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Jamaican Queen

Category: Lesbian Sex
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The most important thing for you to understand before telling you of the following incidents is—I am straight.

I have loved men all my life. I have never even thought—much less fantasized—about a relationship with another woman. Without understanding this, my story becomes commonplace, not worth the telling.

I’d been married a year at the time, to a wonderful young man whom I was in love with. Andy loved me in return; anything I asked for he provided. He had pursued me for a number of years, and finally I consented to marry him after he had asked for the third time. I was 23 at the time. I only held my husband off for so long due to wanting to be sure he was the one, not from disinterest.

In high school, boys had always pursued me. The title “Class Beauty” was mine in both High school and college. I had also served in both as homecoming queen. My looks had always gotten me attention—from men.

Then Vanessa Johnson came into my life as I began work at a firm in Silicon Valley.

Where I was blonde and blue eyed, Vanessa was black and brown eyed. I stood 5’7”; Vanessa was nearly 6’1”. I was slender but busty; Vanessa was slender but wiry, well muscled.. I was 23; Vanessa was 33. I was very white; Vanessa was coal black. I was just a coordinator; Vanessa was a VP.

I had first noticed her one day while making copies on a hallway copier. She was holding a meeting in a glass encased conference room across the way. I noticed that as she spoke to her subordinates in the conference room her eyes kept coming back to me at the copier outside.

I probably would never have thought a thing about it except when our eyes met… There was a look, hard to define, but definitely there. It was a look of lust…sexy, deep, and serious. Amazing, how she could carry on the meeting, while exchanging these looks with me at the copier outside. But Vanessa did just that. As our eyes would meet, she’d let hers drop, looking me over in a very deliberate and obvious way.

This occurred not once but several times as I found myself looking back over at her, frankly curious, wondering, “Could this really be happening? Is this really what I think it is? Am I misunderstanding this woman’s stare?”

As I continued to copy the papers, I found my hands trembling slightly. I had no idea why at that point, only that this woman was having some strange effect on me. I quickly finished and started to leave. As I did, I looked toward the meeting room once more and saw her again looking me over, this time with a slight smile playing on her lips.

After I proceeded down the hall, against my better judgment, I turned to look, yet again—I just wanted to see if she was still looking. When I did, sure enough, she was looking out of the glass room, her back to the other employees, watching me depart down the hallway.

When Vanessa saw me turn and look back, giving away my interest, she began laughing quietly, her shoulders jiggling. I felt embarrassed, young and naive. I turned away quickly and continued down the hallway, but as I did, I felt my hips sway slightly more than usual. I could feel her eyes on me. And I felt very sexy…

In the days that followed, I found myself thinking about Vanessa Johnson more often than I wanted to. Her short hair (it was cut close-cropped, like a man’s), her large brown eyes, and the clothing she wore. Often Vanessa would wear knee high boots and tight jeans, or even stretch pants that outlined every facet of her tall lean body. Her ass was prominent and well muscled, I’m sure she must have been an athlete at one time. Her legs were very, very long; very slender; and, yet, very well toned, with highly defined muscle.

Whenever we passed in the hall, her eyes would lock on mine. Our look, even in passing down the hallway, was always deep. I often felt embarrassed, just after our eyes would meet in their mutual gaze, and would look away, or avert my eyes to the floor. After getting back to my desk, I would find myself flushed red—just by passing her, and being appraised under her penetrating brown eyes.

Most troubling was one day, shortly after our first encounter—just after passing her—I found myself aroused. We’d passed in the hall, and in front of a co-worker whom she was walking with, she gave me her usual once-over and said, “Leasa, you look lovely as usual today.”

“Th- Thank you, Ms. Johnson,” was all I could squeak out.

When I went to the ladies room later that day, I was surprised to find my panty hose very moist. Well…actually, I was wet. Very wet, I’m ashamed to say. Vanessa had me still trembling for her long after the casual encounter had taken place. It was humiliating, but I found myself using my fingers in the woman’s room cubicle to relieve this terrible tension Vanessa had left me with.

I didn’t know what to think about my reaction to this woman, so I did what I have always done about things I don’t understand—better still, things I don’t want to understand: I just blocked it out and refused to think about it.

But my thoughts about Vanessa Johnson would not go away. As I lay in bed next to my husband, visions of Vanessa would keep recurring: her dark eyes, jet-black skin, and high cheekbones. Her thick, beautiful black lips. I felt tortured with thoughts of a woman that I couldn’t admit I found beautiful…and sexy. Terribly, terribly sexy.

With my husband snoring, I found myself using my fingers to relieve these feelings growing in me for another woman. Feelings that frightened me.

I wasn’t lesbian! I knew that for sure. But inside I was quite sure she was. So then, why was my this damn body of mine betraying me and responding so wantonly to her?

I’d close my eyes and see her beautiful, black face. I fantasized what it might be like to kiss her full thick lips, to lick them, and to slip my tongue between them.

I lay in bed wondering, perhaps hoping, “Is Vanessa lying in her bed now, thinking of me like I am of her?”

I would then close my eyes and drift off, with the bed slowly rocking, as my fingers attempted to quell the fires between my thighs that images of this black goddess had stoked.


As time passed, I began to find all kinds of reasons to be down near Vanessa’s office doing chores. Every time I walked past her door, I would hope she’d notice me. As I’d pass her door, I couldn’t resist peeking in. Then I’d look away quickly, not wanting her to see me glancing in her door, hoping for even a quick look at the object of my desire. She must have noticed. I must have appeared like a juvenile with a silly schoolgirl crush, obviously hanging around her office looking for attention.

In the mornings, I would pick out outfits I would wear that day. As I’d hold them up in front of the mirror, I’d wonder how Vanessa would react to me wearing this or that. Would it show off my legs…would she look.

In short, I began thinking of Vanessa Johnson day-in and day-out. I was becoming fixated on this woman. In a way, I hated myself for it. In high school, I laughed about girls who were ‘lezzies’…now I found myself having deeply lesbian feelings for this ebony goddess who dominated my every thought. I hated it, but I couldn’t deny it. I wanted her—badly!

Finally, one day while outside her office pretending to be working, I heard the call:

“Leasa, darling, could you come in here, please?”

Adrenalin shot through my veins! I walked into Vanessa’s office and slowly sat down in a chair sitting directly in front of her desk.

“Yes, Ms. Johnson,” I stammered.

Vanessa got up and came around her desk, directly in front of me and then half-leaned, half-sat, onto her desk. She was wearing her boots and light brown stretch pants.

“You know Leasa, we really need to get to know each other better, don’t you think?”

I just looked at her somewhat speechless.

Then she reached down and stroked my hair saying:

“I mean I’d like to get to know you better, darling…” then obscenely spreading her thighs in my face…she added:

“And Leasa, I’d like you to get to know me better too.”

A moment passed like an eternity…with Vanessa’s thighs splayed barely two feet in front of my face. I had to look. The tight, thin material displayed her prominent mons before my eyes. I saw no trace of panty line. It was obvious, she wasn’t wearing any panties.

I looked away. But then felt her fingers turn my chin back to her and tilt my head upwards, commanding me to look into the face that so captivated me.

“You would like to get to know me better, wouldn’t you, Leasa?”

“Yes,” I whispered, barely audible in the heavy silence of the office room.

“Sorry darling, what was that?” she demanded.

“Yes, Ms. Johnson.”

“Yes what, Leasa?”

“Yes,” I paused, my eyes looking again to her vaginal lips, profiled prominently through the crotch of her stretch pants, “Yes…I would like to get to know you better.”

Then I added as if in a trance, “Much better…”

Her fingers tilted my chin and brought my eyes back up to hers. She was smiling confidently now.

“You and I should dine together, my sweet, would you like that?”

I nodded. My voice had left me.

Vanessa continued, her legs still spread wide perhaps 12” before my face.

“And I have a special dessert in mind for you, sweetheart. Can you guess what it is?” she said smiling wide now.

I shook my head, no. Then she just remained sitting there, thighs splayed. My eyes sank back to the sight she offered me between her thighs. As I stared it became obvious what dessert she had in mind.

She stood up right in front of me. Her pubis now inches from my face. With her hands on her hips she looked down at me, like a conquering, black tribal queen.

“Do you find me attractive, Leasa?”

I could feel the heat from her prominent mound radiating on my face.

“Yes…very,” I whispered.

She grinned down at me. Gently cradling my head with her one hand, she hugged it to the front of her thigh.

“You are very beautiful too, Leasa,” she said huskily as she maneuvered my face closer to her thinly veiled pussy. Then she nudged it an inch more and I found my nose being nuzzled into her crotch. I wafted the thick, sensual aroma of her womaness. Feeling dizzy and faint from the excitement of what she was doing to me, I still feared someone might walk in on us. God, the door was open! Someone walking by could see!

Vanessa seemed unafraid and uninhibited. She thrust her hips slightly forward burying my face fully into her mons. It was obscene and almost crude now—yet, I let her continue, burying my face into her most intimate crevice.

My hands came up, pushing slightly at her thighs, to dislodge my face from her mound. But even as I did so, my lips pursed in a slight kiss…my lips to hers.

Vanessa released her gentle control of me… but smiled wickedly, having felt the soft kiss I’d given her.

“Dessert will have to wait until we finish dinner, sweetheart,” she said, huskily, “Are you that hungry?”

“For you, yes,” I whispered.

I stood—on shaky legs—took one of her business cards from the desk, and wrote my cell number on the back of it.

“I’m free Thursday night,” I whispered, my voice quivering from both nervousness and sexual excitement.

“Fine,” she said. Then as I exited her office, she stopped me in my tracks, adding:

“Oh, and Leasa…Thursday night—that terribly short leather mini of yours—I’d like you to wear it for me. Understood?”

Without turning around to look back, I nodded. Then left.


I realize this is a short start…I will only continue it if the women out there let me know they are enjoying it…please vote…and write me your comments.

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