by Carla Blake
Tentatively she kissed Freya, her hands braced on the floor on either side of her, mindful that if she put her full weight on the girl beneath her, it would hurt.
The kiss turned deeper and Elena rolled off to one side, pulling Freya with her and releasing a hand to roam along the length of her body.
Her skin felt soft and warm and deliciously feminine and there were no rough spots, or hairy arms or legs, or stubble rash to scrape at her face and leave her sore, nothing but softness and fragrance and heat, rising from between Freya’s legs to urge her fingers to come and explore.
“Enjoy me,” Freya smiled and rolling on her back, she spread her legs, inviting Elena to touch every part of her.
It was almost too much for Elena to take in and for a while she just gazed at her, her eyes travelling over her breasts and her nipples, down the smooth, flat plain of her stomach and finally to the nest of dark hair that cradled her most intimate parts.
“I..I don’t know..”
“Don’t worry about it. Touch my breasts sweetie and then maybe you could suck my nipples a little? I like that.”
Freya’s nipples tasted wonderful, like ripe fruit with the most delicate of flavour and Elena enjoyed them both, taking one after the other into her mouth until Freya squirmed beneath her and begged her to touch her pussy.
Elena’s fingers found her fluff and rested there, relishing the heat before they slipped forward and cupped her mound. She squeezed, adding just enough pressure to make Freya’s hips leave the floor and when Freya groaned and begged her again to touch her, it gave her enough courage to get to her own knees and kneel between the other girl’s legs.
“I want to see you,” Elena said, spreading Freya’s legs still wider until her pussy lips were exposed. “I want to see my fingers go inside you, I want to see your clit. I want to watch you come.”
She spread her and then with the fingers of her left hand, Elena gently held aside Freya’s pussy lips and gazed at the moist damp channel that led to the most intimate part of her. She touched her, a single finger pressed against her clit before sliding down to pause at the entrance of her vagina.
She savoured the moment, knowing she was about to put her fingers inside another girl and relishing the shiver of excitement that rippled through her and nestled between her own legs. She was turned on again, wet herself and she knew that the moment her finger slid in she would experience something like an orgasm herself and sure enough, as her finger pushed itself into the velvet wetness of Freya’s cunt, Elena shuddered and bit her lip as a mini orgasm rippled through her.
“God,” she sighed and began to fuck her, amazed at how easy it was and how wonderful Freya felt inside, at how much it was turning her on. She could understand now why men went on about it so much. It was amazing, sensational and she thought she could stay like this forever, just moving her finger in and out of this amazing wetness!
“Put in another,” Freya urged and Elena carefully added a second finger, afraid of hurting her until the second finger slid in just as easily as the first and she found she could move them with ease.
“Now fuck me Elena.” Freya sighed, “Go on, you won’t hurt me. Push your fingers in harder. Fuck me like you know you want to.”
Elena fucked her and she was afraid at first, scared she would rip her inside if she went too fast, but when Freya didn’t cry out in pain, but rather gasped and moaned and told her it was bloody wonderful, she gained in confidence and fucked her still harder, driving her fingers in and out of Freya’s cunt whilst Freya bucked beneath her and begged her to touch her clit.
Using the thumb of her left hand, finding this more comfortable than trying to use her fingers, Elena pressed hard, grinding the pad of her thumb into the throbbing nub whilst Freya groaned and fresh pussy juices oozed from her cunt to aid her rubbing. She fucked her at the same time, her fingers pumping in and out of her hole, matching the rhythm with which she was stroking her clit and loving every second of it. It was amazing to watch, thrilling to do and Elena was grinning. She was fucking another woman, she told herself, actually doing it, and Freya was obviously incredibly turned on because her pussy was soaking and her cunt felt huge, big enough to accommodate all of her fingers and she was telling her it was wonderful, lovely and that she was going to come!
Elena had never felt another girl come before and it almost blew her mind. Freya’s cunt gripped her! Squeezing her fingers so tight and flooding her with juices as she bucked and moaned and begged Elena not to stop!
She didn’t, but kept on fucking and rubbing her clit, allowing Freya to enjoy every last second of her orgasm before she finally collapsed fully on the floor, her thighs damp and her pussy mushy and used.
“Amazing,” she gasped when finally she had got her breath back. “You can so do that again.”
“It was okay then?” Elena asked, withdrawing her fingers, albeit reluctantly and wondering if it was okay to lick them clean.
“Course it was,” Freya said, “it was bloody marvellous and I hope you’re not going to let that go to waste. Fresh pussy tastes lovely.”
It did and Elena licked her fingers clean, even going so far as to dip them back between Freya’s legs to get another lot.
“Why don’t you just lick me if you like it that much,” Freya smiled. “I wouldn’t mind, I like being kissed down there.”
Elena lay on her stomach, a towel beneath her whilst inches from her nose Freya’s spread legs and delicate, pink pussy shone with moisture. She was also lying on a towel and had tucked a couple of folded ones beneath her bottom giving Elena the perfect angle with which to lick her out.
Licking her lips, Elena propped herself up on her elbows and spreading Freya’s pussy lips, ran her tongue along the glistening channel. She tasted gorgeous, slightly salty and she ran her tongue up and down several times, licking clean every last drop of pussy juice from her soft folds before winding it around the entrance to her cunt and licking that clean too.
“Lick me inside.” Freya said. “I want to feel your tongue inside me.”
Elena tried, but she didn’t find it very easy and after trying to push the tip of her tongue inside several times, she gave up and returned to her pussy, lapping her until she reached her clit and could really get to work. And how Freya loved it! Hips thrust forward, she pushed herself ever harder into Elena’s face, driving her clit against Elena’s mouth and urging her not to stop as even more cream flowed from her cunt and Elena licked it all, tonguing and licking her clit and pussy until finally Freya came again and then again when Elena gave her clit one last sweep.
“Okay,” Freya gasped, when finally she had come back down to earth, “I’m now officially unconvinced that you have never done that before! I mean, fuck girl, that was amazing! Where did you learn to do that!?”
“From you!” Elena insisted. “Seriously. I’ve never fucked a girl before.”
“Then you’re a bloody fast learner. That was amazing!”
“Thanks, but shouldn’t we be getting back? What it someone misses us?”
“Then they’ll be doubly pleased to see us on our return. Calm yourself babe, it’s fine. No one knows we’re here and if anyone asks, we’ll say we’ve been out for a walk.”
They dressed and tidied the room, replacing the towels on the shelves after sniffing them to make sure they didn’t smell of sex. They kissed as they worked, neither inclined to let the other go for too long and when Freya cupped her breast and squeezed her nipple through her t-shirt, Elena knew it was still going to be some time yet before they made it back to their room.
The Daisy
I awoke in the cold, or at least, it should have been.
The short, stubby trees around me blew furiously in the wind and the long, winter grown grass whipped back and forth as if adamantly refusing all it was offered. Overhead the sky was grey and laden with thr
eatened rain whilst the church looked strangely stooped, as if it too, sensed impending storms and was trying to hunch its shoulders against it.
Yet none of this affected me and I stood, unmoved by either wind or temperature. The clothes I was wearing, my favourite Wiccan dress in black velvet with a crimson front, remained still, impervious to the maelstrom going on around me. My hair didn’t stir, my skin didn’t shiver. I was cocooned in a bubble of calm whilst the Cornish weather stamped its feet at my insubordination and I failed to explain it.
After a while, I sat where I stood, on the uneven gravel path and gazed around me.
It was, I supposed early evening, though it was difficult to tell by the light alone. Rain had indeed started to fall, darkening the sky from grey to black and although I saw drops land all around me, on the path, the church and on the myriad of gravestones that stuck out from the ground at increasingly drunken angles, I failed to feel its damp embrace. Instead I remained dry, unmoved and confused.
I sat all night this way, until the rain stopped and stars punctured the blackness. The moon sporadically poked through the clouds, illuminating the graveyard I squatted in and occasionally a bat would flutter overhead, yet still I sat, impervious to the weather, numb to my own thoughts, afraid to question the obvious because I could not begin to explain it.
I was dead and as much as the idea made me shrivel inside, I knew it to be true. I had died, when I could not recall, but there was no getting away from it. I was no longer alive and had thought I had moved on. Yet here I was, feeling no different from when I’d actually existed. I still looked the same, felt the same, at least to my own hands, and yet, clearly, I was no longer of this world.
I checked my teeth, running a finger along the upper set and searching for the tell tale sting of sharpened fangs synonymous with the Vampire. I knew I was being ridiculous. I had not died from being bitten by a Vampire, so why should I be one now? It made no sense at all, yet still I thought it wise to check.
Eventually I stood as the pale disc of the sun struggled over the horizon to stretch weak tendrils across the path. Deliberately I moved to stand in the faint shaft, certain that if I was anything less than what I’d been when I died, I would instantly crumble to dust and perish, but nothing happened. My foot, clad in black slippers with white embroidered leaves, did not disappear, nor did I feel any pain or heat. My foot was simply now standing in the sun.
I supposed, given the weather last night, my circumstance now did have its advantages but it was odd not being able to feel anything else aside from myself.
The grass although I could see it was soaked, did not dampen my fingers when I touched it and in fact, hardly moved at my gentle prodding. The shards of gravel lying on the path did not graze my fingers. It was as if I was part of the surroundings and yet not, merely a superimposed figure without a reason for being there.
I supposed I was a ghost.
The thought made me pause, especially as I could not actually remember what being dead was like. Had I been asleep until last night? Or had I been cavorting with the Angels? I had no idea, there was just a blank space where memory should have been.
I stood, mulling over this revelation and waiting for my legs to tire, although they never did. A few people passed me by, wandering through the graveyard yet paying no heed to my presence at all.
I was here and yet I was not and I did not know what to do about that, so I did nothing. Instead, I wandered over to the church and sat on a stone bench, oblivious to the cold hardness of my seat. Gazing up, I squinted at the spire scraping against the sky and watched as seagulls whirled over head, bickering at nothing in particular whilst my own mind whirled with them, reminding me again and again that I was dead, a ghost, a spirit without substance. Maybe I should be haunting something?
Eventually night fell for a second time and still I did not leave the sanctuary of my perch. I did wonder how I had got there however, since I had been of Pagan belief whilst alive and would not have wanted to be buried or scattered in a churchyard. I had asked to be scattered over the cliff path and out to sea and could only surmise that those particular last wishes had been ignored.
I didn’t think so though. I had been succinct about my last wishes and no one had questioned it whilst I had been alive.
It was lonely though, this alternative existence I now inhabited. I could see and I could hear, although it was a little like having cotton wool in my ears, and I could touch, after a fashion, yet I couldn’t communicate. I had tried with a couple who’d strolled through earlier, reaching out to pull at his coat and tug at her hair, but neither of them had even flinched and I have given up trying. As a ghost, I was going to be crap. Rattling a chain was clearly going to be beyond me!
I didn’t even know why I was here, not really. Was it like this for everyone? Did everyone who died end up some place like this, all alone and with no more impact than a sigh? Would I ever meet any of them? Or was I destined to walk the earth all by myself, looking in on other people’s lives at the expense of my own?
The light startled me and at first I thought someone was shining a torch into my eyes, but when I squinted and looked harder, I noticed the light was coming from the person and not from anything they were holding.
Instinctively, my head shrieked run! But then I thought, why bother? I could hardly die again and no one else had seen me, so why should this idiot wandering around in a graveyard late at night be any different?
Except, of course, they were.
She sat beside me, dressed in jeans and a white, long sleeved cotton shirt. On her feet she wore trainers and in her hands she carried a single daisy. The light surrounded her, radiated from her like an all over halo and her smile was infectious.
“It’s strange to begin with,” she said, handing me the daisy, which inexplicably I could actually feel! “This being dead and yet still being here.”
She could see me! My heart jolted, or I think it did, I wasn’t sure. I was too stunned by the prospect of actually being acknowledged to worry about whether my previous bodily functions still applied.
“You can see me?” I exclaimed, my mouth gaping open.
Turning to me, she nodded and I took in her soft, brown eyes and shoulder length hair as she turned again to stare at her now empty hands. She had a pretty face I thought, an attractive, warm face. The kind of face you could turn to in times of trouble and trust it to reassure you everything was going to be alright.
She spoke again, lacing her fingers together and resting her hands in her lap. “It will take a while to get used to,” she said, “but you are lucky. You and one other have been given a second chance.”
“I have?” I said, “who is the other?”
“You do not know her,” she replied, “but she needs you and you must help her. Her life has been sad, lonely. She thinks herself alone, unworthy of love or companionship and so she hides herself away, shutting out the world and turning her back on affection.”
“But what can I do about that?” I said, “I’m dead! A ghost. Aside from you, no one else has seen me or is she dead too? Is that it?”
She turned to me again, her eyes liquid pools of sorrow. “No, she is not dead, but she might as well be. No light shines for her, no hope lifts her heart. She drifts, waiting for something to make it better.”
“And I’m supposed to be that something?” It seemed an incredible notion to me, especially as yesterday I was nothing, asleep, with the Angels, whatever, but still oblivious. Now I was sitting in a churchyard in Cornwall, familiar to me because I’d always loved it here whilst alive, and embroiled with the task of making someone very alive happy. I wasn’t sure I was up to the job.
“You are because you know what it’s like,” she said when I queried my role in all this. “Remember what happened to you?”
Oh yes, I remembered. To cut a long story short, the l
ove of my life let me fall hopelessly in love with her and then just walked away with someone else, and there was nothing I could do but stand there and watch her leave. It broke my heart, shattered it into a million pieces until I could feel nothing but an empty hollowness impossible to fill. It had nearly killed me, ironically, and even now I could still recall the pain, the sorrow, the sheer bloody desperation of finding myself suddenly alone and with absolutely no one to turn to.
“But how?” I said, “can I help?”
Her answer was not helpful. “You will know,” she said, rising to her feet. “Trust your instincts, do what feels right. Bring light back into her life.”
“But...but...”
She was gone. Just simply not there anymore and rubbing my eyes, I stared at the place she had been and blinked at the night sky, wondering what on earth I should do now. Obviously there was someone out there who needed help and obviously I was supposed to be the one to give it but I had no idea how to go about it. I didn’t even know who this woman was or how to find her.
Even in death, life was hard.
Lying down on the stone bench, I shut my eyes and listened to the wind howl around the eaves of the church. The daisy I tucked into my pocket. It was the only thing I could feel properly. It was precious.
I knew where I was the second I opened my eyes. I had been here often whilst alive, walked these streets many a time, knew almost every nook and cranny and a fair few of the shop owners. One or two of them might even have lamented my passing or at least the loss of my purse. I was in one of my favourite places.
And standing outside a house I had taken little notice of until now.
The street it stood in was situated a short distance from the main village, its road graced with tarmac crumbling at the edges and ending some distance away in a dry stone wall that prevented traffic, either motorised or pedestrian from venturing any further. The houses were a curious mix of two story buildings and bungalows, interspersed with small fields in which soggy looking horses or sheep grazed. I think I must have walked up it once, seen it didn’t lead anywhere and dismissed it, but that wasn’t to say it was unattractive. The houses were well kept, the lawns outside tidy. Flowers in pots bloomed and the cars parked in driveways were not tractors. It was just a regular street in Cornwall.