'Darling! You're serious?'
'Umm, serious but smiling, you might say. Better yet, why don't you come here and find out for sure?'
That brought results, swift and breathtaking. I trembled in delight as her tender hands touched me, followed gently by an even more tender mouth. My own hands assisted, sliding up and cupping my breasts from underneath, lifting them into the caress. Like an unsteady dance team, we took measured but shaky steps toward the sofa together in a loosely stylized tango. Somehow, miraculously, she managed to maintain contact and still shed some clothing in transit, first the pantsuit tunic and then her brassiere. Just those two pieces was all she had time for, but that left her naked from the waist up, a new intimacy for both of us-and we landed on the sofa in a frenzy of desire, too hot for any more tenderness.
Nor did I expect any from then on, not after that violent but strangely voluptuous assault on my flesh. It happened as she tumbled me into the cushions in a crushing bare-breasted embrace. And it was still going on, she was kissing me passionately, hungrily, her lips wide and her tongue elongated, probing the inner privacies of my mouth with deliberately stiffened swipes and pokes and battering-ram propulsions. One slam-bang thrust touched base somewhere deep in my throat, deep enough to dredge up a queasy reaction down there, and yet even that only added to the excitement. In its own-ulp!-suspenseful way, naturally. And meanwhile, of course, her breasts were sensuously interlocked with mine, all four nipples aroused but caught in the crunch, a jam-up of erectile tissue swollen to the point of exquisitely unbearable discomfort. At least that was how my own felt. All the more so in conjunction with the continued onslaught of her apparently insatiable mouth-oh, that throat-swabbing tongue!-a combined increment of gigantic geometric proportion; was there ever a discomfort so unique, so impossibly delicious?
When she ended the kiss, we both panted for breath. But that wasn't her reason for cutting it short, oh no, my hot-lipped friend Florinda had something else on her mind, a message to get across, an aptly phrased pronouncement from those hot lips of hers.
'Hey, you know what? I'm going to tuck you, baby, I mean fuck you like you've never been fucked before!'
Aptly phrased but ambiguous. Fuck? What with, her finger? Her tongue? Was there some special significance to the word? Hmm, maybe she had a fake penis, one of those things with the silly name, a dildo, could that be it? I hoped not. If real boys bored me, wouldn't an imitation be even worse? Still, it wasn't my place to criticize, at least not yet-compliance was called for, even if I understood her only vaguely. I was content to remain passive.
A wise choice, as it turned out. Everything became less vague in a matter of moments. Wriggling her hips, she squirmed toward a closer contact down below in an obvious effort to insinuate herself between my limply dormant thighs. Another invasion of sorts, almost remote in comparison with the more immediate impact of her tits and the lingering residue of her tongue; how could she achieve intimacy in those darn pants? I was still amiably indulgent though, spreading my legs to accommodate her. And that was when I recognized a certain method in her madness, the pushy maneuver culminating with a gathered momentum that plastered her rigid belly to my own appreciably softer one. It wasn't vague at all now, this pressure of mound upon pubic mound, the rush, the thrill, the sudden convergence of sensitivity; the start of a fantastic fuck? Somehow the offending half-pantsuit took on the aspect of a rather bizarre distraction, erotic in its own right and distracting only to somebody with a warped sense of humor. Some smart-ass kid like me, natch, who else? Oh shit, the giggles were already bubbling up…
'Sue? What the hell! Okay, what's so funny?'
'I'm sorry. I just couldn't help it. This may sound kind of dumb, but I think I'm wetting your pants. Me- wetting your pants-get it?'
'Oh. Be my guest. I'll wet my own little panties though, if you don't mind. Feels like they're already drenched. Something more to laugh about, I guess. No? All finished? Good. Now if you'll just shut up and let the fucking show go on… '
I almost giggled again. But the impulse simply faded of its own accord, already overcome by the more pressing business at hand. Her body was grinding down hard, enveloping both of us in the flames of lust that radiated from our point of contact. And at last I heard and heeded a call from within, the plaintive but truly irresistible call of my fevered flesh, an uncompromising need to tear down the barriers to this still imperfect union. Even if I had to do just that-literally!-tear them down. But violence and destruction were invented for television, not the tender transports of love, and I pursued a more ladylike course. An experimental survey turned up the right approach. One hook, one zipper, one small step for womankind-and the moon was practically in my grasp. I had my arms around her, my hands under the pants and then the wispy panties underneath, and it took only a minimum of prudent dexterity to husk both garments down in a single movement. Down from the narrow waist, down over the Coke-bottle curves of her elegantly sleek haunches, all the way down to where my likeminded lesbian lover could kick them off with her feet.
There was a fascinating flash of fuzzy black pubic hair during our momentary separation, as dark and straggly as her now somewhat disheveled coiffure. That came as a shock; somehow I had expected it to be neatly parted and combed, as decorative as her artistically done eyelashes. Not that I minded really, every defect helped dispel my gradually diminishing awe of this perfect creature who wasn't so perfect after all. Show me the real Florinda Brokaw. It was her turn to audition now…
'You feel it, darling? Feel my cunt fucking yours?'
'Fuck me, fuck me. Fuck me good!'
'Mmm… '
She was invading my mouth again, another one of those long-drawn-out kisses designed to display the prowess of her acrobatic tongue. Her undone hair cascaded over my face, tickling me, assailing my senses with its scent, taking the edge off the more pungent odor that drifted up from down below. Down where the denuded bulk of her body seemed to center itself on the needful place in mine. I began to writhe a little, rhythmically attuned to the hot sucking squish of her busy vulva, wallowing in the sticky goo of its lewdly draining secretions. She was doing a job on me, sure enough, working me over good with her hot-lipped mouth at one end and that hot lipped cunt of hers at the other. My climax was already taking shape, but I wondered if it wouldn't be more fun to try for a near permanent postponement and just go on like this, fucking, fucking, fucking…
Chapter 10
Somehow it irritated me to see her on the bed like that when I came out of the bathroom. It seemed so cut-and-dried. After all, this was only our second date, too soon for her to start taking me for granted. Even though we both knew I'd signed out from the dorm and would be staying overnight here, did she have to be so smugly self-complacent about it?
Last weekend's 'fuck' session must have instilled her with an overweening sense confidence. Or maybe it was the way I hat acted at dinner tonight, accepting her solicitous but nonetheless firm guidance without protest, even letting her order for me. I really hadn't minded at the time; on the contrary, it was nice to be wined and dined at a fine restaurant, nice to put myself in those capable hands to be fussed over and not have to worry about paying the check. I had even dressed for the part, wearing a frilly blouse and skirt in deliberately demure contrast to the anticipated sleek sophistication of my lady escort. And just now, after freshening up in the bathroom upon our return, I had come out barefoot to preserve the illusion-an innocent young girl about to lose her sweet innocence in a smoothly planned seduction-thus continuing the evening in the same vein that it had begun.
Hah! Not a chance. The dance was over, now it was time to pay the piper; what did she expect me to do, sing for my supper? No wonder I felt annoyed! She was lying there almost naked, a cigarette between her lips, impatient no doubt but still very much at ease, the image of an attentive but lazily expectant lover. Like a college boy with a sure-thing date, waiting to get his money's worth. Except that there was nothing boyish about Florinda Brokaw, not with only that pair of diaphanous black panties to protect her from my fretful but nevertheless fascinated gaze. The elegantly tailored look was gone, discarded with her dress. Now there was an elegance of a different sort in that willowy body of hers, classical but authentically feminine. With breasts that rose defiantly even in repose, the darkish nipples pert and provocative…
