my mound harder. Now I had a “real-world” Maya that I could fantasize about. Maybe she had a body like the Maya on the screen. Maybe I’d get to find out.
I followed her from the theatre when the film ended. She was wearing pleated khaki shorts, a white sleeveless blouse and leather sandals.
Trying to sound casual, I said, “That was really great, wasn’t it?” She gave me a mischievous look.
“I don’t know about great, but it was definitely hot.” She pretended to fan her lovely face with her hand. “Definitely.”
Trying to feel her out, I asked, “What part did you like the most?” She looked from side to side to make sure nobody was standing nearby.
“I liked it when Maya stood over that little incense burner that was on the floor, to let its scented smoke come up under her long skirt. God, that was sexy. Really sexy.”
Like I said, I’ve been with girls before. I know when it’s time to cut the flirting and get down to business. “I’ve got a place near here,” I said. “Want to come over?” She batted her heavily mascaraed eyes for an answer.
Her name was Shali. She followed my car to my building. When I let her in the apartment, neither of us said anything. It was as if we had telepathically agreed to proceed in silence, as if we didn’t speak the same language.
We watched each other undress, not being shy about looking at each other’s bodies. Her nipples were very dark, like chocolate candies on her bronze tits. Like Maya’s in the movie, her pubic bush was thick and springy. At the point of that triangular pelt, her pussy lips protruded enticingly from the split of her cunt.
We put our arms around each other. Nipple to nipple and belly to belly, we shared a long French kiss. Shali reached between my legs and touched my pussy. I wanted her to shove that finger inside me, but I didn’t want to have to tell her. Instead, I decided to show her by example.
I caressed my way down her smooth belly to her cunt, which was hot and moist. I found the tight muscle of her pussy’s opening and wormed my middle finger up into it.
Shali squatted slightly, wanting more. I slipped in a second finger and fucked her with them, simultaneously rubbing her clit with my thumb.
She clutched at my shoulders. A sheen of sweat had appeared on her golden chest. She arched her back so that her mocha nipples nearly pointed at the ceiling when she came, squealing with release. She kissed me furiously after that, taking my face in her hands and pushing my naked body backwards so I landed across my bed.
She gestured for me to stay there while she rummaged in her macrame purse. What she found made my eyes pop open. It was a smooth dildo made of what looked like ivory. Up and down its length were abstract, sepia-colored designs. They were similar to the designs that decorated the hands of Maya and the other Indian women in the movie.
I raised up on my elbows. Shali knelt at the edge of the bed, parted my thighs, and licked my pussy. She taunted me with the smooth head of the dildo, but did not slip it inside me. I wanted to ask her to fuck me with it, but that would have broken our implicit vows of silence.
Shali climbed onto the bed and squatted so that her pussy was over my mouth and her face was at my crotch. Her entire crotch smelled of saffron.
I thought of the “Kama Sutra” scene that Shali had said she liked the most. I wondered if she liked it because she had done the same thing Maya did: scented her cunt with incense smoke before getting dressed.
I wanted to inhale every bit of her. I wanted to devour her. I lapped up and down her wonderful pussy. I flicked at her crinkled little asshole. I sucked her clit. She was a feast for the senses.
Between my own legs, Shali finally pressed her decorated dildo against my cunt’s opening. I was so wet that it slipped inside with no resistance at all. As Shali twisted it in and out of my hole, she massaged my clitty with her talented tongue, pushing it back and forth. My body shuddered as orgasm after orgasm electrified my every nerve. Her digital manipulation sent my mind spinning like a top.
Like Shali, I had to break the silence when I came. I bucked against the dildo and cried out, nearly sobbing with joy, throwing my head from side to side.
As we lay petting each other afterward, she noticed a picture of Brad on my nightstand.
Petulantly, she asked, “Is he your boyfriend?”
I let my hand wander down to her warm, soft pussy and fingered her cuntlips. “Yeah,” I confessed, “but don’t worry. I think Brad and I will be seeing lots more movies separately from now on.”—R.P., La Mesa, California
HORNY CLOTHES HORSE SHOPS ’TIL SHE DRIPS
I’ve been married to a rather conservative older man for several years. His idea of exotic sex is leaving the lights on, but he gets a great salary and I’ve gotten quite used to being pampered. This trophy wife is quite fond of her elegant display case.
If Stephen knew that I fantasized every time we fucked, he would think I was a slut. If he knew that my fantasies were about sex with other women, he would kick me out of our five-bedroom lakefront house, chan
ge the locks and file for divorce.
I play the prim-and-proper corporate wife for the sake of maintaining my luxurious lifestyle.
But when a discreet opportunity presents itself, I sometimes stray from the straight and narrow.
Or perhaps I should say that I stray from the “straight.” Last week I was shopping in town and noticed a new “upscale” dress shop. The outfits in the window had outrageously high prices. I was in the mood to spend an exorbitant amount of Stephen’s money, so I went inside.
Perhaps due to the steep cost of the merchandise, I was the only customer. A petite salesgirl who appeared to be barely out of her teens approached me. She looked delicious, with large brown eyes and a slender figure that was highlighted by her simple, snug-fitting black minidress.
Her dark hair was gathered in a tight braid at the back of her head.
“Hello, I’m Lisa,” she said. “If I can help you in any way, please let me know.”
She sounded deferential and yet intelligent. She was one of those rare girls who seems smart enough to know her place. I hate pushy salespeople.
I had seduced salesgirls like her in the past. After I married Stephen and was able to start shopping at expensive shops like this one, I had been surprised to discover that it was often routine for salesgirls to accompany customers into the fitting room.
I liked that kind of attention. I especially liked watching the girls’ faces when they saw what I was wearing under my country-club dresses—items such as lacy transparent bras, thong panties with fronts so narrow they disappeared between my pussy lips, and black satin garter belts.
It wasn’t difficult to tell from the girls’ expressions if they were more interested in feeling me up than ringing me up. Thanks to my personal trainer, I had a better figure at twenty-nine than I did as a high-school cheerleader.
Sure enough, Lisa followed me to the back when I had picked out two outfits. She hung them on a golden peg as I closed the dressing room door. I smiled at her and unbuttoned my blouse.
Her face was impassive as I pulled my blouse open and took it off, but her eyes gave her away.
I was wearing a pink bra with demi-cups that only covered the bottom halves of my breasts, leaving my nipples bare. Lisa was clearly surprised, but said nothing, even when I used both hands to tug at my nipples.
“I like them better like this,” I said, as their stubby tips stiffened to proud points. “Don’t you?”
“Yes, ma’am,” she quietly replied. “They’re very pretty.”
I licked a fingertip and rubbed it around the outer halo of one nipple, making it shine. Then I put that same fingertip against Lisa’s lips. She closed her eyes and sucked it. She was mine, all mine.
I cupped the back of her head in my hand and drew her toward my breast. She opened her lips and sucked hard on my nipple, drawing it into her mouth. I tugged up her dress and reached between her legs. Her satin panties were very tight against her crotch, as if they were a size too small. I wondered if she bought them that way on purpose, so that they would be extra snug against her cunt all day.
I wormed my hand inside the waistband of those tight panties. Her clit was tiny at the top of her slit, almost inverted, but I knew I had found it when she gave a weak moan of pleasure. She hungrily moved her mouth to my other nipple. She nibbled at it with her teeth, just hard enough to make me want more.
I whispered into her ear, “Touch my pussy, Lisa. Use your fingers on me.” I hiked up my skirt to reveal that I was not wearing panties.
Like a good store employee, she did as she was asked. Her fingers knew exactly what they were doing as she rubbed my slippery cuntlips and gently pinched my clit. She went to her knees. All her pretenses of respectfully awaiting my guidance before proceeding had vanished.
Lisa clutched my thighs, holding them so far apart that I had to lean back against the dressing room wall to keep from falling down.
She lapped at my pussy, then held my lips apart with her fingers to expose my clitty. She nursed at it the same way she had sucked my nipple, drawing it into her mouth as if she were seeking nourishment.
She pushed a thumb up inside my hot pussy and fucked it in and out of my body while she ate me. I reached between my legs from behind to guide the index finger of that same hand to my anus. Still thumb-fucking my cunt, she circled my asshole with her fingertip and then slowly eased it inside my ass. I relaxed my sphincter, loving what she was doing to me, wanting her finger all the way up my asshole. The flesh between that finger and her thumb was pressed hard against the narrow bridge of skin that separated my cunt from my anus.
I gritted my teeth and trembled with my approaching climax. That only made Lisa suck harder on my throbbing clit. I bucked my cunt against her mouth when I came, but she held on tight to my thighs and never broke contact. She kept sucking me long after my orgasm had subsided.
I reached under her arms and helped her to her feet, so I could kiss her lovely, glistening face.
“Would you like some of that for yourself?” I asked.
She nodded dreamily and sat in the dressing room’s upholstered chair. She hiked the hem of her black dress up around her waist. I skinned off her tight satin panties. She pulled up her knees and splayed her legs, showing me every bit of her cunnie and asshole.
We were equal now, I thought, going to my knees and burying my face in her snatch: the millionaire’s wife and the minimum-wage clerk.
I lapped at her sweet, fragrant fuck-hole, savoring her. I licked my way down to her anus. She seemed genuinely surprised—and thrilled—when I licked and probed her asshole with the tip of my tongue.
I was greedy. I wanted to come again. I stood up and straddled one of her legs so that I could rub my cunt against Lisa’s.
I kissed her deceptively innocent face as I rubbed my mound against hers, thrusting my hips like a man. She made little whimpering sounds, then I felt her thrusting back against my crotch. Our juices were running down our thighs and our tongues were in each other’s mouths as we cried out and came together.
My wealthy husband sometimes complains about how many new clothes I buy each week, but I ignore him.
Stores like Lisa’s that know what good customer service is all about are just too hard for a girl like me to resist.—V.W., Bal Harbour, Florida
I THINK THAT I SHALL NEVER SEE A POEM
AS NICE AS HER PUSSY
Rule number one for picking up girls is the same whether you are male or female: Go where the girls are. Fortunately, though, there are some places where even the most desperate guy is not likely to show up trolling for pussy.
Which makes those places the perfect places for a girl like me to find new girlfriends.
Case in point: I have found that any guy who signs up for a night class devoted to poetry is either gay or a henpecked husband. But the women are another story.
Many of the girls I see in poetry classes are frustrated romantics and sensitive wallflowers.
They are almost always single. And they are dying for an opportunity to say “the hell with men” and find true satisfaction in the arms of another woman.
In a class that started last Thursday, I knew right away which of my fellow students I most wanted to take home.
She had shoulder length auburn hair, a nice bustline, and oversized wire-frame glasses. Her skirt was short enough that she showed a lot of thigh when she crossed her legs. I picked the desk next to hers.
Her name was Darcey. I suggested during a break that we go to a frozen yogurt place after class. She agreed.
When we took our seats at a small table there, I didn’t have a chance to go into my usual rap about how uncivilized men are, and have you ever thought of experimenting, and of course I’ll never tell a soul if you go to bed with me.
She threw off my rhythm by asking, “Are you gay?” “Well, I’ve been with both guys and girls. I suppose that maybe I’m bisexual.”
That usually made for a reassuring answer, even if it happened to be untrue
.
She looked disappointed. “Oh. I was hoping you were all-the-way gay, because I wanted to try it. Ever since I saw that ‘Ellen’ TV show, I’ve wanted to see what it would be like to go to bed with a real lesbian.”
That was a new one. I tried to look appropriately humble. I whispered, “Well, actually, I am. I was just afraid I would scare you off if I told you.”
She put a sympathetic hand on mine. “Oh, that’s terrible,” she said. “I feel so bad now.”
I asked her if she was up for a quick trip to my place. We had a couple of drinks there, which always helps. Then it was time to check out her goods.
For some reason, people always think that a girl’s description of sex should be all hearts-and-flowers and delicate euphemisms for body parts. But the truth is that some of us are the same kind of nasty horndogs as guys are. Just because I happen to look frail and fair like Gwyneth Paltrow doesn’t mean I have the sense and sensibilities of a Jane Austen character.
Darcey’s tits were soft and round. The outer circles of her nipples were as big as a coffee cup, with tips that already were stiff when she took off her bra.
Her pubic hair was the same coppery auburn color as the hair on her head, and it came to a little curl between her slender thighs.
“I don’t really know what to do,” she said. “You’ll have to show me.”
I wanted to bury my face between her long legs right away and eat her to a frenzy, but she seemed the type who would benefit from a little foreplay.
I lay in bed beside her and caressed her body, letting my fingers linger on her tits and her pussy mound. She didn’t pull away.
“Do you like this?” I said.
“Yeah, it’s nice.” She hesitantly turned her face to my chest and looked at my bare tits. My nipples were as stiff as hers. She opened her mouth and gently sucked at one of them.
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