Your erotic stories

My ‘affair’ with Emma was short lived. But it was intense, educational and life changing for me. It ended after just a couple of months because she got a job in the US and relocated to California. As I lay naked in her arms the day before she was leaving I had to smile when I said.

“So I lose out to California do I?” She smiled too and then took my nipple back into her mouth, put her hand between my legs and fucked me for the last time.

I was confused after she’d gone. It had taken me some time to become accustomed to the fact that I was bi and enjoyed sex with women. After all if a woman goes from puberty to her forties without an inkling of her bisexuality and then has a highly sexual affair with a woman twelve years her junior, there is bound to be some trauma. I had plenty, but had adjusted to it after a few weeks. The incongruity of our situation was that almost as soon as I accepted the new sexuality of my new world then the centrepiece of that, my lover, was taken away from me.

We had a tearful farewell in my marital bed.

In the weeks after she had gone I felt lost. Of course we kept in touch and what with the phone, yahoo messenger and our cams we ‘saw’ a lot of each other; and by a lot I do mean frequency and bodily. We became fervent cyber lovers!

I enjoyed my times on cam and the phone with Emma, but after a month or so the frequency between our ‘chats’ increased. Although we still ‘met’ and mutually masturbated we were both becoming attuned to the limitations of electronic sex. It became something that happened occasionally and not a part of our lives as it had been when she first left England.

Oddly, in some ways it was that, which confirmed to me my bisexuality and my need for other women. I missed sex with Emma so much. I found myself wondering if and how I could find other like-minded women. I acknowledged that I needed more lesbian experiences, but how the hell I would get it and where I would find it totally bemused me.

As I more and more missed her as the frequency of our virtual fucks diminished so, strangely, I was not drawn back towards my husband; I didn’t turn to him for more sex, he didn’t become the substitute for my lesbian lover. But that was not because I had become lesbian for I still yearned for sex with other men. Yearned isn’t quite the right word, for I had no appetite for an affair or a one night stand; I’d been there and they are far too messy and complicated. No, the more apt word is fantasised. When I masturbated, as I did most days, I was often fucked by a number of men at the same time or individually by a young tennis coach or an even younger golf pro. That is, of course, in addition to having fantasy sex with Emma, and sometimes the two young men as well; yes I do have a vivid imagination.

I wouldn’t say that this desire for lesbian sex became a driving force in my life, but it certainly did entertain my mind a great deal. This was particularly so when I was alone when Richard, my corporate lawyer husband was working murderous hours in London or was away on business as he was approximately half the time.

I started to look for it. It made me feel awful when I was at the tennis club or having golf lessons or when I was at the gym, and I realised I’d looked at women, some I knew quite well, and wondered whether they would be up for it or not. I also racked my brain to think of women I knew who had reputations, but I couldn’t recall any who I was still in contact with. Just what the hell I would have done if I had thought anyone in the first group was up for it or if I still knew anyone from the second, I had no idea. I couldn’t imagine me trying to ‘pull’ or seduce anyone.

I looked on the net of course and found loads of opportunities, but they were mainly from what appeared to be lesbian hookers, something I had no idea existed. I checked the ‘lonely hearts’ pages in the quality newspapers and posh magazines and that was more interesting. I was surprised by just how many ads there were for ‘Women seeking women.’

As this was going on over a few months, so my life was also going along its typical path.

Alone a lot, but keeping myself busy playing tennis, working out at the gym, attending golf and bridge lessons, I did have concerns over my future. Both children were at university and although they came home at vacations and the occasional weekend, they had gone and I knew they would never to return, they don’t do they? I had the huge, horrible Victorian pile of house that had been in Richard’s family since it was built in eighteen eighty, to run, which was by no means a labour of love. Try as I might I couldn’t get him to even discuss the idea of downsizing so we rattled around in the six bed-roomed monstrosity.

When Richard was home we entertained regularly both at London restaurants with clients and at home with friends and we had a reasonable social life through his golf club and my tennis club.

But I wasn’t happy. I couldn’t see where my life would go other than downhill. I didn’t feel my marriage was secure and I had lost my children. Where the fuck I would be in, say, ten years time when I would be in my mid fifties, I couldn’t imagine.

I was very aware and had, pre Emma, thought that I could cope with the inevitable traumas of a mid forties life for a woman. I was now starting to doubt that I could and that scared the life out of me. Was that, I wondered, the reason why I let Emma seduce me or, was it because of my affair with her that I was thinking this way? What a fucking conundrum!

I did reply to a few lonely heart ‘women needing women’ ads, and almost met someone, but in the end I didn’t. I don’t know why for after writing to six or so, getting replies from four, eliminating two because they were fat, ugly and totally unfanciable and exchanging photos and phone numbers with two and having several conversations with one, I nearly did. She was a little older than me and in a similar position, married, with grown up children, had a little experience with another woman and wanted more. We talked several times on the phone and discussed meeting, but as she lived in Somerset, some one hundred and fifty miles away, the logistics were difficult and in the end defeated us.

I was, of course, still having sex with my husband, but it had lost its spark; the truth be known it had lost that some time ago and it was only largely down to our ‘hobby’ that we had moments when we rekindled the spark. That hobby was him taking photos of me. Photos in various stages of undress including, if we got that far before giving into temptation and fucking each other, me naked.

I had resisted his suggestions for some time, but after a year or so of pressure I eventually agreed and we set a time; strangely he could take that afternoon off work, an almost unheard happening.

I was incredibly nervous waiting for Richard to arrive home at 1.00 pm. Several times, I thought of calling him and changing my mind and numerous times I hoped he would call me. But almost dead on one, he arrived.

He called after he had left the office.

We chatted a bit and then I asked. “What do you want me to wear?”

“Well I could say nothing, but we’ll leave that for later. Just a nice dressing robe and bra and panties would be good to start with.”

I hunted around and found a matching thong and bra. Black and lacy, they were both see through and very delicate. I didn’t wear them often for the bra was so thin that under most tops my nipples would poke through. It was a little tight, but I got into the D cups quite snugly. The thong reared up my stomach to circulate my hips. As I looked over my shoulder I saw the slither of lace plunging down and vanishing between the rounded cheeks of my bum, which hadn’t yet, as it was bound to soon, fallen; it looked good. I had a deep red, silk, floor length robe that I also didn’t wear that often and that seemed prefect for the shoot, as I was now beginning to refer to it.

After Richard got home we had a couple of drinks. We talked about this and that in a rather stilted manner and he explained that he would put the shots onto my PC. “We can then link that up to the TV and look at them together, even in bed” he advised me. The idea of seeing myself naked or in my underwear on a fifty inch screen was quite unnerving, but nevertheless also exciting.

“Shall we start, are you ready?” He asked.

“As I’ll ever be” I replied adding. “Richard do we really need to do this?”

“I’m sure we don’t need to, but I certainly would like to,” he retorted in his legalistically precise way of speaking adding. “I’m sure darling that once we get going you’ll love it too. Ready?”

Now I did feel nervous. It was one thing being photographed on the spur of the moment, as he often shot on holidays and the like, but in the cold light of day in a planned and calculated manner, it was a different thing.

“Er no, I’m not sure.”

Smiling he said. “Not sure about starting or whether you’re ready?”

He is so quick with words and often makes me feel inadequate and rather stupid.

“Well both actually?

As it happened, it didn’t matter.

“Not going shy on me are you?” He asked pointing the camera at me. He fired off a few shots quickly moving the focus or the zoom maybe. I smiled again when I realised that I preened at the camera. I ran my fingers through my shoulder length ash blonde hair. He walked round behind me.

“Look at me over your shoulder, Cat”

I did, he snapped away.

“Lovely, that’s great, the hair looks fantastic.”

He was saying all the right things, I could feel myself responding.

“Turn and look at me Cat.”

I did; more shots.

“Open the robe a little.”

I did; more shots.

“A little more, grab the lapels, show some cleavage.”

I did; more shots. It was getting to me.

“Undo it completely.”

I did.

“Oh fuck that’s great, touch your tits.”

I did; more shots.

And so it went on with more and more directions, which I followed, after which he fired off more shots.

“Let’s lose the robe?”

“Turn away; let me get some from a new angle, your bum.”

“Bend forward.”

“Kneel down.”

“Stand up.”

“Push your tits out.”

“Put your hands in your hair, ruffle it up, push it so it falls over your face.”

“Undo your bra, but keep it on.”

“Take your bra off for me Cat.”

“Show me your tits; show the camera your tits.”

Now I was gone. I’d had it. I was over the top. The posing had got me, the camera was devouring me, eating me up, it was fucking me and I was fucking the lens.

“Lay down on that rug.” He ordered pointing to a Persian, silk carpet that had cost over two thousand pounds.

Richard seemed to know exactly what to say, at precisely the right time in perfect accord with the camera. We were becoming a hugely intimate threesome; him, me and the lens.

“Hold them Cat, play with them, squeeze them, pinch your nipples. You do want to don’t you?”

Laying on my back, being caressed by the smoothness of the silk carpet as he stood over me shooting away, at that moment there was, nothing I wanted more than to do as he asked: other, perhaps, than to be fucked by Emma or, as a substitute, my husband, but as that seemed quite likely, I pinched my nipples instead.

“Stroke your body,” he told me.

‘Stroke my body,’ I thought, what an expression, what a phrase, what a thought? An odd term, but a wonderful one. I did that, I did exactly as he asked, I stroked my body, my chest, my arms, my tummy, my thighs and my legs.

It had to come, he had to go further, the instructions had to be given. It was inevitable. They poured forth, one after the other. I responded, willingly to each one.

“Touch yourself through your panties”

“Slip your hands inside.”

He was now kneeling beside me, his shirt had several buttons undone, his erection was obvious. He kept photographing my every action.

“Rub your clit.”

“Keep one hand in there and hold your tits with the other”

“Push them down, not too far, just enough so we can see what you are doing with your hand.”

I did that. I rolled my knickers down so they were just beneath my pussy, so that they were down far enough to let, my lover, the camera see what I was doing to myself.

I was in a terrible state. So aroused, so turned on, so out of control, so under the influence of him, but more so, the camera.

“Show us your cunt Cat,” was the over the top, defining phrase that turned this from a photographic session into a fuck. That request, demand, suggestion or whatever, did it. Richard’s order to me to “show him and the camera my cunt,” caused me to be able no longer to satisfy myself by being photographed. That made me want more, need more, demand more. Yes, the power of the camera, of posing for it and being photographed had removed every single vestige of my inhibitions. I had become a camerachick, a lens slut, a focus fuckgirl. And that meant I wanted and needed just one thing. I reached out for Richard. He pushed himself forward, he offered himself to me and I took it.

His cock was in my hand, I was kissing it as we tore his clothes off. It was in my mouth. I was sucking him, licking him and slurping at his thick, sturdy and blisteringly hard prick, as I murmured, possibly nearly incoherently, but sincerely and so pleadingly.

“Make me cum Richard, please make me cum.”

I didn’t show the camera my cunt on that occasion, for then he fucked me. More to the point, we fucked. Even more so, the camera, Richard and I fucked.

Over the years we’d had numerous sessions that were similar to the first one and I can vouch for the fact that photography does work as an aphrodisiac; for I don’t think we finished one session with out ending up making love.

I had stored all the photos on my PC and I’d told Emma about them. One of her and my most momentous sessions was when I showed them to her. I linked the PC up to the plasma in the master bedroom, put the PC on ‘slideshow’ and then let it show the two hundred or so shots of me as Emma and I made love. It was absolutely sublime.

I was still searching for another adventure, an extension of my affair with Emma, a further pushing out of my sexuality boundaries, yes I was looking for more fucks with another woman.

It was evident that the personal ads in the quality papers were not going to work so I racked my brain for other ideas; thank goodness for google. I used that to search for ‘lesbian contacts,’ but again they were either hookers or seriously downmarket. I came across a site advertising lesbian and gay bars and clubs. ‘Did I dare?’ I asked my self. ‘Would have the nerve to go to one?’

A few evenings later I was in Brewer Street in Soho, near The Griffin pub. That had been publicised as ‘A meeting place for gay and lesbian lovelies.’ I had never seen so many scruffy, tattoos and pierced women in my life as I sat in a café opposite the pub. I didn’t have the nerve or inclination to go in.

‘The Lipstick Lounge’ was how it was advertised. ‘A discrete bar, lounge and club for discerning bi and lesbian ladies’ was how it described itself. The reply to my email advised that the place was open from mid-day to two or three in the morning seven days a week and that lipsticks were particularly welcome; I had learned from Emma that was what we are. The website had a slide show and it did look quite nice.

After a couple of weeks thinking about it I found myself getting the tube from Kings Cross to Charing Cross and nervously approaching the club. It was smart and not at all seedy. I sat at the bar and cautiously looked round. There was quite a few fat dykey types, all cropped hair and jeans, but as far as I could see few fellow lipsticks. I wandered round, peeped into the restaurant and the dance area, the small cinema that was showing lesbian porn films and several other bars, but all to no avail. I was approached a couple of times, but as the women were not at all attractive and it was all too come on, I left and went home slightly deflated.

With Richard away on a two week visit to the west coast of the USA and the kids at university, I had decided to attend a tennis convention in Spain. This was part lessons and part a conference. I had been a pretty good player in my teens, almost making Wimbledon and had kept in touch by playing at a club and representing it in various tournaments county and national competitions. I had once had some coaching training so when I was asked if I would help out, I thought why not? It was a woman only set up

On the third night a group of the coaches had dinner together and I found myself next to Jane, one of the leading tennis coaches in the country. I knew her vaguely and guessed she was her early to mid fifties. She was extremely fit, had a slim, boyish figure, cropped black hair and an angular, but not unattractive face. She had big eyes and high, prominent cheekbones that were attractive, but her rather large nose and thin lips meant she was not beautiful by any means.

We hadn’t chatted very much up until then, but she was very attentive asking me loads of questions and making appropriate comments and little jokes. She was surprisingly easy to talk to and I found myself a little in awe of her and the fact that such a senior person in the sport was bothering with me.

I drank quite a bit as I thought everyone had and was laughing and joking at her witty and rather sacrilegious views on the tennis governing body the LTA. She told me about herself, without boasting and how her coaching and the videos she sold enabled her to have a house in Hampstead, an apartment in Marbella and to drive a Porsche. I had heard rumours of her possible lesbian tendencies so when her attention became a little closer than with a straight woman I was not only not quite interested, albeit a little concerned, but really was flattered by her interest. So maybe this is what I have been looking for since Emma I thought, wondering what my reaction would have been pre Emma?

When she rested her fingertips on my wrist a couple of times or placed her hand on my shoulder to emphasise points I didn’t flinch or move away. I may even, I suppose, have looked rather lingeringly into her stunningly green eyes as she made those gestures. I didn’t know for sure whether they were attempts to check me out for they were only fleeting moments so I just ignored them and did nothing to overtly indicate whether I would be interested or not. In any case, I thought, she probably wouldn’t be interested in a nobody like me when all the more well known tennis ‘celebrity dykes’ were probably at her beck and call. In all probability, I thought, the touches were her just her being a bit lovey and touchy feely as many in sport can be. But when she leaned back and let her hand fall on the seat of my chair so that it brushed against my bottom I wasn’t quite so sure.

Dinner broke up and we all adjourned to the very small bar. I was in a corner at the end of the bar sitting on a bar stool when Jane and a crowd of seven or eight came in making the bar even more crowded. She stood at the bar and bought everyone drinks edging a little closer to me as people picked theirs up. When the serving was finished she stood half in front of me leaning back against the bar her body shielding my legs from the others view. I was wearing a white, scooped front, short sleeved tight top that showed lots of cleavage and a black silk skirt that had ridden well up my thighs so quite a lot of my legs were on view. Being in warm Spain and having a tan, I wasn’t wearing tights or stockings, so my legs were bare. I was probably ‘flashing too much flesh’ I thought to myself, feeling rather tipsy. Everyone was talking and laughing and having a roaring time when I felt something on my knee. I looked down and saw her hand moving away. Another accident or an overt gesture, I wondered?

It happened again a few minutes later and then a third time. What she was doing was seemingly accidentally just letting her hand fall down so that if we wanted it could be seen as an inadvertent gesture. A mistake I suppose. But what I felt was becoming clear was that they were not mistakes. Especially when on the fourth time the back of her hand ran up my leg from the knee to the hem of my thin, silk skirt. A little panicky I looked around to make sure no one could see but was reassured on that for Jane had, if anything, moved more in front of me blocking my legs completely from anyone’s view.

Still though she was acting if nothing was happening, turning from chatting to me stuck in the corner to other people across the bar separating what she was doing to me from them. Still, though, there was nothing too overt and I realised that she was still making sure that there was a way out without her losing face for now she had both her hands wrapped around her wine glass and was asking me about my house in St Albans as if nothing at all was happening.

“I adore Victoriana,” she told me. I didn’t tell her that I hated my house.

But then as a group of the men from another course burst into loud laughter at probably some really filthy joke she turned to look at them so that her back was towards me. I watched her hand once more slip down behind her. This time it did not brush my bare leg. This time it was not a quick or surreptitious movement. No, this time I watched as the perfectly manicured nails, painted with a dark blue varnish stretched over the fleshy part of my leg just above my knee and I saw the fingers encircle it. They lingered there squeezing gently. There was no way that this could be anything other than a very obvious caress, a suggestive gesture and an invitation to me.

I didn’t know what to do. I was excited that another woman wanted me, after all that’s what I had been after since Emma had gone to the States some nine months ago. I was flattered at her attention, but also slightly alarmed and concerned. This was clearly big girl’s stuff. It was beyond the messing around that Emma I had indulged in. It was with someone who was not only famous, often being interviewed on TV, but also had the reputation of being a lesbian and I was certainly not that, was I? No my fling with Emma was an excursion into bisexuality not lesbianism? Many girls I knew or read about in Cosmo had done similar things to me and they weren’t lesbian. But hints and gossip intimated that the woman whose hand was on my leg was just that. I was also a little confused by the drink and the party atmosphere. Confused for sure but also somewhat excited and I have to admit aroused. Sitting there on that stool my skirt above mid thigh looking down and seeing Jane’s fingers, almost idly now, gently touching my bare leg some four or five inches above my knee I just didn’t know how to react. I didn’t know what I wanted to happen or what I thought might happen. My heart was pounding and my mind was racing as I simply stared at that hand and those tempting, suggestive fingers on my leg.

I could move and I guess no face would be lost. I could slip off the stool, go to the loo and join another group or move away so that I would show I wasn’t interested. Or I could, perhaps, place my hand on hers showing that I was interested, maybe press my leg more firmly or even touch her back to show that I was receptive to her. In the end I took the line of least resistance. I did nothing. Nothing to encourage or deter her. I in fact I put the ball firmly back in her court, or so I thought.

Jane was though too experienced to be put off or discouraged by such a simple gesture. No she’d been here before and she knew what to do. She must have recognised something in me, some signs or signals that told her I was ‘up for it’. She must also have known that during the evening she’d primed me, built me up perfectly, aroused my interest and reduced my resistance.

She immediately recognised the signal I was transmitting about the ball being back in her court. And she was able, ready and so eager to return the ball right back in mine. After a moment or two instead of just removing her hand she slid it up my legs briefly letting her fingers go under the hem of my skirt and giving the inside of my thigh a little squeeze. Turning she stared right into my eyes with a look of relief, pleasure and assurance on her face. She knew that she had got me.

The party started breaking up shortly after that and after the usual rather exaggerated kisses and hugs there was only four or five of us left with Jane and me at the bar the others having gone to bed. Although slightly drunk, well more tipsy, I was hellishly nervous as she came up close to me and gave me another drink. She smiled at me very confidently and said lightly.

“Your place or mine Cat?” I stammered out that I didn’t know and she said. “Why don’t you make your goodbyes now and wait in your room for me? I’ll only be twenty minutes or so.”

Almost transfixed with the situation and the awe I suppose of such a rich, famous and glamorous woman wanting me I did as she said. The realisation, though completely sobered me up.

In the room, though, the nerves really set in and I didn’t know what to do. Should I shower, perhaps or, maybe undress and get into bed? I couldn’t do that, though, because it would mean leaving the door open. Maybe I should take my outer clothes off and slip into a robe but then I thought that was a little false so perhaps naked under it. But that seemed to me to be a little too much and might make me appear too eager and too easy. Possibly I should have a bath and greet her wrapped in a towel my hair still wet but that seemed just silly. So instead I settled for a quick wash and a change of knickers and waited.

Time seemed to drag so much but looking at my watch I saw that I’d been there only ten minutes. I wandered around the bedroom wondering what the hell this would bring and my thoughts of course went to the times with Emma. But this promised to be so different. This I recognised was proper grown up woman’s stuff. I was playing with the big girls. I had been picked up so relatively easily by her and was now waiting expectantly for her to come to my bedroom and make love to me. And I wanted that, just that. My body and emotions that she had been toying with all evening were now attuned to her and what would happen.

But after half an hour she still wasn’t there and I started to think perhaps I had got it all wrong. But I couldn’t have, could I? She had clearly told me to wait for her. Surely I wasn’t drunk and had imagined it or had got the message wrong. No, the touches at the dinner table. The almost caress like placing of her fingertips on my wrist, my shoulder and my bottom. The holding of my gaze just that little longer than was necessary and of course the overtly sexual way that she had slid her fingertips up the inside of my thigh flattened against the chair and beneath the hem of my skirt all told me that there was no mistake. But time drifted on until I had been there almost forty five minutes and still no visit or even a phone call.

I was just about to give up and go to bed when I heard the light tap on the door.

“Fucking room service,” she snarled holding up two bottles of champagne and glasses. “A girl could die waiting for them.”

She marched in as if it were her own room and stood by a table that served as a dressing table putting the champagne down on that as she gabbled on telling me that she just couldn’t get rid of one of the male coaches. “Sorry luv but I could hardly say that I had to hurry to get to Cat’s room for she’s waiting there for me could I?”

I laughed and said. “No I suppose you couldn’t.”

“Particularly when the pratt thought he was onto a good thing with, fucking idio.”

She had changed from the brown, leather trousers and bright yellow shirt of earlier and was now wearing a full length, quite tight, black wollen dress. Her hair was rather more slicked back than usual and she was wearing a very pale foundation on her face making it look almost translucent in the dim lighting in the room.

“So Cat,” she said so confidently. “Were you thinking that I might not come to you?”

I admitted that it had crossed my mind and I let slip that I was just about to give up and go to bed. With a very assured smile on her face and her eyes glinting she said. “Actually my dear that might have been a very good idea for I wouldn’t have had to undress you then would I? You would have been wonderfully naked for me wouldn’t you?”

Her words crashed into my mind and any minor reservations I had just simply evaporated. Her total assumption that I was so under her control and her sophisticated assurance and confidence just overwhelmed me. As I heard the words and saw her eyes devouring me I simply melted. I knew at that moment that I was hers to do with as she wished.

And it was obvious that she knew it as well for she was playing with me, toying with me. She knew that she had me dangling on the end of a piece of string and I guessed she knew that I had emotionally totally given in to her.

I was sitting in a low chair my skirt almost up to a level where my panties would be on view and she was standing her bottom wedged against the table leaning back her ankles crossed. It was a pose of such confidence and control that I knew that I was completely out of my depth. I tried to say something about me not being very experienced. Why? I have no idea but she replied.

“I couldn’t give a fuck Cat. You have a gorgeous face, a body to die for and legs that go right up to your arse. I want to fuck you not have you fuck me, well not yet.”

We looked at each other for a moment or two and she went on. “Yes Cat from the moment I first saw you I have wanted you. From the first time I clapped eyes on you I have wanted to capture you and do the rudest things to you. I have wanted to see you naked and to worship your glorious body.” Pausing, she stood up straight her legs apart as she went on. “I want to see your magnificent breasts, the flatness of your stomach and the roundness of your arse.” I watched her hands going behind her neck as she continued. “I have yearned to see you and feel you and touch you. I have lain awake imagining you in my bed with my face between your legs lapping at that fountain that I just know flows so easily and so fully.” Holding my gaze she fumbled behind her neck for a moment. I could feel myself being hypnotised by her phrasing and the assurance she had, well maybe it was practice I didn’t know, to even think of saying such things to me. But they had exactly the effect I assume she was hoping for because they made me feel so bloody horny and receptive to her that I would have done anything. And as she said those remarkable words so even more incredibly exciting things happened.

Her fingers that had been fumbling behind her neck suddenly released her dress that then simply slid down her body. Getting caught momentarily on her nipples that she overcame with a shrug of her body she was suddenly standing before me in just a pair of high heeled shoes and a pair of long, black, self-support stockings. Her body was so slim and had hardly any curves, the only really womanly thing about her being her large, very dark areola and nipples, they looked just like two acorns jutting out from as small a pair of breasts as it was probably possible to have. But despite that she simply oozed sex. She exuded an earthiness that I had never encountered before and she accompanied that with such a dominating demeanour that I felt totally under her control; I felt I was falling under her spell, was she a witch I wondered?

And then I saw that she was shaved. I had never seen a woman that was bald in that area and was surprised really at how visible and how violently deep pink, almost scarlet were the lips of her vagina. Did it thrill me? Did the sight of her sex excite me? No not the vision but certainly the symbolic intimacy and the fact that she had clearly done that in a calculated way, presumably, to pleasure herself and her lovers, most certainly did.

She sat on the edge of the bed and looking at me with that slightly superior smile she said. “Now Cat I want you to take your clothes off for me and do that nice and slowly.”

In any other circumstances I would probably have resisted doing that, even though the last time it had been said by Emma I readily agreed, I recalled. This time it was not to flaunt myself to my husband’s camera or my bi-sexual lover it was to bare myself for what was surely going to be a lesbian lover. That, if anything, made it even more exciting. But it was not just the sexual excitement that made me stand up and obediently pull the top up my chest, it was the spell she was casting over me. I felt so under her control, so directed by her, so, I suppose, dominated by her.

Leaning back her arms behind her supporting her, one knee crossed over the other she appeared to be so relaxed and assured. She must have known the effect she had on women like me and she played that to the full. Her eyes roaming over me, a little superior sort of smile on her lips she just sat there saying things like:

“Yes that’s just right, very nice Cat;” or. “Mmmmm lovely breasts my dear,” as I dropped the top to the floor and I reached behind me to unclip my bra. “Slow dear, slow,” she whispered. “Take your time, we have plenty and there is so much of you for me to savour.”

I knew that she was using the words to excite and arouse me, to mesmerize and captivate me but I could do nothing about it. I was most certainly both mesmerized and captivated by her and the aura she had.

As I, slowly, removed my pale cream, very thin bra trying to do it as I’d seen strippers in films so she continued with her torrent of the most erotic and hypnotizing words and phrases that I had ever heard. As I held the undone bra in front of my breasts for a moment or two and then slowly let it fall to the floor so I heard.

“Oh yes my dear, breasts they are so full and firm, breasts that just ache for my touch, breasts that are so soft and just waiting for me.”

As I dropped my hands from my now naked breasts so words like.

“Cat you have such beautiful nipples. They are so hard for me. They are just ready for me,” poured all over me almost making me shudder with desire. She went on as I started to undo the short zip at the back of my skirt. “Yes Cat nipples that are just yearning for me to chew and suck and bite and kiss.” As I started to ease the skirt down the incredible speech continued. “Yes nipples that I will chew on Cat until I have you screaming for more. You will do that Cat I promise. I will arouse your body so much that you will beg me for release. You will plead with me to make you cum.”

My hands were shaking so much at both the words and the sheer confidence this woman had that I could hardly fumble my skirt off but somehow I managed it and slowly let it fall down my legs. And still she kept talking.

“Yes I will lick and kiss every part of you, every inch of your body, every mound and crevice. Nothing will escape my dear as I take you to heights of sexual joy you have never experienced.”

I couldn’t escape the words and the more she said so the more mesmerising they became. The more captivated I became. Now in just my see-through panties she went on. “Yes I will adore your breasts, I will ravish your nipples, I will arouse your pussy, I will chew your clitoris and I will worship your arse. I will do that and more to you Cat until you beg me to release you, so that you can cum like you’ve never cum before.”

“No leave them on,” she said rather sharply as I slid my hands into the waistband of the rather full, very silky panties that were currently very fashionable as skirts and trousers were worn so tight and they avoided a VPL. “Leave them on, for when I start to fuck you I want to see you in those gorgeous knickers and I want to take them off so I can stare at your cunt as they come away.”

Even her use of cruder language, that I don’t usually like, did not have an adverse effect. In some ways it just made her hold over me stronger and I felt my body quivering as, firstly, she blatantly ran her hand over her breasts, then pinched both of her nipples and then touched herself between her legs that she uncrossed slowly a la Sharon Stone in Basic Instinct.

I watched in a trance-like stillness as Jane stood and walked towards me. She had that almost arrogant stride of a ballet dancer but she wasn’t wearing those flat shoes, no hers were black patent high heeled stilettos. I assumed that she was going to take me in her arms and kiss me but no she walked behind me. And then I felt her slim body against my back and her hands reaching around me and cupping my breasts. She squeezed them and pinched my nipples quite fiercely as she ground herself against me. It was enjoyable yet slightly weird for I really felt that I wanted to be cuddled and coaxed into sex. But that was clearly not Jane’s style. No she was doing exactly as she pleased, precisely what gave her pleasure and that seemed to be using me as her plaything. I was helpless held like that but cannot say I was not excited for I was, enormously. The feeling of her body against my back, her mound on my bottom and her hands on my breasts was so powerful and so different to what I’d experienced with Emma.

With her it had been mutual with each of us finding our way in giving and receiving pleasure from another woman. Now though Jane was taking what she wanted from me and taking for granted that I would give that. She was, though, absolutely correct for the helplessness I felt imprisoned in her arms, the way that she was dominating me with no real consideration for my feelings and the exquisite excitement she was creating in me all combined to make me feel, at one point, as if I would faint.

She pushed me towards the writing desk across the room and made me lean forward so that I had to support myself by holding onto the desk with my hands. I was half bent over at the waist. She took hold of me at the fleshy part of my hips her fingernails digging into the softness and then ground herself against the base of my spine. She started to simulate the movements a man would make were he shagging me from behind. She also slid her arm round me and her fingers found my clit so very quickly and easily.

It felt as though she was actually fucking me. As though it was a man up me. But of course she wasn’t even in me but the sensations I got from her bare, shaven crotch on my bum and her fingers rubbing my clit were so similar that I started grinding myself back against her. I didn’t quite cum but I was very near. I wanted her to give and take more from me. I felt her stop and her body lay on mine her hands once more cradling my breasts. She was wrapped around me her small breasts pressing on my back the fronts of her nylon covered legs against the backs of my naked ones. One of them slid between mine and she pressed upwards forcing my legs apart, quite wide. I felt her slithering down me, her hands once more gripping, this time even more tightly, the womanly excess on my hips. She was kneeling behind me her face level with my bottom. She forced my legs even wider apart and I felt her tongue just above the low waist band of my panties as one of her hands ran up the inside of my widely opened thighs and pressed hard against the gusset that was now inevitably absolutely soaked. Her tongue and lips were now moving all over my panties biting, kissing and licking as they moved ever closer to the crease in my bottom. Almost, no actually totally, unceremoniously I felt her thrust the material to one side so that my two cheeks were stretched apart. And then her tongue was on me. There was little hesitation or foreplay with her. No she had decided that she was going to lick my arse and that is exactly what she did.

It had been years since anyone had done that to me; Richard really wasn’t into anal sex in any form. In some ways it struck me as something of a taboo place, but also one of curiosity, just like being bi really. Taboo it may have been but in the state of heightened arousal and the sheer control she had over me it was also a place of untapped sensation, thrills and excitement. Her tongue probed against the restraining muscle and may well have gone some way into me as her hand stroked and rubbed all round my lips and clitoris. I was totally gone and low moans, and deep sighs and grunts were coming from my mouth as an almighty explosion erupted inside me. My tits were squashed flat against the table and I gripped the side of it almost breaking my fingernails.

I’m cumming from having my arse licked, one side of my mind told me as the other said just enjoy it. I felt my legs giving way and I sunk to my knees but Jane held onto me so I was on all fours with her bent over me, my bum in the air. I felt her grip my panties at the leg. She pulled on it hard making the silk and lace dig into me. Fuck she’s going to rip my panties off I thought as the pressure increased. I felt and heard them starting to tear. She ripped them so that the waist stayed in place, but they fell open at the gusset. It seemed so wonderfully rude and wantonly abandoned to have my knickers torn from me so that my lesbian lover could more easily get her tongue up my cunt. It just served to thrill and excite me even more. She didn’t take them off but left them hanging with my most womanly places on show. That made me feel abused, demeaned even, she was treating me exactly as she wanted with little or no concern for me and what I might want. Oddly that didn’t upset me, it excited me. Shit I thought wondering just what was happening to me.

And still she didn’t stop. Laying slightly on one side on the floor of the room my head pressed against the leg of the table my legs wide open and the shreds of my panties still around my waist and one leg, she plunged her face between my legs. Again there was no preamble, no asking permission. No, everything was taken for granted. She assumed I would not demur and she was right. I couldn’t had I wanted to for she had so inflamed my body and had taken such a strong control of my emotions that I was hers to do anything with that she wanted.

I was in a sort of manic heaven. I didn’t know what was happening to me both physically and emotionally or really just what she was doing to me. Kneeling over me, her mouth on my clitoris and vagina, her hands and fingers between my legs and all over my bum, I had the most extreme sensations roaring through me from so many sources. I realised though that a finger had slid into my anus but, as that was accompanied by two, three or even four in my vagina and her mouth on my clitoris the pain, if there was any, and the significance of me losing my anal, bi-sexual virginity were lost in the combination of all those other sensations.

I knew now that I was different to many of my female friends. I knew that my sexuality was at best suspect. I knew that I was becoming at least as attracted to having sex with women as I was to men. But having said that I still enjoyed men. I still wanted them and the aspects of sex that only a man can provide; even as Jane did these wondrous things to me, I was so yearning to have a hard cock inside me!

However, Jane had such an affect on me that at times I was convinced that I was lesbian. She had so consumed me that evening that over the next few days I could think of little else other than what she’d done to me and the feelings and sensations I’d experienced.

Just where my new world was taking me, I didn’t know.