My plan had been to end up on the rug in front of the fire in a sixty-nine position, with Debs on top so as not to crush her arms, and I suspected that, at some point, we’d reverse roles and I’d end up with my hands tied. But there was no need to hurry.
We’ve hardly ever involved Philip in our games – it’s Philip with me or Debbie with me. He’s happy enough with that duality provided I tell him in graphic detail (which I sometimes embellish outrageously) what we do. OK, we’ve let him watch a few times, but I’m happier to keep Philip and Debs well apart physically, even if I’m certain he’d like an occasional threesome. I’m not sure his blood pressure could take it!
But I do remember one time when Debbie and I had an idea (OK, it was my idea but she loved it too) about a rather unusual sixty-nine where we let Philip tie us head to toe – her hands to my ankles and vice versa – and leave us on the bed to get at each other as best as we could. It’s not actually as easy as it sounds and we should have chosen the floor to try it on – the bed was too soft to get a proper foothold and we were worried in case we fell off and got hurt. (“And how exactly did you get this vaginal injury, madam? It looks like teeth marks.”) Trying to recreate that in the lounge that night would have been nice, but no way could we tie each other up to that extent. (We have managed to tie each other’s hands behind us for bound snogging sessions a few times, but that’s about as complex as we’ve managed.) We could have used handcuffs, I guess – we’ve got plenty – but then how would we have got free? Leaving the keys handy takes the edge off the feelings of helplessness.
Anyway, back to that evening. I pulled her up now and again for a mouth-to-mouth kiss or to have a go at my breasts and nipples, or for me to have a go at hers. The curry made them tingle a bit, too.
Then I pushed her back down to my pussy, our eyes watching each other and silly grins on our faces. I found that by reaching down and pulling her hands up her back it forced her head further down, too, but it made the angles all wrong, so I gave up on that one. We swapped places a few times and we did a sixty-nine a couple of times too. It was all just so relaxed, as if time had stopped ticking and the rest of the world was a long way away. All that mattered was the moment – the crackling fire and each other. OK, Debbie was the one who was tied, but that didn’t matter; that was just icing on a very delicious cake.
The curry had gone cold a while back and I took a break to take the plate out and pour us some wine. Once again I’d have to feed her, so I only took one glass. White wine, nice and cold: into my mouth, kiss and into hers. Then back again until it took on our body temperature. Kisses sweeter than wine. It was a small step before that, thanks to a refill from the bottle in the fridge, became: wine from my mouth into hers, from her mouth into my pussy and fuck-if-it-drips-onto-the-carpet! If only we could find a way to do pussy-to-pussy transfers. The nearest we got was her catching it as it came out of me again, passing it to my mouth and then me emptying it into her vagina, but the temperature had well and truly evened out by then. It does amaze me, writing in the cold light of day as I am at the moment, just how kinky and creative we can get once that excitement kicks in.
On this occasion, the wine was having predictable effects, both in terms of fuzzing our brains and filling our bladders, so both of us had to visit the loo. We’ve never done it, but I can easily imagine a time when that enters our games too. How would I feel? I wonder.
But enough speculation. There Debs was, her head moving up and down on me. She was holding her tongue out stiffly so each movement followed my crease, from teasing my clitoris at the top to dipping into my anus at the bottom (of course). Meanwhile, her long hair tickled my thighs as she moved. That was what gave me the idea.
I love her hair. It’s long, thick, red-brown and cascades around her face and over her shoulders and neck. But it can tickle. I reached down and lifted it, at first just to stop the distracting tickling, but, since I like it so much, I made a bunch of it and pressed it against my pussy, rubbing it into my fluids and getting a kinky little thrill from messing her up.
There is something about bondage and domination that delights in spoiling perfection. We want to see our lovers degraded in some way. Philip likes to come on my face, hair and clothes, and likes it even more if I agree to go out in public without cleaning up. A lot of men (women too, maybe) like the old slapstick movies where women get covered in goo. I suppose what I was doing to Debbie’s hair was along those lines. She’d said before she hadn’t wanted it to get wet because she doesn’t like to sleep with wet hair and it takes so long to dry. That was OK because she’d washed it in the hotel the night before, so it was clean. Yet here I was making it very messy and making it very wet.
It really got to me, the feeling of it sliding against my secret flesh. I think she realized something was happening because she just held her head still and let me get on with it. Maybe she was getting something out of it too – I must ask her.
As I rubbed her hair up and down me, I pressed my own fingers into me too. I couldn’t help it; I needed it. And, of course, her hair went into me along with my fingers, so that when I pulled my fingers out again, some of her hair stayed trapped inside. The game became more urgent and clearer to me, until my purpose became a challenge to see how much of her hair I could get inside me. It’s not easy: hair isn’t stiff or hard (though some of hers was afterwards when my juices dried on her), and doesn’t really want to be pushed anywhere. But my fingers got to work and pressed more and more inside. I must have spent half an hour pushing more and more in, because by then I knew exactly how this was going to end.
(Debbie told me afterwards that I was actually screaming out when I was getting more of her inside me, and I can believe it: it was just so kinky and exciting to feel what I’d done and think about what I intended. She also told me she wants a return match with our positions reversed and has also offered to do the “stuffing” – aided by a dildo – if I’ll leave her hands untied for once.)
Anyway, where was I? I’d got as much of her hair in me as I could, and if I squeezed my pelvic floor muscles she couldn’t really withdraw. But that wasn’t my intent and she knew it.
Opening my legs as wide as possible, I just said, “Slowly, please” and settled back to watch as she lifted her head. The feeling of her hair gradually being withdrawn was just amazing, but what really did it was the slithering of it over my clitoris. I was gasping and my whole body was shaking as she slowly masturbated me with nothing but her hair. As if that wasn’t enough, the vision of that beautiful hair slimy with my intimate juices certainly was, and I hit my peak and had my orgasm as she continued pulling her hair out. Once she was free she pressed her face, now matted with her sticky hair, into me to ride out my spasms.
Phew, I feel exhausted reliving it. We will do that again, I know it. In fact, where’s my mobile . . .?
Read more Dominique James stories in Lesbian Erotica Volumes 1, 5, 7 and 9
TISHA AND NARINE’S AFTER-HOURS FETISH PARTY
Giselle Renarde
Tisha was too cordial to rush her clients out the door, and that irked Narine. If she gave a damn about their after-hours venture, she’d have those suits out on their asses five minutes after the final focus groups. The men’s flirtation bothered Narine more than anything. Those clients meant nothing to Tisha, yet Narine was jealous.
Today’s flirt leaned against the reception desk in his dark-blue suit. “Those are quite the boots you’ve got on,” he said to Tisha. “Your dogs must be barking in those heels.”
Narine scrunched up her nose as she listened from the IT room, but the suit was right – only Tisha could wear heels that high all day. As soon as this doofus was gone, Tish would strip off that black pencil skirt and sweater. Underneath, she’d be wearing the kind of lingerie that would make any red-blooded lesbian drool from both sets of lips, but Narine would remain focused on the boots: tall, PVC, with a wide toe. Those boots got her motor running.
Tisha shrugged and said to the client
, “Boots work for some people.”
That mini rejection put a smile on Narine’s face. She hoped the flirt would leave, but instead he said, “Your live web streaming is a godsend.”
“Indeed,” Tisha replied coolly.
“When I started out in this business, our whole marketing team would fly from city to city, sit in these back rooms and listen to customers lambaste our products. The flights, the hotels, the meals . . . it was quite an expense.”
Tisha shuffled her paperwork. “I can imagine.”
“Now our clients watch the webcasts back home and we just bring the essential market research team on the road. It’s lonely spending every night in a different hotel room, but I’m one of the big fish now. I need to travel.”
With a chuckle, Tisha muttered, “Yeah, you and every other poor sod who wants to get away from his wife and kids for a few days.”
“Yes, well . . .” The suit coughed, then cleared his throat. There was a touch of a sneer in his voice when he said, “I guess I should be off. Thanks for your hospitality.”
Only when Narine heard the front door close and the deadlock bolt did she come out from her IT hidey-hole.
“Cheeky bugger,” Tisha said, leaning against the door as Narine crossed the lobby. “These bloody-minded gits all seem to think I’d jump at the chance to accompany them to their hotel rooms. I’m a hostess, not an escort!”
Narine wanted so badly to pin her girl against that door and kiss the worries away, but she stopped short. They’d be late getting online tonight if they wasted any more time. Better save it for the camera – their viewers paid big bucks because their connection was real.
“I’m sorry, babe.” Narine placed a hand at the small of Tisha’s back. “At least he’s gone now.”
“But it starts over tomorrow with brand-new clientele,” Tisha sighed, arranging the magazines.
As much as Narine didn’t appreciate today’s straggler, he had one thing right: their facility’s webcasting capabilities made a welcome addition. Without that technology, she and her girl would never have come up with their idea for “Tisha and Narine’s After-hours Fetish Party”. It was an online event their boss knew nothing about, held every night after the clients left.
The focus group room was already equipped with two cameras: one on the wall, the other a mobile eye that rotated in a circle like a garden sprinkler. The cameras’ real purpose was to capture focus groups and even get close-ups on participants’ faces. All Narine had to do was change a few settings and she and Tisha were ready to broadcast themselves online to paying customers.
Showtime!
They primped a touch and raced into the focus group room. Narine couldn’t keep herself from smacking Tisha’s ass along the way. She switched on the dual streams and followed her girl to the blond wood table.
Tisha’s bright smile glazed her cheeks as she looked into the main camera. “Good evening and welcome to ‘Tisha and Narine’s After-hours Fetish Party’.”
Waving to the camera with both hands, she said, “Hi, everybody! I’m Narine and this is Tisha. We work together all day at this excruciating job, but now it’s time to kick up our heels and play!”
“Remember, if you have any questions you want to ask us, just email and we’ll be happy to answer them.” Tisha leaned in and licked Narine’s neck, making her girl giggle. “Not right away, of course, because tonight we’ll be busy.”
“Yeah,” Narine answered with a salacious giggle. “If you were at work after hours with a sexy girl, would you be answering your emails, or would you be worshipping her big black boots?”
Tisha laughed. “I thought you were going to say my big black bootie.”
“Why don’t you show the nice people your boots? Or your bootie. Whichever.”
“Will you help me off with my skirt?” Tisha asked, turning around so the other could grasp the zipper.
“Yeah, for sure!” She knew how exciting their audience found it when they undressed one another. She could never guess what lingerie Tisha had on until she’d stripped the girl down. When she got a good look at whatever sexy garments Tisha had been wearing under her office clothes, Narine always got a giddy thrill. All day her girl had been wearing slutty underwear, and nobody knew.
As Tisha tore off her sweater, Narine let the pencil skirt tumble to the floor. Her hands gravitated unstoppably towards those beautiful bum cheeks. Tisha’s bootie was black for sure, but could hardly be categorized as big. Her girl was, in fact, tall and quite thin.
When Narine squeezed her cheeks, Tisha said, “Naughty, naughty!” and turned fully around. Today she’d worn leather: a bra and G-string, both of which laced up in the front so that, in unlacing them, a cheeky girl would find two naked nipples and a wet pair of pussy lips.
“Let’s see what you’ve got on under here,” Tisha cooed as she unbuttoned Narine’s black blouse. When she revealed the boned rose-lace corset, she smiled, took a small step forward, and traced her fingertips down Narine’s sides. “You wore a corset all day just for me?”
“Just for you,” Narine assured her, tearing off her black slacks to reveal a matching G-string and white stay-up hose topped with lace.
Tisha chuckled warmly. “You went all out today.”
“I thought you’d like it.” In truth, it excited her to wear such sexy garments under her clothes.
Before they could climb up on the table, Narine had to get down on all fours on the industrial carpeting. This part always thrilled her because it had been so far out of her sexual range before they hooked up.
In her dominating leather lingerie, Tisha set one big boot at the small of Narine’s back. The heel of that PVC platform punched that tender spot and she flinched and then arched to counter the force as her girl took hold of the boardroom table. Tisha set the other foot nearer to her shoulders. Her arms strained under the pressure, but she loved to act as a step stool. She loved to be used that way. She loved to be used in any way, especially if it involved big boots.
When Tisha climbed up, lifting one foot after the other from Narine’s back, she sighed with a combination of grief and relief. But they’d start the show the same way tomorrow, and that sense of the ongoing gave her comfort. She rose to her stocking feet to find her girl lying back, propped up on her elbows, one leg extended. The sole of Tisha’s other foot was flat against the table, that PVC boot clinging to her leg like she’d been born wearing it.
Narine climbed onto the table. Her pussy clenched when Tisha tossed her a clean white bar rag. “My boots need a spit-shine.”
“Glad to oblige.” Though she tried to push her voice down into the sultry zone, it came out sounding childish and whiny.
With cloth in hand, Narine set her knees one on either side of Tisha’s upright boot. Her ass hovered so close to the smaller camera she knew she’d knock it over if she weren’t careful. Winking at the wall camera, she spit on the big black boot and polished the PVC with her cloth. These were indoor shoes. They never got particularly dirty. All the same, she wanted to get this boot good and clean before rubbing her pussy all over it.
Tisha untied the laces on her leather bra. Her dark-pink nipples poked out like two hard little flower buds. Narine’s pussy pulsed beneath her lace G-string as she watched Tisha pin those nipples between sharp fingernails and pinch.
“Why aren’t you polishing my boots?” Tisha’s gaze was tender, but there was an unmistakable growl to her voice.
“Sorry.” Narine spat on the thick toe of the boot and rubbed the shining surface until it gleamed. “All done.”
Glancing down at her patent-leather boot, Tisha asked, “Is it clean enough to eat from?”
“I think so.”
Narine stared at Tisha, infusing her gaze with hope that she’d be granted permission. For a moment, Tisha only offered a steely gaze in return. Finally, a glimmer of a smile broke across her lips, and she slid her toe down the table until it rested just below Narine’s G-string. Letting her body sink down slowly t
owards the boot, Narine hoped she’d positioned the little webcam well enough to capture this spectacle.
When her panties met Tisha’s patent-leather toe, a rush of adrenaline ran through her body. Her heart beat like a trapped bird. Pussy juice coated the little strip of cotton fabric in the crotch of her lace undies. She rocked her hips ever so slightly. It felt good to be so close to that beautiful boot, but she could never get close enough until she met it in the flesh.
Untying her pretty lace G-string at the sides, Narine tossed it off and set her wet pussy against that PVC toe with religious reverence. She moaned as her tender lips met that slick black boot.
Tisha watched with fascination, and untied the leather lace concealing her own pussy. She swept her long fingers around her plump pussy lips, drawing Narine’s eye to her juicy center, then plunging one finger in. It came out glistening with clear nectar, which Tisha slathered across her clit, rubbing there, smiling for the camera. Imagine how many Internet eyes were on the pair of them at this very moment! It was such a naughty thrill to show off for them.
Wrapping her arms around Tisha’s thigh, Narine pressed her lace-enveloped tits against her girl’s shin and set her cheek against that beautiful black knee. She loved the feel of PVC against her skin.
If she turned at the right angle, Narine could just make out the webcast feeds on her laptop across the room. She’d positioned the little guy perfectly! It picked up every little movement she made as she rubbed her tender pink pussy lips up and down the toe of Tisha’s boot. Her juices gleamed on camera as she left a trail of nectar along the sleek PVC.
Tisha struck fervent blows against her own clit, which poked its glistening pinkness up from between shaved pussy lips. Her fingers glistened, sometimes sneaking inside her snatch for more juice, emerging wet, rubbing her clit, stroking it hard and fast. Her brow furrowed as it always did when she approached orgasm. Lucky bitch could come in forty seconds! What Narine wouldn’t give to be that responsive.
The Mammoth Book of Lesbian Erotic Stories Page 30
