The other woman’s fingers plunged faster. “Hot and cold, soft and hard, pliant and unyielding.” She had her palm pressed against her body now, rubbing her clitoris while those fingers danced below. “The budding, blossoming young woman and the rotting, frozen old hag. Fuck, you know how contrasts make me hot!”
“My dominant nerd!” Christine dropped to the prickly turf and crawled between her lover’s legs. “How about the teacher and the student?” she asked softly. “The new girl and the old girl? The Princess and the Mistress?” Normally she would wait for some sign of approval, some gesture of invitation, but she gambled on permission having already been granted in bringing her here. She nipped at the blur of fingers and then licked them as the hand withdrew. She opened her mouth and welcomed their thrust inside. With the taste of feminine arousal filling her mouth, she sucked the fingers, tonguing the damp crevices between them.
The moment the hand was gone, she plunged her face into the warm, wet valley of Rhonda’s sex. She sucked at the loose lips of her labia, tugging them softly with her lips as she worked her way down one side and up the other. She luxuriated in the tactile sensations as much as the taste, finding her own pleasure in the evidence of her partner’s arousal. With a wiggle of her chin and a poke of her nose, she pressed her mouth deep between those labia, her tongue plunging into the hole from which those tasty fingers had come. She tongue-fucked the other woman, pressed against her, rocking her head up and down.
“Clit,” the other woman snapped. “Now.”
She didn’t hesitate. She dragged her face upward, further anointing herself with the juices of Rhonda’s arousal. She kissed the clitoris above, standing proud and tall, flushed with arousal. She flicked at it with her tongue. With a deep breath, she pressed her face tight and sucked it hard. She held it inside her mouth, knowing the exquisite pain the additional rush of blood would bring, before releasing it with a contented moan. She dragged the length of her tongue against just its tip, feeling the hood slip back, and then licked circles around that fleshy nubbin with her tongue.
When a hand moved atop her head, she surrendered to its push. She wiggled her tongue back into that wondrous hole again and thrilled at the feeling of Rhonda’s experienced fingers rubbing and tweaking her clitoris, the knuckles grazing her forehead.
She felt her lover’s climax before she tasted it. Rhonda thrust upward so hard Christine was nearly knocked back, but she was used to this. She was prepared for it. She pushed back, thrilling to the ample thighs closing about her head, the other woman’s entire body trembling with orgasm. When she came it was with a spray of arousal that filled Christine’s mouth. She lapped up every drop. She thrilled to the evidence of her lover’s orgasm even as a small part of her felt guilty over the very different evidence staining her panties.
Rhonda pushed her away, but she resisted. She pressed her tongue inside once more, seeking one last taste while she waited for the inevitable tug on her ponytail. When it came, she knew it was time to put aside bratty teasing and demonstrate loving obedience.
“Fuck, that was good, Princess. You eat pussy like nobody I have ever met.”
“Nobody obsesses over pussy like a trans-girl,” she replied, “and nobody worships it like a submissive.” She laid her head upon Rhonda’s pale white flesh, the gold belly button ring pressing against her cheek. “Just your luck to find a lover who’s both, I guess.”
“No woman was ever luckier.”
As her girlfriend shifted, Christine reluctantly removed her head. She watched, curious, as Rhonda rolled over and reached a hand into her purse. When it came back out, it was holding the most beautifully bizarre doll she had ever seen.
“Oh, Mistress!” She leaned forward, longing to take that doll into her hands. She tilted her head this way and that, examining what she could see of the doll through Rhonda’s fingers. It was a full-figured woman, with what appeared to be the equivalent of DDD-cup breasts, a well-rounded shelf-ass, and gloriously powerful thighs.
Long before they became Mistress and Princess, back when they were making the transition from casual acquaintances to best friends, it had been shared size fetishes over which they’d first bonded.
For Christine, the same Barbie dolls that had been the final straw for her parents had taken on new meaning with puberty. What those plastic women represented shifted, with who she wanted to be (a woman) merging with what she wanted to be (a doll). She went from dreams of looking like a doll to fantasies of being a doll, carried about in the bras and panties of beautiful women, compressed and consumed by their feminine sexuality.
“She’s exquisite. Who is she?”
“She’s a prototype,” her lover responded. “A scale model mock-up of two very special people.”
She could see the lust in Rhonda’s eyes and that excited her even more. For her girlfriend, the size fetish had always been sexual, prompted by Saturday afternoon matinees of old B movies like Village of the Giants. Having long been bullied for being a fatty and tormented for being a lezzy, she’d fallen in love with the fantasy of size. She’d started scrawling the names of her bullies on her dolls before masturbating with those plastic effigies. When she was done, she’d break them, burn them, and bury them.
Christine shifted closer. She giggled at the resemblance. “She kind of looks like us.”
“No kind of about it.” Rhonda caressed the doll’s curves. “She’s our idealized beauty. The legs, ass, and hips of my dreams”—she turned the doll in her hands—“and the waist, breasts, and face of yours.” She brought their mini-me up to her face and kissed its ample breasts. “As I said, a prototype, but I have every confidence she’ll resemble us both in time.”
Christine grinned. “You’re not going to bury us here when you’re done, are you?”
“No, but we are going to break you, my pretty little bitch.”
She was already swooning with the pleasure of that promise, so the gentle pressure of Rhonda’s hand on her budding breasts was more than enough to lay her down on the dirty, leaf-strewn turf. Surrounded by statues and about to be filled by a doll, she hiked up her skirt and wiggled out of her panties.
A gasp followed the spreading of her legs. “Princess?” There was a mixture of wonder and worry in Rhonda’s voice. “First of all, where did you learn to tuck like that?” She shook her head softly. “Second of all, how have you managed to stay tucked all day?”
Christine smiled. “Do you like it? Chantal, from the Community Health Center, taught me.” She looked into her lover’s eyes and knew the discomfort of the long drive had been worth it. “You push those yucky testicles up inside, push the useless tube of flesh back, and then tug the sac around it, sort of like building a bun around the hotdog. A little surgical glue and you’ve got a pretty little camel toe.”
“Fifteen years together, Princess, and you never cease to amaze me.”
They had an unwritten rule between them about not touching the one thing that betrayed Christine’s past, but she was too overwhelmed with desire to stop the other woman from planting a single kiss between those faux-labia.
“No pressure from me,” Rhonda whispered, “you know that, but I can’t wait until the day the only thing you’re tucking is my tongue inside you.”
“Stop it.” Christine sniffed. “We’re supposed to be getting all kinky and here you’ve nearly got me crying.”
“Who knows, maybe I want you emotionally vulnerable.” She watched as her lover reached back and pulled a bottle of baby oil from her purse. “Maybe I want you all messed up and desperate.” She didn’t just lube the doll with baby oil, she smothered it. “Maybe I want to take you low . . .”
Christine gasped as the doll head pushed inside her ass.
“So I can take you high.”
With that, her lover began working the doll, turning and twisting it as she pushed, loosening her up until the shoulders were able to slip inside. It hurt, but it was a good kind of hurt. She bore down on the doll. She gasped as its ample breasts slipped i
nside as well. They weren’t pointy, but the massive peaks seemed to catch her flesh in a way most plugs and dildos didn’t. Once the cleavage had passed the barrier that was her sphincter, her body quickly drew it deeper, before a tug from Rhonda paused it at its waist.
There was a smile spreading across Rhonda’s face that made Christine’s already hard nipples tingle with excitement. The other woman had something planned, and the way her lips pulled back, revealing the chipped front tooth about which she was usually so self-conscious, promised she was going to like it.
“Oh sweet mother of oh my fucking god!” Christine curled her hands into fists as her body began to shake. “Tell me you didn’t,” she panted. “Not even you are that devious.”
Her lover laughed, long and loud. “Oh, did I neglect to mention she’s fully functional?”
What Rhonda pushed or squeezed, how she controlled it, Christine had no idea, but suddenly the vibrator hidden in the doll’s torso, the one massaging her prostate through its breasts, began pulsing. She felt the familiar warmth spreading through her body, beginning with that weird feeling like she had to pee, but slowly giving way to something more pleasurable. The orgasm spread its tendrils throughout her body, making everything from the top of her head to the tips of her toes tingle.
It was this, the slow build and sustained peak, that made her feel most like a woman. Her useless appendage hadn’t grown hard in years, but she still remembered tugging it in her youth, exploding fast and fading even faster, feeling guilty and ashamed after. This was nothing like that. This was an orgasm that seemed to build forever, enveloping more and more of her body as it took her higher and higher, soaring into femininity.
“What’s the matter, Princess? You look uncomfortable. Should I stop?”
“No!” she cried out with her teeth planted firmly in her bottom lip. “Please, Mistress, please don’t stop. I’m afraid I’ll never find my way back if you do, and you’re working all kinds of magic on me right now.”
“So . . . maybe this would be a better idea?”
The doll shuddered for a moment and then those vibrations began pulsating faster until it was almost a continuous buzz, but one with stolen breaths in between. It was precisely the measured cadence that lifted her to the glorious heights of euphoria every time.
“My love, my love, my love!” The orgasm reached its plateau. She held her breath, willing the pleasure to linger just a little longer, until she began to see stars. When she finally allowed herself that desperate gasp of breath, the orgasm began to fade, slowly settling back down to a pleasant buzz.
Christine melted into the warm turf, feeling the new damp spot beneath her. She didn’t like that such mind-blowing pleasure made her leak, but Rhonda never complained. She called it her girl-juice, and she liked to run her fingers through it when they were done.
The way the moonlight fell on the statues around her, she could almost imagine they were glowing with envy, aroused by the act of watching something they would never experience. Christine had once shared a similar yearning for the feminine experience, one that grew stronger—and more frustrated— every time she and Rhonda shared a bed, but with a lot of patience, a lot of love, and a lot of hormones, it was finally within reach.
As her lover lay down beside her, she turned into her embrace and cried.
The best orgasms always did that to her.
ANTARCTICA
Donna George Storey
Haruki rarely watches me pack for a business trip, but he wanted to see what I’d be taking to a “women’s sex weekend.” That’s what he called it. The official name was “The Healing Power of Sexual Fantasy for Women.”
He looked vaguely disappointed as I filled my weekend bag with yoga pants, T-shirts, and sweats for pajamas. My friend Maya said it was basically a three-day yoga retreat spiced up with a few hours of “safe and supportive” sexual empowerment exercises. The workshop had gotten great reviews and she was lucky to get a spot for us this year.
I zipped up the bag and slipped my laptop into the outside pocket.
“You’re planning to do work while you’re there?”
“Nah, we’re supposed to do some journaling or something like that. Comfortable clothes, a notebook or laptop to write down your thoughts, and an open mind—that’s what the workshop leader told us to bring in her email.”
“Seems like you’ll have a pretty light suitcase.”
“I’m not sure there’s enough room to pack a husband, if that’s what you have in mind.” I gave him a mischievous smile.
“I wouldn’t mind being a fly on the wall,” he replied. “Let me know if you learn anything interesting.”
“I will.”
Our eyes met. He walked over and gave me one of his melting, let’s-go-to-bed-early kisses. It was sweet how turned on he was by the idea of this workshop. I was just looking forward to a little “me time.” I might as well be taking “Unleashing Your Inner Artist Through Collage.”
His hand moved to my breast and he gently brushed my nipple, what he affectionately called my “on button.” I felt that delicious tightening in my pussy and let out a soft moan. Haruki moved my suitcase to the floor. I pulled down the blankets. We shimmied out of our clothes and soon our bodies were pressed together, skin to skin, as hungry and desperate as if we hadn’t made love in months, although it had just been a few days.
The workshop was having a positive effect on my sex life already.
“Clitoris!”
“Masturbation!”
“Orgasm!”
Twelve chanting women stood in a circle in a cozy tatami room lit by lanterns out of the Arabian Nights. The floor was scattered with fluffy pillows and the walls were draped with blue, silver, and purple veils. The workshop leader, Melanie, was a handsome woman of about sixty, resplendent in a gauzy gown that matched the room’s color scheme of evening sky. A mane of lush gray hair grazed her shoulders, and her face was illuminated by a serene smile.
Following her lead, we swayed and jumped as we “transformed” each forbidden word and reclaimed our power over shame.
“Feel the power. Let’s go around the circle one more time.”
“Slut!” shouted Sophia, the woman who had gone first. We all repeated the word three times, dancing and gyrating, grins on our faces. Melanie was right. Each time the naughty word left my mouth, the feeling in my core moved from embarrassment to unfettered joy.
“Cunt,” sang Maya.
“Anal sex.” Without really thinking, when my turn came, the words slipped through my lips. The first time I’d gone with the far safer “selfish,” but the group didn’t miss a beat. “Anal sex! Anal sex! Anal sex!”
By the time we finished the exercise we were all flushed and laughing.
Melanie led us through some cool-down stretches and then invited us to make ourselves comfortable for story time. Stretched out on the tatami floor with pillows under my head and knees, her soothing alto made me feel as if I were floating on a river on a summer’s day.
“Our bodies serve us faithfully, they give us strength, pleasure, and freedom, and yet society encourages us to find nothing but fault with our marvelous lifelong friends. Sadder still is the fate of our wonderful minds and erotic imaginations. They are denied, silenced, and ridiculed. We’re told our fantasies will hurt our partners and even our mental health. We’re only allowed to desire a narrow set of proper things. It’s time to talk back to these lies. This weekend we’ll create a space where we love and honor our erotic desires.”
Her voice felt like velvet stroking my skin, filling me with delicious warmth from head to toe. Still, another voice inside whispered that this all sounded great, but what the hell would it even be like to love and honor my dirty mind?
As if she read my thoughts, Melanie went on, “Is this possible, you ask? Indeed, we already have the key to this special world—our sexual fantasies. But first we have to understand the language they speak. Like Spanish or French or German, many of the words seem fam
iliar. Yet if we don’t listen mindfully, we may misread the messages from this intriguing foreign land. Tonight I’d like to share one of my fantasies with you and explore a new way to read it. Remember, if at any time you feel uncomfortable, feel free to take a break in the lounge. They always have freshly baked cookies. They’re fantastic.”
I made a mental note to sample one on the way back to my room.
Then Melanie put her hands to her heart and bowed. “Thank you for joining me in the world of my imagination.” She sat down on a cushion at the front of the room, took several deep breaths, and closed her eyes. I closed mine, too.
“In my fantasy, I am in a doctor’s office, wearing nothing but a blue patient’s gown, open to the front, just as the nurse instructed. She tells me that the world-famous specialist will conduct my examination in the auditorium and guides me through a different door, one I hadn’t noticed when I first arrived. The space is dimly lit, but I can tell I’m in a grand lecture hall with tiers of desks climbing up toward the back of the room. I can’t see faces, but I can feel a hundred curious eyes upon me.
“The nurse leads me to the center of the dais where a reclining chair with divided leg rests awaits me. I scramble up onto the chair and the nurse adjusts it so my legs are slightly parted. Suddenly I feel another presence beside me: a tall man in a white lab coat with salt-and-pepper hair. I can’t see his face but his manner suggests he is used to deference.
“‘Good evening, class,’ he says in a deep voice. ‘We have a very special live demonstration today. I invite you all to come down and gather round so you can observe our subject more closely. We will also be taking a video of the examination, so you can refer to it later.’
“Although I know somehow I’ve volunteered for this, my whole body is burning with embarrassment and arousal. The students shuffle down to the dais. Under veiled eyes, I notice that the earnest young men and women gathered around me are holding clipboards.
“A spotlight snaps on, bathing my body in a warm glow. The doctor clears his throat. ‘Ms. X has been carefully selected for this class because she is highly sexed and a self-avowed exhibitionist. In fact, she confessed to me after previous demonstrations that her climaxes are especially intense when she is brought to orgasm for the purpose of educating medical students in female erotic response.’
Coming Soon Page 20