by Ashley Hind
“How many girls have you fucked with this dick?”
“Mmm. I don’t know...”
“You’ve fucked lots of girls, haven’t you?”
“Mmmm. Yes.”
“Yes, you have,” I place my mouth back on her tits, thrusting the dildo against her mound again. Joslyn opens her eyes, and reaches for my face, pulling it up to her mouth. She kisses me deeply with her hands on my face, swirling her tongue into me, opening her mouth widely to take more of my tongue into hers. Then, something surprising; perhaps being inspired by her apparatus, she then forcefully moves my face down to her dick. Obediently, I lick my lips and take the tip into my mouth, tasting slightly of plastic. She watches me, and I make eye contact with her the whole time. I don’t move independently, but hold my mouth open for her. She gives me more, pushing her hips towards me, and holding my head there. I feel my pussy moisten at the power switch. I like dominating her, but I love it the odd time she takes control.
My mouth is almost full with the massive thing, but I know she’s going to give me more. I have no choice, as she holds my face in place. I feel a dribble of spit off my bottom lip, and reach down for my own pussy. I moan, touching my clit for the first time, but it comes out muffled. She breathes, “yeah,” and I take the cue to make more noise while my mouth is full. She pulls my face closer to her dick, and I swear I feel it tickle the back of my throat. I rub my pussy furiously, and release a groan past the dildo. She smiles in appreciation. I try to relax my mouth, so I don’t gag on it. I’m drooling, and my pussy is getting wetter, as well, so I start to give myself a couple fingers. I cry out, but it only comes out as a gurgle. She takes the opportunity to push the dick further down my throat, and I don’t dare move. I need to concentrate on breathing with it obstructing me. I fuck myself with two fingers, while rubbing my clit with the other hand. Oh god. She begins to thrust.
Joslyn holds my face, while thrusting into my mouth. I take extra care to stay still while she does it; to stay open and ready to take it again and again. I moan as she does this, playing with my clit with vigour now, and I keep the thought in my head not to move. Don’t fucking move. Just let me fuck you. Almost there. Don’t move a fucking muscle. Just let me do this to you. Oh god. Fuck. Yes.
“Uggghh!” I grunt, barely discernible with my mouth full, as I come fiercely on my own hand. Jos withdrawals immediately, and I gasp, catching my breath.
“Wow, baby,” she remarks. “Next time, you wear it.”
So, tonight is my turn.
I can tell you, being on the receiving end was wildly erotic. It really helped to bring out Joslyn’s elusive dominant side. But tonight, I’m interested to see what it will do, if anything, for me.
I go back to her apartment, where she last greeted me wearing the thing. I knock on the door.
“Anna! Hi,” she says, hugging me. She’s fully dressed, as opposed to our previous encounter. “Are you ready for toniiiight?” She says, excitedly, doing a little dance. She always makes me laugh.
“Haha! Of course,” I respond, though feeling a little nervous. I’m definitely open to trying new things, especially since I enjoyed the last time we used it, but I’m just not sure what I’m going to do with that dick.
“Well, here it is!” She says, handing it to me. Better figure it out.
In the washroom, I turn it over and over in my hand, trying to figure out how to go about this. I’d better put on the harness first, and affix the dildo after. I remove my pants and shirt, then almost forget to take off my underwear. I remember Jos wasn’t wearing any under it. I slide the flared base of the dildo out of its pocket, then hold the harness out in front of me. Keeping the pouch for the dick in front, I step into the two leg loops, and pull it up over my hips. Jos is a little smaller than I am, so I loosen the straps for a better fit. Surprisingly comfortable, the soft leather lays flat against me, like a second skin. I take a look in the mirror, and am relieved to find that it doesn’t look that ridiculous. Kind of sexy actually, like some sort of assless chaps. Next step, the dick. I take the thing in my hand, surprised for a moment by its weight and girth, remembering what it felt like to be on the receiving end. My pussy moistens at the thought of it. I remember how it filled up my mouth completely, how Joslyn looked giving it to me, and I have an inkling to fellate it again right here, by myself in the washroom. With great restraint, I affix it in its holster.
Wow, I think, looking at myself in the mirror. It feels heavy. I rotate my hips slightly, to make it bob up and down in front of me. There’s a real weight to it, though it is surprisingly malleable, bending slightly as I move it. I watch myself grip it in my hand, and pretend to jerk it a couple times. I look hardcore. I pose with my dick in my hand, with a severe look on my face. Mmmm. I could get used to this. I take off my sports bra.
I appear at the doorway. She’s dimmed the lights, and is currently lighting the candles in her nice, lace bra and panties. She jumps at my presence.
“Oh! I didn’t see you there,” she says, catching her breath. Then, she really looks at me. “Oooohh. I didn’t see you there,” she repeats, sexily. I want to laugh at her cuteness, but instead, I let my lips curl up into a sneer.
“It looks like you’re waiting for your girlfriend to come home,” I say.
“Oh, yes,” she responds, quick to fall into the role play. “She... should be here any minute.”
“Really. Is she a butch?”
“Uh... oh, yes. She works out every day.”
“Mm hmm,” I say, taking a couple steps towards her. I feel the dick standing straight out in front of me. My eyes gesture towards it, and she can’t help but look down at it, also. Once her eyes are there, she has a hard time pulling them away. “Is she tall, too?”
“Uh. Yes! About six feet!” Jos gasps, her voice falling into a slightly higher register. I can see that her breath is quickening. “She should be home any minute!”
“Uh huh. I bet you have a big dog, too,” I say menacingly, taking a few more steps towards her. She backs up, until her heels hit the bed. “Is she on a walk with it or something?”
“Yes! You must have seen them when you came in. They’re probably right outside now!”
“Mm hmm,” I say, my face very close to hers now. She should be able to feel my hot breath on her face. I have a couple inches on her, so the dick hits her right in the stomach. I want to smile so badly. This is so hot.
“I...”
“Shhh...” I say, gripping her face in my hand. My thumb is over her lips, closing them. Her chest is heaving. I take the opportunity to squish my thumb over her mouth, moistening the tip. She looks at me with a mix of sexual anticipation and role play fear. Her lips feel so soft and wet on my thumb, that I plunge it between them, entering her mouth. She moans, and her eyes briefly go wide with surprise. I give it to her as deep as length of my finger will allow, and hold it there. “What a pretty mouth,” I say, before withdrawing it. She gasps, catching her breath.
I push her gently back onto the bed, and Jos sells it, dramatically. I reach for her underwear, and she obediently lays with her hands above her head. I pull it harshly down down her hips, and I hear a rip. Oops. These are nice underwear. She looks at me for a moment with a flash of anger, and I break character to bashfully smile, and mouth, “Sorry!” She rolls her eyes, coming back with a moan worthy of an actress.
“No!” She says, writhing, and I smile internally. I bend over her, my silicone dick tracing her front, and plant a deep kiss on her mouth. I give her my tongue, and she wraps her lips around it. She sucks on it briefly, but I move quickly, down her body to her tits, where I flip down her bra and suck each one with as much aggressive energy as I can muster. And though it’s not exactly in the reality of the scene we’re playing, I continue down towards her gorgeous pussy. I just can’t help myself.
I forcefully spread her legs open,
holding each ankle tightly in my hand the whole time. “No!” She squeals again, with her arms resting above her head, as though bound. I delve into her cleft, using a harder tongue than I usually do, batting her clit roughly back and forth. Moisture drips from her soft pink pussy onto the bed. I suck at her lips strongly, pulling them out as far as they will go, before releasing. Joslyn moans, her head falling back into the sheets. I stick my tongue out far, making it as hard and long as I can, and attempt to fuck her with it. I press my face into her pussy, again and again, mimicking a thrusting motion. Then, I realize I have something else to use, this time.
I don’t let go of her ankles, but get up, to kneel on the bed. “Mmmm, no,” she groans, turning her face away from me, burying it into the blanket. I feel intensely aroused seeing her in this way; totally at my will, on her back, legs forcefully spread, ready to take my big cock. I guide my dick towards her, teasing her slit with it, letting her moisture coat the tip. She bucks slightly, moaning in anticipation, and I have to tighten my grip on her ankles. I do this until she looks like she’s absolutely going to lose her mind with desire. I need one of my hands to direct the dildo and actually penetrate her with it, but she keeps her legs compliantly spread for me. When I enter her, she moans loudly, and I hold it there for a moment, allowing her to relax around it. It’s not often either of us take something this big in our pussies, even though I’ve only given her about half. She reaches down to massage her clit, using the other hand to grip the sheets for leverage. She curls forward slightly, turning her pelvis up towards me, which is something she does when she’s bearing down to come.
Her pussy glistens, and I’m encouraged to give her more of my dick. I hold the base with my hand to steady it, and give her about three quarters. I’ve never seen her this way. She moans wildly, and I naturally start to thrust with the rhythm of her grinding hips. Her moisture attractively coats the shaft of the dildo, and she squeals with each thrust. It looks so fucking good, I let go of the grip I have on the shaft, and bend right over her. I put my weight into my hands, and rock my hips into her, until she is almost taking the whole thing. Her eyes are closed, perhaps picturing a forceful intruder, and I fuck her that way. I grind into her deeply, feeling sweat dripping down my back, and my own pussy dripping down my leg.
“You like that dick, don’t you?”
“Mmmm, no!!”
“Yes you do, don’t you? Your pussy’s fucking dripping for it.”
“No!!”
“Yes you do, you fucking dyke...”
“Ahh! Oh! Fuck, fuck, fuuuck!!!” She cries out, coming fiercely.
“Wow,” she says, just like last time. “Wow, wow, wow...” Wow indeed, I decide, wiping my brow with the back of my arm. This dick will do nicely. What a great addition to our collection of toys.
An Old Fashioned Love Story
Vanessa de Sade
Angie has known how she feels about Greta for a long time. But does Greta feel the same way? Find out in this sizzling-hot girl-girl romance.
As fantasies went, it wasn’t really very original. Angie would be cleaning in the flat and find a box of dyke porn in Greta’s room. And she’d be looking through it, her breathing getting rapid as she began to touch herself. Then Greta’s voice, from behind her, would say, “It’s better if someone does that for you...”
And that was it. It never got any more elaborate than that since she usually came when she heard her friend say those words, those wonderful, wonderful words. And then she would spend about a week feeling guilty and beating herself up before the itch got too much and she had the fantasy again. Usually in the dark under her heavy duvet, but sometimes in the steamy privacy of the shower, and, once, when Greta was out, in the lounge, on the sofa, inhaling her roommate’s scent from an inky-black Cashmere sweater draped carelessly on the back of the couch.
The trouble was that Angie had been in love with Greta since they were both fourteen, and today, nearly twenty years later, she still felt the same way about her. Though, of course, nothing had ever happened between them. Except that one drunken kiss when they were eighteen. They’d lurched home from some party and Greta had suddenly taken her in her arms and their lips had met, softly at first, but then with a growing heat and passion that had swept Angie off her feet and she was just about to melt into her friend’s arms and whisper, “Let’s go to bed,” when Greta had staggered a little, fallen onto the sofa, and then gone to sleep.
And neither of them had ever mentioned that kiss again, and Angie wasn’t even sure that Greta remembered it. And so she’d accepted the invitation from cold-eyed Graham Barton with his neat haircut and shiny-buttoned blue blazer to go to their end of term dance. And then married him six months later, and, though she had never been a very good lover, she had been an exceptional housekeeper and so the two had got on tolerably well. Until his business became a victim of the recession and he’d started knocking her about and she’d simply packed an overnight bag two months ago and gone to Greta’s flat to sort her head out.
And never left.
And, all in all, the situation suited them both very well. Greta was harem-scarem and disorganised, a popular fashion photographer who was unsurpassed in the studio but didn’t rate highly on domestic skills, and the flat had been a jungle of unwashed clothing and discarded fast-food cartons when Angie had moved in. Angie, on the other hand, was neat and precise. A meticulous researcher who had also kept her husband’s business accounts in addition to her own career, she had quietly set about methodically untangling all the layers of Greta’s chaos and turning the hectic apartment into an oasis of calm where they could relax together each evening.
Except, of course, on the nights when Greta went out with the latest man in her life, or, even worse, came home with him, and Angie had to listen to the noises which reverberated through the flimsy wall as Greta thrashed about between the sheets making fake sex noises. Were men really so easily taken in?
But Angie had accepted that things were never going to get any better than this, and that living with Greta and not getting to fuck her was infinitely preferable to living with Graham and occasionally having to fuck him. Not to mention the cutting remarks and handy fists. No, Angie sighed, as she settled down alone in front of the television in her cosy onesie to eat dry Horlicks out of the jar, life wasn’t perfect but at least she was under the same roof as the woman she loved. With that she would have to be content.
And then Greta burst into the room in floods of tears, her mascara smeared and her razor-sharp Betty Paige fringe dishevelled.
“I fucking hate men,” she declared, flumping down onto the sofa, still in her leather jacket and tall spiky boots, laddered fishnets wrinkling beneath the red tartan micro-mini skirt. “I just hate them, hate them, hate them!”
“Oh dear, I’ll make coffee,” Angie said, rising with a rue smile.
But Greta held her hand, pulling her back down. “No, don’t go, stay with me a while,” she said, still half a sniffle in her voice, but the old confident Greta already returning. “Oh, why do I bother with them, Angie?” she said, shaking her head and drying her eyes. “They’re all the same as the other...”
“Oh, I’m sure you’ll meet the right one someday,” Angie lied, her heart breaking. But very aware that Greta still had her hand and wasn’t showing any signs of letting go of it.
“Oh, Angie,” Greta sighed back, laying her head on her friend’s shoulder and rubbing her face into the soft fur fabric of the onsie, breathing in her scent. “Why can’t I meet a man that I can love as much as I love you?”
And Angie began to cry softly.
“What is it, what is it? Has something happened?” Greta demanded, taking her into her arms and holding her close, and Angie could feel her big breasts in their heavily underwired bra pressing into her own, smell the last lingering notes of perfume interlaced with the tang of the smoky November night and a
faint odour of some downtown bar.
“It’s nothing, I’m being silly,” Angie blustered, still being held tightly and loving it, the warmth of Greta’s body seeping into her and giving her succour.
“But you’re crying, love, something must be wrong...”
Angie shook her head. “It’s nothing. It’s just that... It’s just that you said you loved me,” she said very quietly.
“But I do love you, silly, you’re my best friend.”
Angie sobbed again. “But I don’t want to be your best friend. Well, that’s not true. I do, of course I do. And I am. But... But I want to be more than that, Greta. I want to be your...”
But her voice faltered and she felt the tears stinging her eyes again, but Greta didn’t laugh at her or let go of her, but, instead, spoke very softly into her ear.
“What do you want to be, darling? My friend, my lover, my wife?”
And Angie swallowed before she answered, aware that this might ruin everything between them, but, with only a slight tremor in her voice, replied firmly, “All of those. If you’ll let me...”
And there was a long pause. Like in the theatre when you went to see a Pinter play. And Angie could hear her own heart beating like drum leading men to their death in battle. Like a funeral bell tolling mournfully on a bleak December dawn, sky like lead. Like, like...
And then Greta spoke. So softly it was scarcely above a whisper. Her soft lips with their licked-off red lipstick so close to Angie’s ear that she could feel her breath hot on the peachy down of her face.
“I think I’d like that very much, love. So very, very much...”
And then it was hard to say who kissed who, but they were kissing, both of them. Lips soft on each other. Not hurried, but with a palpable urgency nevertheless. And Greta smelt and tasted of the outdoors, her mouth sweet with red wine and lipstick. While Angie was redolent of the warm room and the malty sugariness of the undiluted Horlicks, her hair freshly washed and still scented with apple shampoo, warm and slightly homely like a favourite teddy.