by PriveCo Inc.
He was steady and relentless, moving in a slow-building tempo. The sensation was initially unnerving; to have such one-dimensional sex was strange. The only sense was that of limited touch; there wasn't the weight of a body resting on mine nor the musky smell of male sweat in the air; the only scent was my own sharp arousal. There weren't the grunts and groans and creaks of lovemaking and there wasn't the visual stimulus of seeing a body lost in pleasure. No, it was more like masturbating with a vibrator except that I didn't have to do the work.
My analytical comparison shattered into a million fragments as his thrusts, firm and measured brought me sweetly to a climax. Through the blurring consciousness of orgasm, I was amazed. I never come from penetration alone. Sam's movements were faster, sliding easily in my wetness. His thrusts disintegrated into the jagged, fractured spurts of a man on the brink, then as I tightened around him, I felt the unmistakable feeling of wet, spreading warmth inside. I relaxed. He relaxed. I could feel him softening inside me and the slide of his spend, viscous and thick, trickled down onto the bed. Curiously I put a finger down to catch the liquid, but like the phallus it was an illusion.
"Sam." I spoke his name out loud. "You can come back any time."
His head was between my legs again, but I felt wrapped in the cocoon of his satisfaction.
***
I stayed in that apartment for seven years. Sam stayed with me for all that time. Even when I had a nearly-serious, nearly-permanent relationship with Richard, I always made sure I was home alone at least one night every week for Sam. Eventually Richard left me, but Sam stayed.
The eviction notice came as a shock. I knew that the run-down neighborhood was becoming trendy as real estate prices in Denver soared, but I hadn't expected anything to change that quickly. They were pulling down the old apartments and building modern condominiums. Luxury buildings, ridiculous prices.
That night, after Sam's loving had made me weak from more than sex, I told him. "Come with me," I said. "I don't know where I'm going yet, but please, come too."
There was no answer; there never was on the few occasions that I had addressed him directly, but I thought I detected a palpable sadness in the air. I knew then that Sam would never leave this space.
***
I live on the other side of Broadway now, in a sleek modern condominium that echoes with emptiness and loneliness, especially on the hot dry Denver nights that remind me most of Sam. His apartment has long gone, but I have studied the block that has risen in its place. Apartment 3C. That is his space. I never knew the exact boundaries of his realm, but apartment 3C contains the space that used to be the bedroom. In the five years since its construction, that apartment has come on the market six times.
I have the deposit now; the next time that apartment 3C is offered for sale, I will be ready.
I hope that Sam remembers me.
###
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Chapter 9 – Clit Lit
After a lousy first year at college, I was forced to try to upgrade my marks over the summer. The thought of being confined to a stuffy classroom and a dusty library when I could be frolicking outside in the sun appealed to me about as much as a vaginal exam by Dr. Freeze. But I signed up for three courses, nonetheless. And of those, ‘Radical Writers of the 1930’s’, turned out to be twice as hot as the summer itself.
There were eleven of us in the class. We were given a reading list that included authors such as Henry Miller, Anais Nin, and Erskine Caldwell. The books were all available at the campus bookstore and online, but being cheap by circumstances rather than choice, I headed to the library instead. And just as I reached for ‘Women Involved’, by little-known author ‘InX’, another hand jumped up and snagged the book off the top shelf ahead of me.
“First come, first served!” Annabelle yelped.
I turned and looked at the girl. The short brunette with the voluptuous figure was one of my new classmates. A brilliant white smile split her pretty face, her brown eyes gleaming. “Okay,” I said. “You beat me to it. Now I’ll have to buy the darned book. Maybe not eat for awhile.”
I slumped my shoulders in a pathetic posture and started to lethargically drift away.
Annabelle caught my arm. “Hey, why don’t we share it? Like, both read it – to each other.”
It wasn’t the exact reaction I was going for, but book beggars can’t be eschewers. “Okay,” I replied, shrugging my shoulders.
Annabelle grinned and squeezed my arm. The girl was dressed in a dark top and white shorts, her shapely, olive-skinned arms and legs showing to full, shining advantage. Her large breasts pushed out the sleeveless top, her bouncy booty stretching the stitching on her shorts. Her dark hair cascaded in shimmering waves down her back.
I was wearing a thin yellow summer dress and leather sandals, my honey-blonde hair braided back in a ponytail, my slender, sunbrowned limbs popping goosebumps due to the AC flooding the library. Except where Annabelle’s hand gripped my bare arm – that patch of lucky skin was quite warm.
She knew a secluded spot in the library where we would have some privacy for our reading. It was up on the fourth floor, a couple of carrels tucked away behind a wall partition on an elevated mezzanine. We sat down next to each other and Annabelle started reading out loud.
She didn’t start at the beginning of the book, though. She started at the first explicit lesbian encounter in the book, reading the erotic passages in a hushed, husky voice, staring me in the widened green eyes. The girl was obviously very familiar with what to me was an unfamiliar work, intimate with the sections of the book that dwelt with and on female-female love and lust.
Her voice grew even thicker, sexier, as she read more of the sensuous lines. Her eyes hooded, looking into mine, searching mine, her lush lips glistening with the moisture of sensual spoken word. My face flushed crimson under my tan, my body heating up way past the point where any air-conditioning could cool it down. The girl gave great oration. She knew it, giving me the amazing oral, giving herself a hand – up her top and onto her bare breasts beneath.
“Mmm!” she murmured, the book fluttering in her right hand as her left moved around under her top, over her tits. “Doesn’t she just do something to you?”
By ‘she’, I think Annabelle meant the author. But ‘they’ were both doing something to me, the written words and the visual cues. I swallowed, hard, watching Annabelle’s hidden hand explore her large breasts, cupping, squeezing, caressing, fingers bulging silky material outward as they scaled a nipple and pinched and rolled. “Tit, er, it sure does,” I gulped.
Annabelle’s breathing got more ragged, the impassioned words more breathless. I licked my cracked lips with a wooden tongue and felt sweat bead my forehead and palms, moisture my pussy. My right leg was crossed over my left, and I kind of rubbed the pair together, generating some friction where it’s felt most.
I always knew reading could be exciting (from my own private bathroom and bedroom x-rated browsing), but I’d never known how much better it could be with two people. Until now. The intellectual stimulation was intense.
Annabelle reached the end of the chapter, then opened a new chapter – for me. “Here, Kathy, read this,” she husked, handing me the book. “Please, read to me!” She opened her legs up wide and plunged her right hand down into her shorts, onto her pussy.
Annabelle arched up off the chair, rubbing her pussy undercover, feeling up her breasts. I just about fell out of my chair, astonished at the girl’s audacity. Astonished, and awesomely aroused. I was only a chair-length away from the babe blatantly groping her tits and stroking her cunt.
The book shook in my hands in front of me, my eyes refusing to focus on the words, staring over the top at Annabelle. I struggled to continue the remarkable story.
“Page 127!” Annabelle gasped
. Her hand bulged up and down in her shorts, fingers flying on her pussy. Then they curled, a pair plugging right into her slit from what I could see and hear. She pulled on a nipple so hard I thought it would pop off in her other fingers.
I leafed through the book, went past the right page, flipped back too far the other way. My fingers were trembling as wildly as my legs. I swear I could hear my pussy squish between my legs, the buzz of my achingly hard nipples, above the panting my dirty-digited bookmate was doing.
I hit the correct page and splayed the book open, squeaked out a passage of younger/older lesbian lust in a gold-plated bathtub. The heat and dampness of the literary and figurative scene permeated me and Annabelle to our sexual cores.
The sultry brunette pulled her top right up over her breasts, exposing the ripened pair. They stood out huge and heavy and round and olive-toned in front of us, immense, darker areolas sporting jutting, pointing nipples. Annabelle arched back in her chair, pushing the pair of smooth-skinned melons out even further. Then she gripped one with her left hand and hefted the luscious mass, bent the rigid nipple up to meet her long pink tongue surging down.
The brazen beauty licked her own nipple, tonguing around and around the rubbery spigot, her pebbly areola. I gawked, the book fanned up against my gaping mouth. Annabelle’s hand in her shorts pumped faster, fingers plugging her pussy harder, as she sucked her own nipple into her mouth and tugged on it with her lips.
She dropped the one tit, lifted the other breast, sucked on that nipple, other hand almost breaking her zipper apart. “Oh, God, Kathy!” she cried. “I’m going to come! You’re making me come!”
She was giving me too much credit, the author and herself too little. But I didn’t argue the point, staring at her saliva-shined breasts, her pistoning hand in her shorts. The girl was pumping herself and me past the point of no return.
When a nun suddenly walked around the corner.
We both froze, shocked. The woman had come from nowhere, in total stealth. A small, black woman dressed in a grey habit. She didn’t even look at us, though, walked right by. But Annabelle’s top slammed down and her legs snapped shut, her hands moving fast as any female weightlifter jerking the snatch.
“Jesus, that was close!” she breathed, as we watched the nun disappear.
The college was founded by a religious order way back when, part of the campus still affiliated with the cause.
We stared at one another. Then Annabelle giggled. I giggled. Annabelle jumped forward in her chair and kissed me. I kissed her back. She grabbed my hand and we raced down from our not-so-private hideaway and out of the library, hot to find a sanctuary to give full voice to our lust.
The best we could come up with was a darkened classroom on the second floor of the neighboring Arts building. The door was unlocked, the hallway empty, the classroom deserted. Annabelle pushed me inside and shut the door. Then she pushed me up against the wall and pressed her body into mine, her lips against my lips.
She kissed me hotly, wetly, hungrily. Her fingers dug into my hair, her tits pressing soft and warm into my breasts. My back was up against the light switch, and I yelped, “Ow!”
We moved over a foot without breaking contact. I wrapped my arms around Annabelle’s curvy, throbbing body. Her tongue burst into my mouth and flailed at my tongue, as I sailed my hands down her back and onto the outrageous humps of her butt cheeks.
“Mmm!” we gasped in each other’s mouths, our tongues entwining openly. Annabelle gripped my shoulders and shuddered her tits against mine, her buttocks in my hands. I sunk my fingernails into the overstuffed flesh and kneaded.
She pulled her head back, her tongue out of my mouth, and swiped the loose straps of my dress off my shoulders. The top of my dress tumbled down, exposing my tits. Annabelle grasped my breasts and popped a full-blown pink nipple into her mouth, sucked on it.
“Yeesss!” I groaned, vibrating against the wall of the classroom.
The girl’s mouth was so wet, so hot, so insistent, her sealing lips stretching out my blossomed bud to an incredible length, then releasing it with a snap. Then doing the same to my other buzzing nipple. She eagerly bobbed her head back and forth between my breasts, licking, sucking, biting, her hands squeezing my shimmering flesh.
I tore my own hands off her butt and grabbed onto her own boobs from the sides, anxious to do to them what she was so eloquently doing to mine. She released my tits and jumped back, peeled her top up, displaying her mams for my pleasure again. I grabbed onto them, worked the hanging masses like I’d worked her butt cheeks.
She flung her head and body back and her mouth open, her hands shooting into her hair. I held her up by her boobs, gripping the velvety-skinned pair. Then I bent my head down and stuck out my tongue and circled one of her wide areolas with my slippery sticker. She cried out with delight.
I absolutely fed on the girl’s breasts, my passion inflamed to infernoic levels. I swallowed as much of her one tit as I could and wet-vacced the flesh, boob and nipple both. Then I popped the sopping wet sack out and mouthed her other breast, suctioned it for all I was worth. Her tits shivered in my hands and mouth, her nipples clogging the back of my throat.
“Yes, Kathy! Suck on my tits!” she shrieked.
Just as the doorknob suddenly rattled and the classroom door creaked open.
The lights flashed on, quick as Annabelle dropped the curtain down on her glistening tits and I yanked up my dress. A man in black clerical garb stood in the doorway of the classroom.
“Oh, are you ladies in my theology class?” he kindly inquired.
We bolted past him so fast his white collar spun.
We ran down the hall hand-in-hand, desperate to consummate our lust without any further divine intervention.
The women’s washroom. We banged through the door, charged around the corner, smacked into the last stall against the wall.
I’d barely clanged the bolt home, when Annabelle grabbed me and spun me around. There was a stark look of unrequited frenzy in her blazing brown eyes, as she tore my dress down and off, did the same to my pink panties. She stared down at my bikini-shaved blonde pussy, the glistening moisture on my lips plain to see, hers to taste. Then she shoved me down onto the toilet, dropped down onto her knees on the floor in between my legs. She pushed my legs up by the thighs and shot her head forward and planted her tongue in my slit.
“Oh my …! Yes!” I hollered, the girl’s versatile tongue spearing inside my most intimate, hard-to-read body part.
She plunged through my swollen wet red lips and deep into my pink tunnel. I hunched back against the wall, bent almost in two, the girl’s tongue up my slit.
Annabelle squirmed her sticker around inside of me, shocking my body and soul with pleasure. I grabbed onto my tits and pinched and rolled my throbbing hard nipples, getting tongued to a depth and degree I’d never dared dream of.
Annabelle filled my pussy, corkscrewed around inside it. Then fucked it. She pumped her head back and forth, drilling me with her hardened pink blade. Until she suddenly pulled out, leaving me achingly empty. Only to flatten out her tongue and mop my slit with it, lapping my cunt in long, hard, wet strokes.
“Oh, Annabelle! I’m going to … I’m going to …!”
I couldn’t even complete the sentence, lit major that I was, the girl’s orocity leaving me speechless. She crested my bloated button one too many times and I was blown away, orgasm exploding up from my pussy and blasting through my body in waves. I jerked around on the toilet seat, tits jumping in my death-gripping hands, Annabelle tonguing utter bliss into my very being.
“Now it’s your turn to speak to my pussy,” she stated, pulling me up onto my feet.
I staggered, my head spinning, pussy dripping.
Annabelle shoved down her shorts and jumped out of them, jumped up onto the toilet seat. She grabbed onto my shoulders and pulled me close, so that I was sitting on the toilet in front of her, staring into the dark bush of her cunt.
“L
ick me! Finger-fuck me, Kathy!”
I did both, with a fervour. As Annabelle gripped the top of the stall walls, I gripped her bare butt and buried my face in her bush.
She shuddered against me. I inhaled the girl’s musky essence, her soft, springy pubes tickling my nose and lips. Then I shot out my tongue and slurped up and along Annabelle’s slit.
“Yes, Kathy! Yes!” she cried.
The place could’ve been packed with incontinent nuns and peeping priests for all we cared. We weren’t stopping for anyone now. I bit my nails into Annabelle’s big, trembling cheeks for traction and ferociously tongued her pussy, lapping with even more intensity than when she’d cleaned out my cunt. I teased her puffed-up clit with the tip of my tongue.
“Stick your fingers inside me! Fuck me!”
I tore my right hand off her left cheek and speared two rigid digits into her slit, plunging through pubes and petals and deep into tunnel. She jumped up onto her toes, on the ends of my embedded fingers.
I sucked her clit into my mouth, pumping her pussy, fucking and sucking the girl. Her buttocks and breasts quivered out of control, hands shaking the stall walls. She was molten inside, swollen outside. I plowed her pussy with my fingers and tugged on her clit with my lips.
“I’m coming!” she shrieked. Her thighs clamped my fingers and her clit pulsated in my mouth. She shuddered, squirted, hot sticky juices flowing along my digits and dousing my hand and chin and neck.
Annabelle and I hold a ‘reading’ almost every day, and night. Sometimes summer school can be just as hot as the weather outside, if you pick the proper subject matter, get hooked-up with the right classmate.
###
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