In the women’s locker room, Alisa and Susanna dried off, and got ready to
get dressed.
Alisa was 5′10″, blonde, with a well-built body and breasts with light
pink nipples. Susanna was 5′6″, with tan skin, light brown nipples, and with
a smooth, shaved crotch. Both were very shapely women, but Alisa seemed
to loom over Susanna, and as Susanna said to Alisa many times, she could
probably take much bigger cocks than Susanna..

The two of them sat side by side, dangling their legs in the warm water,
one day, when Alisa came upon an idea.
“You know what?” she interrupted the temporary silence. “I have a new
idea for swimming. Here, take my hand.”
“What do you mean?” Susanna inquired. “I want to show you something.”
Alisa replied.
Susanna looked down and took Alisa’s hand. “Now,” Alisa said, raising her
hand, “suppose we could swim together, like this?”
“That’s wierd!” Susanna replied. “I’ve never tried that before.”
“Let’s give it a try.” Alisa suggested. “It could be fun.”
“How would we swim?”
“Use our legs.” Alisa answered, looking at Susanna as if she had no common
sense. “You know, like when we’re in bed with our boyfriends..”

One day, as I was sitting in the back of the classroom during study
hall, I began to daydream about one of the older boys in the school.
Unconsciously, my hand drifted under my skirt, and my fingers were
lightly rubbing the edge of the elastic of my panties.

Vickie’s voice, from the seat behind me, was startling when she
whispered, “Oh, Barb, isn’t that lovely.”

“Shut up! Someone might hear you!”

“Don’t worry, No one is paying any attention.” Then Vickie’s hand was
suddenly under my skirt, feeling the location of my fingers. She
squeezed my hand, and her hand drifted slowly, gently upward. “Where
is it?”

Her fingers generated marvelous feelings as they caressed my pubic
mound. But, all too soon, the bell rang and it was time to leave.
Confused, I tried to avoid her as we left school, but she caught up to
me and walked beside me.

“I can make it feel really good,” she said in a hoarse voice, as we
walked side by side. Frankly, my knees were weak, and my mind whirled
with plans for letting her prove her ability.

Although I hadn’t paid much attention to her before, I began to treat
Vickie as a best friend.

Just a few days later, we were playing after school in her back yard.
Her house was the same as the others in the neighborhood, but her back
yard was very deep–it actually extended the length of two or more of
the ordinary back yards. And, there was a grove of about a half dozen
pine trees, that surrounded a cool, dark glade. In that glade, I felt
completely isolated from the rest of the world.

We were doing something–I can’t recall what–then I felt her presence
behind me, and her warm breath in my ear, as she whispered, “I’d like
to make you feel good.”

Her arms went around my waist, and she kissed me, or licked me–I
don’t know–on the nape of my neck. It would sound icky to a young
girl, but it felt–well it felt nice. Very nice.

How hot she seemed as her lips caressed my neck–and how natural it
seemed as she pulled my arms upward, and lifted my shirt off in a
fluid motion. Her hand rubbed the surface of my “teen” bra, and
focused pressure on my right nipple. My breasts were still conical,
just developing, but her rubbing showed me for the first time just how
sensitive my nipples could be.

There was nothing that I could do except to revel in the feelings that
she was giving me. I felt warm and a little dizzy, and leaned back to
her.

She continued to nuzzle me, and with both hands she kneaded my
breasts. For the first time, I felt a warmth between my thighs.

With the tips of the fingers of her left hand, she began to rub up and
down my bare belly. Her fingers moved gently down the front of my
skirt, grazing the top of my pubic mound. The feelings were
indescribably intense, and I was so wrapped up in them that I didn’t
even notice when she unclasped my bra, unzipped my skirt and let both
garments drop to the ground.

She gently pulled me backwards, until I was sitting in her lap, as she
sat down on the ground.

As we sat, she continued to nuzzle, continued to rub, until I had my
first orgasm in her arms.

Later, she and I had many lovely times together. She taught me about
my body, and made me love her. I can’t even begin to explain what she
taught me.

However, our times together were soon over. When I began high school,
she family moved away, and, although we wrote to each other at first,
we eventually lost contact with each other.

In high school, I never made contact with another girl like I had with
Vickie. At first, it was because I mourned my lost love. Later, it was
because I was afraid to make such a contact with any of the other
girls. I had no way of telling which of them would be interested in
such games, and feared that if I approached the wrong girl, that she
would spread the word that I was “strange.”

However, I did discover that the making of love with boys and, later,
men could be quite pleasurable as well. Although, and perhaps it was
just the memory of my first time of feeling the wonder of sex, I never
found a man who could satisfy me in the same way as Vickie. As a
result, through my late twenties I was my own woman. I never married,
and I developed a rather successful career. I dated, and made love
with a few men–some of them were nice, but none of them were “right”

I first saw her at the office. Her breasts and legs caught my
attention as she parked her round, lovely bottom against a corridor
wall as we talked. I don’t believe that she noticed as I gazed at the
long stretch of her thighs underneath the hem of her skirt. We
frequently talked, and became office friends–often eating lunch
together.

I don’t know if I mentioned that she was married. Our conversations
would often turn to married life, and sometimes to her sex life. I
discovered, for example, that her husband was a very conservative
lover. She loved him, but would have been happier if he would loosen
up and include such things as mutual masturbation and oral sex in
their lovemaking routine.

It was perhaps a month or two later that she, in some way, recognized
my attraction to her. Her reaction was in the form of teasing and
joking. We never discussed getting closer, and I never broached the
subject of woman-to-woman love. However, she was aware of my
attraction, and, I suppose you’d say that she took advantage of it for
her own amusement.

For example, one day when I brought some paperwork to her at her desk,
she swung her knees around against my leg and began rubbing me with
methodical strokes, watching my eyes steadily with a slight, mocking
smile.

I don’t know what she was seeing in my eyes. Perhaps my pupils
dilated. Perhaps there was some sort of softness that she could
detect. She saw something, though, and laughed out loud, showing the
tiniest tip of shiny tongue between her pink lips and wet, white
teeth. I felt a strong tug of affection for her at that moment, and a
lovely warmth in my loins.

She had a fondness for sheer, silky blouses. When she wore one, it
gave me the urge to put my hands on her shoulders and delicately
caress the place where her bra straps were visible through the fabric.
When she wore a sweater, I felt an overwhelming desire to run my hands
under it, and to squeeze her lovely, round breasts.

Later–whether she started it or I, I don’t know–we developed a game.
First, it started with light, though sexy, banter. I would comment,
for example, on the color of her panty hose and ask her to pull up the
hem of her dress so that I could see them better. She would say “No,
your stockings are nicer, why not pull up your dress?”

Then, it gradually became more physical. We would meet in various
quiet corners of the building, and she would lean back against me,
gently rubbing her bottom against my mound. Sometimes, she would turn
around and give me a quick peck on the lips–once or twice, the kisses
were deeper. But always, she would break away after a few moments,
straighten her dress and leave me to dream of her lips and her body.

Then, she got pregnant with her first child. This caused a change in
our relationship. I believe part of it was that her husband wouldn’t
sexually satisfy her because of her pregnancy–but the result was to
my benefit, because our necking sessions at work became more involved,
and lasted longer. She seemed to find it harder to break away after a
brief touch or kiss, and she and I would often hug, kiss deeply and
fondle each other through our clothing. In fact, she seemed to become
frustrated, since we dared not do anything that lasted more than a
couple of minutes for fear of being discovered.

I craved her–but would only take our relationship as far as she
wanted.

A few months into her pregnancy, I moved from my old place to an
apartment which just “happened” to be a block from her house. This
meant that it became very convenient for us to car pool together. We
spent ever more time together, and I eventually would spend evenings
at her home, both when her husband was present, and when he was away
on a business trip.

When her husband was away, we would play. At first, we behaved like
teenagers–we sat on the couch and necked, then, after a while, we
would pet.

She complained of backaches as her body grew larger–so I read all the
books I could find, and learned to give a skilled massage. This meant
that I could see her naked, as she would lay on her bed, and I would
massage her aching muscles.

Soon, we both would wind up naked, and we would kiss, and cuddle and
would either masturbate each other, or watch each other as we
masturbated ourselves. I don’t believe that she started out as skilled
at pleasuring another woman as Vickie was, but we learned together,
and could give each other the greatest of pleasure.

Once, she took me as I was sitting down. I was sitting on the couch,
and she sat before me on the floor. Her hand reached under my skirt,
her fingers entering my womanhood. She crouched on the floor next to
me, her hand searching, moving, feeling within me. It felt so strange,
to sit quietly, hands folded across my breasts, her arm extended up
inside me–my legs spread far apart.

Sitting still, maintaining myself through the pure ecstacy of her
explorations: her little touches, her experiments, her caresses, her
attacks. Those long fingers plunging into me, then withdrawing to move
around my nether lips–the bud of my clitoris at first erect and
swollen, then withdrawing into the engorged nest. She rose, her
fingers still in place, her mouth seeking mine. Our tongues crowding
into each other, the one seeking the other, pleading and prodding.

I opened for her, whispering in her ear as she massages the inner
ridge of flesh, wrings it and makes it come like rain, the honey
weeping on her hand–my ecstacy telling her that I am hers.
Surrendering with each gush of that pink and hidden place.

She sat next to me, and we kissed. As we kissed, I removed her
housecoat–she wore nothing underneath except a pair of thin, silky
panties. I kissed her mouth, her neck, then spent time kissing and
licking and sucking on her lovely breast–now swollen with her
pregnancy. I kissed my way down her front, and moved myself forward
until I could reach her panties. I began to lick at her through the
thin barrier of the fabric, and her hands flew to my head, stroking my
ears, her open mouth making small cries as the tension built.

I moved aside the sopping nylon and buried my face against her. Her
nails grazed my back, as her legs jerked convulsively upward. Her
ankles locked against my spine. I moved slightly upward to her center,
sucked in into my mouth. Her loins rolled upward in powerful thrusts
as she cried out, my tongue and lips constantly moving until I felt
her shuddering against me, heard her scream, the tenseness dissolving
out of her.

She’d introduced herself as we met over the table, saying her
name was Kim. She was an attractive woman, maybe an inch under six
feet unshod, just a bit over in the ropers she was wearing. She had
golden blonde hair, eyes so green that tawdry words like “emerald”
couldn’t do them justice, a beautiful, smart-ass grin, and what
seemed to be a very well-made body in those tight Wrangler jeans.
I did all the cataloguing somewhere in the back of my head, as I
watched her racking the balls on the velvet; she grinned as she
took the rack away, twirling it between her fingers as it cleared
the tops of the balls. Now I was tipsy enough still not to be too
tight, but even so I could feel the tension as I poised myself to
break. An observer looking at me would have seen a fairly pretty
but intent woman, clad in the standard uniform for the Other Place:
jeans, boots, tight T-shirt. I was bent over the end of the table,
the round curves of my ass emphasized by the tight denim jeans, my
blue eyes intent on the table before me. I brushed my long, ash-
blonde hair away from my face, placed the cue just so, set myself,
and uncoiled through the place where the white ball had been a
moment earlier. My break was unorthodox and even a bit silly-
looking, but I got the balls well-scattered, and two dropped. This
would be a good game, the magic was all in place. My opponent
brushed against my hip as I rounded the table, an accidental
contact as she stepped out of my way, letting me take my place for
my next shot. “Nice break!” she told me, flashing a mega-watt grin
my way. I hardly noticed, other than to smile back before shooting
again. This time I couldn’t make the pocket, and I stood aside to
watch the other woman play. What was her name? Oh yes, Kim.

The grin she had worn before was gone as she carefully
considered the table from all sides. She was intent and methodical,
carefully setting up her shot, checking the angle, and finally
sinking the ball in such a fluid, graceful motion that I was
momentarily amazed that a human body should move so smoothly. She
shot again, and again, and I began to wonder if I’d get another
chance, until at last she missed, and I had another opportunity.
It was easier this time, as she’d gotten several of her balls out
of the way: eventually I missed a shot again. We went back and
forth over that game, which I won by just a hair… that being the
distance she’d been off when she’d shot at the eight and missed.
The second and third games were much the same, and when it was all
over, I had won numbers one and three, I had a twenty-five dollar
bar tab as my prize, while she had ten. “Care to drink one on me?”
I asked her, indicating the pitcher-full of amber liquid. She
grinned and agreed, and we took ourselves over to a table at the
side of the room. We tried briefly to talk, but as soon as the
tournament was through, the owner cranked up the music,
substituting disco with a heavy bass line for the country and
western that they tended to play for “us girls.” It was after ten
now, and the guys were starting to come in: in another hour, they’d
have the place pretty much to themselves. It was impossible to make
ourselves heard over the too-loud music, so we drank and watched
others in companionable silence. Finally, I asked if she’d like to
head over to Denny’s for some coffee and a chance to talk, and she
shouted her agreement over the music. We escaped outside into the
cool, quiet dark.

When our ears quit ringing, she made a counter-suggestion. It
was late, she’d be disturbing the people she lived with if she
traipsed in at this hour, and how about if she crashed at my house,
and took me for coffee in the morning? I thought the idea sounded
wonderful, and told her that my sister was out of town, so I had
an extra bed, freshly made up, and that I’d be glad to have her
stay over. She followed me the few miles to my home, and we went
inside. We talked for an hour or two, sipping rich, dark, imported
ales that seemed almost sweet after the American brews at the bar.
We talked about inconsequential things, she telling me about her
job on campus, and me explaining to her that I was a student, and
so on. We were almost exactly the same age, as I’d just recently
gone back to school, our families came from the same part of the
state, and we were from from similar types of families. Eventually
we headed upstairs, where I showed her to the master bedroom. “I
hate to mess up your sister’s bed,” she said to me, “and I see you
have a kingsize. How about if I just sleep on the other side of
your bed? You don’t mind, do you?” I thought nothing about it, and
told her that that would certainly be all right with me. I showed
her my drawer-full of T-shirts and assorted nightwear, and told her
to help herself while I took a quick shower to relax after the
tension generated by the over-loud music.

When I came back to my room, relaxed and dressed in a crisp,
clean, oversized men’s oxford shirt, she was already in bed with
the covers pulled up under her chin. I got the lights out, and
crawled in with her. “Do you mind if I snuggle up next to you?” she
asked. “I’ll do it after I’m asleep anyway.” This was not quite-
so-standard in the “slumber-party/girls-sleeping-over” model I had
in my head, but I readily acquiesced. This lady was beautiful
enough to be a professional model, she had a wonderful, innocent
air to her, and I was being ridiculous to even suspect that she was
coming on to me at all. I told her of course that would be fine,
and so she eeled over against me where I lay on my back, draping
her right arm across my waist, her right leg over my leg, and
pillowing her head in the hollow of my shoulder. My heart was
definitely beating a bit faster than usual, but I tried to relax,
shut my eyes, and go to sleep. “Do not,” I sternly warned myself,
“even think that this woman is interested in you! You’ll piss her
off if you suggest it and possibly ruin what could be a very nice
friendship!” The internal lecture was in full swing, when she began
stroking her fingers down my side, back again over my ribs, across
my breast, and down again. I groaned silently, hoping that she
wouldn’t notice my tension or arousal… “She said she wanted to
cuddle, she’s half asleep, you are NOT going to respond to this and
scare her off!” I told myself angrily. “She doesn’t even know you!
You’re being ridiculous!” I told myself. But her hand continued ts
teasing glide over my body, and every few minutes her fingers would
trail across one hardened nipple, driving me mad with the electric
jolt of arousal that shot straight into the growing warmth in my
loins each time she did it. Finally I caught her hand with my own.
She looked up at me with an inquisitive look. Hoarsely I told her,
“If you keep that up, you’re going to be in trouble…” Her
answering grin could have lit the football stadium, “Maybe I want
to be in trouble!”

I felt like the wind had been knocked out of me. “Oh.” was all
I could manage, and now her teasing fingers had started unbuttoning
my shirt, and she was sitting up, looking down at me, all the while
grinning in obvious pleasure. It wasn’t that I thought myself
unattractive, mind you, that had caused me to be so slow on the
uptake. It was simply that she was so utterly beautiful and
graceful, I felt like a mortal honored unduly with the prescence
of a goddess. And right now that goddess was stroking tight little
circles around my nipples, causing them to crinkle down into hard
peaks, which her fingers rubbed and tweaked and pulled. I don’t
think I have ever been so aroused, before or since. I pulled her
down to me, meeting her lips with mine, and kissing her was like
drinking honey wine; sweet, intoxicating. In my single previous
affair with a woman, I was usually the one who took the lead in
sex, and that old girlfriend had always encouraged me in the
“butch” role. But when I tried to take the initiative now, Kim
pressed me back against the bed, telling me that I was to lay back
and enjoy what she was doing. It felt, well, indescribably sensual.
Having her make love to me this way made me feel utterly feminine,
in a way that making love to men, or even another woman never had,
and I loved the feeling.

She undressed me, making me lift my hips so that she could
slide my panties down over my ass, then leaned down and kissed me,
pulling me up with her into a soft embrace as she slid the shirt
back off my shoulders. The velvet softness of her breasts against
mine was unabashedly sensuous. My arms were around her now,
stroking her back and sides while our lips stayed locked togethr,
our tongues battling silently in their own satin caress. Before I
could try and tease her out of her clothes, she pushed my back
again against the pillows, and kissed me softly on the lips, the
cheek, nibbled at my earlobe a moment, then outlined the ear with
her hot, wet tongue. I moaned again, as her hands continued doing
wicked and wonderful things to my nipples and her tongue traced
intricate patterns along the soft skin of my throat, dwelt a moment
in the hollow betwen my collar bones. Soon her lips fastened on one
hard nipple, though the other was not neglected either, being
rolled between her long, stong fingers. Her tongue, which had
seemed so soft against my own while we were kising, now became a
hard, demanding instrument, flickering in fast circles around the
nipple, tracing the aureola, her lips nibbling the hard peak,
sucking gently then firmly. My world narrowed under this treatment,
focusing only on the sensations from my nipples and the answering
twinges between my legs. I felt helpless, empowered, exalted,
abashed, wanton, shy…

My breath was coming in hash, ragged gasps, and I could hear
myself moaning as I neared orgasm solely from the wonderfully
wicked things she was doing to my breasts. She was well aware of
my situation, though, and suddenly the air was cold on my wet
nipples, and her warm lips were seeking their way down the arch of
my ribs, across my sides (ticklish… she grinned me another wicked
grin), then planted a kiss above the triangle of Venus. She
wordlessly encouraged me to pull my knees up, as she stationed
herself between my legs. Her voice was a bit ragged, too, when she
instructed me to reach down and part the wet folds for her tongue.
A shock of pleasure rocked my body as her lips softly touched my
clitoris is a gentle kiss. She bent her head, just teasing with he
tip of her tongue, dipping first deep into my well, then running
it up along the slit, meeting my clitoris again. Now she pressed
her lips tightly against me, the pressure of her kiss holding the
hood of my clitoris back, exposing the sensitive head to the
searching, flickering dance of her skilled tongue. I could feel my
back arching as if each touch of her tongue wound me tighter and
tighter, a spring coiling to a level of unbearable tension. “Let
me…” she whispered, pausing from the alchemy she was working to
look up and twine my fingers with hers, holding my hands tightly
above my pubis in her strong grasp, before bending her head back
to my center. Her strong grasp had my hands pinioned, her arms
encircling my hips and holding me down against the bed, while
licked and sucked and stroked and flickered… the orgasms started
very quietly, slow gentle waves of pleasure rolling through me,
until she let go of one hand and suddenly plunged her fingers into
my pussy causing me to gasp, to buck, to cry out as the real orgasm
hit me like a tidal wave. I had time to think, confused, that I’d
been wrong all these years, I’d never had an orgasm, THIS was an
orgasm, and ohmigod, could I live through such intense,
overwhelming, soulstraining pleasure? I SCREAMED with the release,
barely hearing the noise over the pounding of my pulse in my ears,
and my vision started to tunnel down, greyness blacking out the
edges of my vision. I closed my eyes and lost myself in the
experience. The orgasm kept happening, and each moment I was amazed
again as the strenth of it increased. My legs were trembling, I
could feel my hips moving involuntarily, restrained from out-and-
out bucking by the grasp of her arm around me, both of my hands
gripping her one like a lifeline, holding on in mingled terror and
exaltation. Then she took her fingers out of my pulsing cunt, just
for a moment, before sinking her thumb back into me… but now her
wet, slippery fingers were teasing my asshole, playing with the
tight rosebud there, until she slipped first one, then two digits
inside. I had never felt anything like the sensations that shot
through me now. She was lashing my clit with her experienced
tongue, her thumb and fingers were pumping in and out of me,
simultaneously piercing both ass and cunt, and I continued to come,
continued to scream, I could feel tears rolling down my face, I
couldn’t take anymore, I couldn’t sustain this level of
stimulation… ohmigod, I can’t take it, oh no, no, oh god…

Awareness came back to me gradually, like the quiet stealing
advance of dawn across the dimly lit twilight hours. I don’t know
if I actually fainted or whether my brain just couldn’t process the
data anymore. Kim was now kissing and softly licking my clit, no
longer directly on the exposed head, her fingers inside me still,
but motionless. I could feel my muscles clench upon her fingers as
occasionally small waves of pleasure would ripple through me,
aftershocks after earthquake, the tide behind the tsunami.

In a moment I would make love to her…

Kim pulled herself up and lay atop my body, her long legs twining
with mine. I kissed her, putting all my heart and soul into it, the
taste of my own juices reminding me of the amazing feelings that
I’d just experienced, and causing weak aftershocks of orgasm. As
if she could read my mind, Kim shifted so that one of her legs was
between mine, applying firm pressure against my clit. I couldn’t
keep my hips still, even though I was still trembling with the
exhaustion of the tremendous series of orgasms that I’d just had.
Each slow thrust of her hip against my cunt evoked an answering
orgasm, and this continued for several minutes as we kissed long
and passionately. I couldn’t believe, even now, that this
wonderful, lovely woman was making love to me. My hands were
wandering up underneath the T-shirt she had on, stroking along her
sides, running softly down her back.

All at once, my eyes filled with tears, and I hugged her fiercely
so that she wouldn’t see. I had had at least a dozen lovers by that
time, and before this I had never actually had an orgasm, even
though if you’d asked me an hour before, I would have told you
different. The experience was overwhelming, stirring emotions and
responses within me that I couldn’t name nor define. Later I was
to look back and see that from that transcendent moment on, I would
have given her my heart or soul had she asked me for it, I would
have died for her smile: all those melodramatic, exuberant sorts
of overreactions, they all applied to the way that woman made me
feel.

As Kim returned my hug with equal strength, I was able to regain
my composure. With a gentle motion, I urged her onto her back
beside me, and started kissing at her navel and worked my way
slowly up her ribs. A little sly and playful nibble there proved
that she, too was ticklish, but I’d save tickle fighhts for
later… my lips continued their peregrination upwards, finally
finding the warm, soft swelling of her breast. I tugged her shirt
up over her breasts, and she helped me pull it off over her head.
The creamy white skin, the pale pink of her nipples stood out
against her golden tan. I just sat, propped up on one elbow, and
looked for a moment, enjoying the perfect curve of the breast,
watching her nipples slowly harden from some combination of the
cool air and the pressure of my gaze upon them. I couldn’t wait
very long however, before lowering my lips to suck one hardened
nipple into my mouth, sucking, nibbling, running my tongue in slow
circles around the hard peak, flickering across the nipple. My left
hand strayed over to her other breast, and stroked the underside
of its soft swelling curve, thumb teasing the hardened pink nipple.

She had one arm around my shoulders, stroking my hair with the
other, pressing my head to her breast to indicate that I should
suck harder. As I complied, she gasped quietly, then let out a low
moan as my left hand found it way to her panties, and began
investigating the path within. I slid my hand inside the thin
cloth, and slipped first one side and then the other down past her
hips, exposing her loins to my questing fingers. Her hand had left
my hair, and she was trying without much success to free herself
of the minimal confinement of her panties. Regretfully, I left the
nipple that I had been suckling, sitting up to help her finish
removing them. My god, but she was gorgeous! She was indeed blonde,
and the streetlight made the curly hair gleam, droplets of moisture
catching little sparks of light, like diamonds glittering in a net
of spun gold. A shiver took me then as I looked at her, my arousal
mounting high again. She looked like an alabaster and chalcedony
statue, an idol waiting to be worshipped. This I did, kneeling
between her legs, kissing softly from her instep to her ankle, up
her leg, meeting the soft flesh of her inner thigh with my lips,
evoking answering shivers from her. I was teasing, delaying the
final homage of my lips while reeling in the heady scent of her
like a bee in an orchard. Finally my kisses found their way to
their destination. I spread her tender folds to expose her wetness,
and very slowly lowered my lips to suckle the nectar at the center
of her flower. She tasted of salt and peaches, with a faint hint
of honey.

She let loose a deep contralto moan, one that semed to reverberate
in my very bones with its heavy load of sensuous arousal as I ran
my tongue tip from her opening to the small protrustion of her
hooded clit. I sank against her, kissing her open-mouthed, exactly
the same sort of kiss that I would have delivered mouth-to-mouth,
my tongue twining about and teasing her clitoris with feather-
light stokes. I could feel the trembling tension in her long legs
which she had wrapped around me. Her hands stroked my hair,
gradually stilling, then suddenly seizing me firmly to guide my
tongue all the better. She urged me on, the pressure of her hands
encouraging me to flicker my tongue more firmly and quickly across
her swollen clit. I worked my hands under us, sliding two fingers
deep into her open pussy. Again she let loose with that deep and
wrenching moan, and I could feel the goosebumps rising down my
spine as my own arousal edged up a notch with hers. She was
starting to gasp and make little mewling sounds now, and I kept
well in rhythm with her cries as I lashed her clit with my tongue.

I removed my fingers from her cunt, causing a wordless cry of
dismay from her, but immediately set my other hand to the task of
stroking her pussy. Meanwhile, the fingers of my right hand were
now thoroughly wet, and taking a leaf from this beautiful woman’s
own book, I began to tease her asshole with my slippery digits,
finally sliding a wet finger deep inside the tight opening. Now she
began bucking her hips wildly, driving her cunt against my mouth,
hands tight in my hair, thrusting hard to impale herself upon the
fingers which pierced her front and back. I had all I could do to
keep licking her hot cunt, fucking her ass and pussy with both
hands, and remember to occasionally breathe as well. I couldn’t
control my own aroused reaction, and I was driving my own hips into
the mattress in time with her thrusts as well. Suddenly, she let
loose with a banshee cry, stiffening a moment and holding my head
tightly against her. I never let up on her engorged clit, licking
and flicking my tongue over it as fast as I could. The trembling
of her legs was like a tightly strung bowstring, quivering with
tension, and I was amazed to feel the rhythmic contractions of her
orgasms quite clearly via the finger in her ass. I had never been
so completely aware of a woman’s orgasm before now, and the wonder
and sense of power this gave me pushed me over the edge into an
orgasm of my own.

I continued to lick her clit until she could unknot her fingers
from my hair, and pull me up to lay above her, holding her as she
shook with reaction. She said nothing yet, just kissed my neck
softly where she had buried her face in the angle of my shoulder.
I clung to her as well, certain that I had died and gone to heaven.
Making love to her had renewed my arousal, and I hadn’t been able
to satisfy my needs by humping the matress earlier. I hoped that
she would do something about this in a moment, but the urgency was
past, replaced by a glow of contentment mingled with arousal. The
next time would be slower and more sensual, but equally passionate
and overwhelming in intensity, if our first pass at love was any
indication.