by Anna Bayes
GINNY’S LESSON
by ANNA BAYES
Ginny’s Lesson Copyright © 2014 by Anna Bayes
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No part of this eBook may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Table of Contents
Ginny's Lesson
About the Author
Other Works by Anna Bayes
Ginny’s Lesson
A confession: I called Ginny with comfort sex in mind. It was not the first time that I had gone over to her place for a late-night drink, for a sympathetic listener, for a shoulder to cry on, and then, for mind-blowing orgasms.
Ginny has a knack for sensing what my body craves at the moment; she sends me over the edge effortlessly. Sometimes I wonder if I fall in and out of bad relationships just for an excuse to beg Ginny to fuck me. She makes me feel better every time. It had begun in our last year of university. I would call her in the middle of the night, dead drunk, feeling shitty from being dumped by yet another guy I'd met in an obscure bar; she would listen attentively, and then ask me over so I would not be alone for the night. Then, inadvertently, she would make me well again with her deft fingers, her full, sensual lips, her twirling tongue, and the warmth of her lithe body.
The first time it happened, I could not believe it. I had never known I liked girls. Hell, I had never even kissed a girl before. But it felt so natural with Ginny. I do not crave women in general, but Ginny's body stops my heart. She usually dresses casual, just t-shirt and jeans, almost zero makeup. I could guess she had an hour-glass figure, but when she stood naked before me that first night, it was a stunning unveiling: it was as though I saw a real woman for the first time that night.
Ginny's body was impeccable: everything about her was smooth and soft. Her breasts - my God, they were so perfectly round and firm. I loved how her nipples were a light mauve color: not too dark, but not pink either. She had a beautiful pussy; it was small and dainty, truly symmetrical, like a flower bud.
So, yes, I am thinking of ranting about Jake, my latest ex, with Ginny over a drink or two, and hoping she will please my body and ease the pain inside me like only she knows how, as I ring her doorbell.
She answers the door within five seconds, and looks me over. Her long raven hair is held in a loose ponytail. She is wearing a tight black sweater that shows off her perfectly round breasts over a pair of faded jeans. Her wide, brown eyes shine with a hint of concern and something else. Somehow, she looks different tonight. Her face does not look quite as open as it usually is. Her lips are the same full, sensual ones I want to kiss, but they are closed tight, unsmiling.
"Did I come at a bad time?" I ask tentatively. Something about her makes me feel nervous. This has never happened before.
She shakes her head and opens the door wider. "Come on in."
Even her voice is different. It is still soft and low, but more neutral, almost cold.
I walk into her living room hesitantly. For the first time since I have known her, I feel unsure of whether she wants me here. It is unsettling.
She hands me a glass of white wine; I peep at the bottle on her table: it is my favorite. I relax slightly, reminding myself that Ginny surely welcomes me; we are best friends, are we not?
"So," she says unhurriedly, draping herself over her futon. I cannot help but admire how she can droop and still look so captivating. "Jake, is it?"
I blink, almost forgetting why I came here in the first place. "Yeah," I say, shaking my head to clear my thoughts, "the bastard."
The image of him and his colleague in our bed when I walked in on them earlier this afternoon flickers in my mind. I was so angry and hurt at the time, but the memory has already dulled. I can barely remember the color of the woman's hair.
"Is that surprising?" Ginny asks.
I look up sharply from my glass. The tone of her voice has altered: not consoling, not even questioning, but challenging.
She looks me square in the eyes. "He's got two girlfriends in this city alone, doesn't he?"
I nod slowly. Jake comes to town every other week for work; I let him stay at my place when he is here. He does not really hide the fact that he has several places to bunk in various cities; I just conveniently ignored that.
"You knew he couldn't give you what you wanted, but you went ahead and hurt yourself anyway." Her brows furrow. "Today, he fucked some random girl right in front of your eyes so you'd finally wake up." Her baby-pink lips twist into a sneer. "Good riddance. You should thank him." She spits the last words out and stands up.
Is Ginny angry? I have never seen her in a rage before. My heart is galloping from fear, and unexpectedly, arousal as well. Seeing her angelic face boiling with fury is electrifying.
She leans against her bar table and turns to look at me, her eyes dark and intense. "When will you grow up?"
My mouth gapes open. She is not angry with Jake on my behalf, but with me?
"Yes, you." Ginny's eyes burn into mine. "How long have we done this? Two years?"
I blush crimson as I recall my earlier thought, naively thinking I could count on Ginny to cheer me up after every bad relationship. I have never heard Ginny tell me about her problems in love. Wait. No. She has never had a lover during the time we have been friends.
"You bruise yourself over some dumb loser, and crawl over here, expecting me to nurse you back to health." She has neatly summarized the past two years of my life. That note in her voice, it is more than anger; what is it?
"Every. Single. Time." She articulates the words carefully. "You are so sure I'll lick your pussy back to happiness."
My God, is it disdain? Does my sweet Ginny despise me?
"You take me for granted." This last is spoken so softly it is barely audible, but the words drum into my heart with a force that knocks the wind out of me. My head reels with shame and a dread that is new to me. I have always counted on Ginny to be here for me, to be on my side. Have I driven her away with a lack of appreciation?
Panic strikes my heart: I cannot lose her friendship and care; I cannot lose her.
"No, Ginny," I begin to say. "I don't. I..." I stammer. For an extraordinary moment, I am at a loss for words. My hands are clammy with cold sweat.
"You're careless, sloppy." Ginny hisses. She looks me over slowly. The way her eyes travel coldly over my body sends icy shivers down my spine. I am not sure if I am frightened or turned on by her scrutiny. "You don't take care of your heart." she says as she cocks her head to one side. "Someone should teach you." A hint of a smile curls on her full lips. "Really teach you."
The word "teach" suddenly conveys a sense of menace that is foreign to me. I do not know which shocks me more: seeing Ginny angry with me, or that I am turned on with an unprecedented intensity by her sharp, harsh, but accurate opinion of me.
Ginny strolls over to me. Her long, shapely legs carry a strength I seem to have missed before. The grace in her movement is not only feminine; it is also feral and powerful. She walks towards me as a predator leisurely approaching her prey: certain of her ownership, she has come to taunt her kill.
"Don't sit on my sofa," she says.
The aftertaste of the wine turns to sawdust in my mouth.
"Kneel," she orders.
The sight of her looming tall in front of me, and the unmistakable authority in her voice make my head spin. This new Ginny incites terror in my heart, and yet, I do not dare walk away. I must obey; I want her to approve of me. No. I need her approval.
I slide off her leather sofa and kneel in front of her. I look up at her, unsure what she wants me to do next.
"Place your hands behind your back," she instructs. "Lock your fingers
together and keep your wrists at the small of your back." The lilt in her voice as she describes the details of what she wants is almost soothing.
She walks around me and I hear her sitting down. The whiff of her perfume seems to be from directly behind me, perhaps from the exact spot that I have just vacated. I do not know if she wants me to continue kneeling here while she gazes at my back, or if I should turn around and face her. She remains silent. Is she seething in anger while I stupidly remain here unmoving, or am I doing the right thing? My fingers tighten their grip on one another as I wait noiselessly.
I hear Ginny unzipping her jeans, then the sound of fabric sliding down her legs. I gulp as I imagine her pale skin being freed from her trousers. Her jasmine scent reaches my nostrils again; she is probably bending down to peel off the pair of denim. A soft thud somewhere on my left; possibly where she has casually flung the blue material. My shoulders tense as I try to anticipate her next action.
I can feel Ginny's gaze on my body; it makes the hair at the back of my neck stand up. The way this night is developing is beyond my imagination. Ginny is mad at me, but not angry enough to kick me out; everything hinges on how I behave right now. Perhaps this silent wait is a test from her: I must not fail.
At this height and angle, I see the living room slightly differently. Everything is clean and tidy without being overbearingly neat. Random cushions are strewn here and there, and a purple cardigan has been tossed near her favorite reading chair by the window. These all seem to be clues to Ginny's personality that I have missed previously. I have never noticed what she did with her apartment, maybe because mine is perpetually unkempt; but tonight I see it afresh: it matches her. She is down to earth and practical, and there is nothing extravagant about her choices of furniture; each piece serves a purpose, but she has placed them together in an aesthetically pleasing way. The tones of color she has picked are harmonious; even when she throws some extra items and embellishments around, the randomness still blends perfectly with her surroundings. There is a sense of order, almost discipline, in the cozy and lovely atmosphere she has created.
I thought I knew Ginny, but I have been proven wrong.
From just kneeling in silence, my senses appear to have sharpened: I can almost hear the clock ticking from the opposite wall. I wonder how much time has lapsed since Ginny has seated herself behind me?
"Turn around," Ginny says lowly.
I reposition myself to face her. She is still wearing her black sweater, but her long, shapely legs are indeed freed from her jeans. I keep my eyes on her face, not allowing my gaze to linger on her body for too long. My knees have started to hurt a little, but I do not break from my kneeling pose. I shift my balance onto my ankles.
"Are you legs burning?" She asks.
I jolt and nod lightly. It is uncanny how she seems to hear all my inner monologues.
"Kneel on this." She throws a cushion in front of me. "I'll be gentle with you, since it's your first time."
My heart thumps in my throat: my first time for what? A smile creeps along my lips as an idea begins to form: if she intends this to be the first time, she must be planning on seeing me again. Feeling slightly more assured, I look up into her brown eyes.
"How did it feel just now?" she asks.
I swallow hard. "You mean when you started telling me what to do, or when I was kneeling?"
She smiles faintly. "You've got your wits back. Good." She strokes my face lightly as she continues. "I like it when you are precise. Tell me both cases."
"I was scared when you sounded angry," I begin. "Your voice frightened me, but..." I gulp, "but I liked it too."
"Are you wet?" Ginny's eyes flash.
"Yes," I answer in a whisper that barely escapes my lips.
"And how did you feel when you were kneeling?" she asks.
"I didn't know if you wanted me to turn around or not. I felt confused," I offer. "Your silence made time go slower."
"Anything else?" A softness, almost imperceptible, has found its way into Ginny's voice.
"My senses were kind of..." I search for the right word, "magnified."
I glance at Ginny to see if she will ridicule me. Her face is calm.
Feeling encouraged, I continue. "I felt you looking at me; I could smell your perfume; I heard you taking off your jeans; I could hear the clock ticking. Everything was clearer, suddenly."
Ginny smiles. "Good."
She opens her legs wide. Her pale blue thong clings tight over her pussy. A heat flushes in me when I see that she is wet. She slides herself lower down the sofa, almost to the edge. Her left hand pulls the thin cloth to the side as she says, "Lick me."
I eagerly lean forward, my wrists gripping each other as I keep my arms behind me while kissing her pussy. Her lips are pink, already parted, and showing a light sheen from her juice. My lips suck on her knob, then travel down to kiss her outer lips, just as I would kiss her mouth, and then slowly part her to delve into her crevices. The smell of her intoxicates me; it circles us and fills the room. The warm tightness of her wraps my tongue in place, pulling it deeper into her. My lips are drenched with her moisture, our heat mingling as one. I sorely want to push my fingers in her, to claim her body and feel her bucking into my hand, but I keep my arms locked behind me as she has instructed.
"Lap my clit," she mutters. "Release me."
My tongue moves up at her command. I slurp at her throbbing hood, twirling around and stabbing at the precise spots that send her inner thighs twitching involuntarily. Her moans urge me on. I feel her hand grabbing the hair at the back of my head, grinding me harder onto her miniscule world. All my efforts are concentrated on that inch of flesh that promises to bring her ecstasy. I want to see her satisfied under my lips and tongue. My arms are sore from being held behind my back for so long, my knees are numb, pins and needles are torturing my ankles, but I double my efforts as I lick, suck, and drink up Ginny's juice; the discomforts elsewhere on my body seem to direct all the blood flow and my focus to Ginny's tangy, salty pussy. She breaks into a scream, thrusts her pelvis into me, clasping my head in place as I feel her convulsion endlessly rippling, her cream spilling over and flowing.
After a long while, her hand relaxes. I steal a look at her. Her head is thrown back, her long neck elongated and exposed; her lips are parted in abandonment. Her left hand is still grasping the side of the sofa, her knuckles still white from the effort. I let this rare image of Ginny imprint itself firmly in my mind.
"That was nice," she croaks, her eyes still closed. "Now it's your turn. The way you should have it." Her eyes pop open, a glint of mischief as she gazes at me.
She gets up, and offers me her hand. I slowly free my wrists from my back, and reach for her outstretched arm. The soreness at my sides is unique: it is painful but gratifying as well, knowing how it has been caused. I stand up cautiously; my legs are wobbly. I lean into her lightly for support. She leads me to her bedroom.
"Strip and lie on the bed," she says neutrally as she flicks on the light. "Face down. Spread your arms out to the side, and open your legs wide."
Ginny watches me from the bedside table. I do not know if she wants me to disrobe slowly or not. I decide against it; if she desired a show, she would have told me. So I quickly undress and dump my clothes in one corner. Then I walk over to the bed and lie down as she has told me to. The vulnerability of that pose is enticing; I relax into the position as my arms and legs find their long-needed rest.
My nipples are already perky as I lower myself onto her cool, white sheets; the smoothness of her bed feels heavenly against my torso and legs as I ease myself onto it. I am soaked from the satisfaction of eating Ginny out; I imagine my juice sticky against my slit, in contact with the intimate fabric on which Ginny sleeps each night.
"Comfy?" Ginny's voice reaches me from the right.
"Yes," I answer.
I feel her climb onto the bed until her weight sinks in behind me, near my butt on the right. Her palm glides along
my right thigh, a soft, feathery touch; it pauses when it reaches the cheek of my bottom, lingering there for a while, then moves towards the left and down my left thigh.
A long silence, and then suddenly, smack!
The abruptness of the blow leaves me breathless. A heat spreads over the right cheek of my buttocks, as the impact finally registers in my mind. Damn. That hurts.
Another blow.
This time my body reacts, and flinches.
A pause, then a series of quick, hard spanks on the same spot.
The hotness of my skin intensifies and I feel my thighs contract unconsciously. As the smarting pain sinks in deeper, I find my pussy getting wetter by the second. My clit is quivering in sync with the onslaught.
Ginny's weight shifts more to the middle of the bed, then the same clean blow is delivered; this time on my left.
My hip twitches.
Her hand deals me another slap.
I bite my lip as I feel the burn spreading.
Again, ten or more spanks on precisely the same area.
My hands grip the fabric beneath me tight as a whimper escapes my lips.
"Enough?" Ginny's voice reaches my ears.
My brain is in a whirlwind. It hurts. Some of my previous lovers have spanked me before, but not like this. Ginny's blows are sharp and deep, reaching my bones. But the effect is also new: my clit is ultra-sensitive, if Ginny were to touch me now, I would come within seconds.
"Not saying yes," Ginny's fingers trace the redness she has caused on my buttocks. "But not saying no either." She blows cool air onto my bottom, possibly swollen by now. Her breath feels soothing on my hot flesh.
"I'll let you off easy," she coos. "Just this once."
She gently hikes my legs up, I curl my hip up into the angle her hands are directing me.
"You're dripping wet," Ginny announces. "You dirty, dirty girl." The voice that delivers the message is not reproachful; there is a hidden smile in it.
She spreads open my slit with her long fingers, then licks me slowly from back to front. I shiver from her warm, moist tongue. My clit shudders uncontrollably.
