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Yahoo! I had finally reached the Promised Land. After two long weeks of plotting, praying and perseverance, Jessica was finally stark naked and flat on her back in my bed with her legs spread open like a juicy Barnsley Chop. My every long, languorous lick along the length of her labia brought moans and sighs of great joy from my cunnilingual cutie. Oh, how she gasped when I brazenly violated the inner sanctum of her girly cavern with as much tongue as I could stuff up there. I slowly slid my larcenous lingua along the roof of her gal canal and up across the underside her rock hard love nub. This produced the exact effect I was hoping for. She grabbed big fistfuls of my hair and yanked on them like she was attempting to insert my entire head up inside her. The yawning maw of her pulsating lust monster was agape and demanding to be fed. I thought a generous helping of my two most talented fingers might provide a tasty snack, so in they went. She now started bucking like one of those machines in Mickey Gilley’s Bar, almost mashing my cute little nose back into my skull with her pubic bone. But, regardless of personal pain or endangerment, I bravely carried on because I knew that the glorious moment of feminine release was close at hand (or finger). She was definitely approaching her final feverish stretch to fulfillment. I quickened my digital thrusts to synchronize with Jessica’s undulating torso, her sopping, custardy cunt-flesh spread out wide upon my lips and cheeks as she writhed with psychotic abandon. Her breathing quickly escalated from fast to frantic to alarming and her inner thighs constricted around my skull causing my eyes to bug out. The reserved librarian-turned-flailing-harlot screamed blasphemous-obscenities and torturously pinched her nipples as her body and soul desperately reached forth to grab hold of that unbearably close moment of ultimate satiation. As I felt the final volcanic surge start to rise within her, I drenched my ring finger in her slit sauce and pushed it slowly but insistently into her tight pucker-hole. BAM! I thought I was going to lose a couple of teeth, but I held on tight. Pressing my tongue down hard on her thrashing munch machine, I jammed in my anal probe right up to the knuckle. The results were deafening. Giant, violent and uncontrollable contractions threatened to tear her in two as her bestial orgasm grew and grew with no sign of abatement. I was just about to cease my mandibular ministrations for fear of causing a stroke when her climax finally began to wane and a peace, punctuated with a series of jerky-mini comes, descended upon her spent and ravaged body.

Jessica’s breathing was returning to normal as I nibbled her bright pink flesh and made my way back up along side her. I took a small nibbly recess at those recently tortured nipples, to give them each a tender kiss and to wish them a speedy convalescence. Upon reaching Jessica’s pretty face I pulled it into mine and we swam together in a long soul kiss, covering each others cheeks and nose and lips with the nectar of her dew.

Then her eyes opened wide, like I still had my finger up her ass, and she pushed me away like I was made out of diseased pig parts. “I have to go!” she blurted out and bounced up off the bed.

“Oh, not yet, baby!” Let me do you again.”

Jessica already had her panties on and was clumsily trying to re-hook her bra.

“I can’t believe I ever…what will Norman say?”

“He’s not going to find out, baby.”

On went her skirt, which had taken me oh-so-very-long to get off her.

“You can’t ever tell him. Promise me, we’ll never see each other again.”

“But I love you.”

I didn’t, but it seemed to be my best shot at getting a second helping from her dessert tray.

“He’ll be expecting his dinner.” She almost sobbed with guilt and grief. “He’ll be sitting there waiting for me and all the time I’ve been letting you…”

“I have a name.”

Her blouse was on and a quick succession of buttons were re-bolting her gorgeous chest away from view. She paused to look at me with that oh-so-familiar look of post-orgasmic sanctimony. “Alisha, we shouldn’t have done this. I’m not a lesbian.”

“Neither am I.”

This is sort of true. I do occasionally get a taste for guys and can ride a righteous cock with the best of them but my real sexual sweet spot is women. Straight, married women to be precise. There is something that just totally sets my skirt on fire about those succulent Sirens who know full well they shouldn’t be doing what they’re about to do and then do it anyway. There is no orgasm deeper and more gut-splitting than the one a woman knows she shouldn’t be having.

As you can probably tell, from all the talk about dear Norman and his dinner, Jessica was quite straight and very married. And now she was also distressed and paranoid.

“Don’t call me or come near the house. I’m taking your number off my phone and please understand when I de-friend you on Facebook.”

And with that, she was gone. I didn’t even get a finger-job in return. Not that I expected it. After a long succession of these Sapphic seductions of fallen brides, you kind of have an idea how things are going to end before you get to that first forbidden kiss and start unzipping things.

I was already biffing my butterbean senseless by the time I heard her car screeching out of the driveway. I came four times while the lovely Jessica’s wanton wails were still ringing in my ears.

And then it was time to find a new girlie friend.

So far, I’d been pretty lucky in securing post-nuptial num-nums. Sure, I’d had to do the odd ménage et trois with the hubby to get the gal, but it was more than a fair trade. As soon as the three of us got into bed, I’d go right after that cock. I’d suck him silly, and then give him the ride of his life (with wifey stroking his balls). Mr. Husband would invariably blow a massive wad inside me in the first ten minutes, tops. Then, I had the rest of the night to demonically dine on his missus while he gradually drifted off to sleep. Sometimes the guy would get a second wind from witnessing our lesbotic lucubrations, but it only really amounted to another 10 minute cessation in the feminine festivities and then it was back to major babe boppin’.

I would seek out my pulchritudinous prey in all sorts of classic girly hangouts. Grocery stores, yoga classes, clothing boutiques, etc. And sure enough, about a week after my sudden but not totally unexpected breakup with Jessica, I was in “Tommy’s” at the mall and shopping for a lot more than a new trendy top. That’s when I spotted the oh-so-beguiling Carissa. What a doll – and she had a big, shiny wedding ring on! When I first caught sight of her, she was just coming out of one of the change rooms and heading back to the racks. Perfect.

I had my approach down to a science. When I was really young, I was a bit of badass and learned how to acquire other people’s property without their knowledge or consent. Blush. These pocket and purse pilfering skills became the centerpiece of my pickup technique. Once I’d selected my munchable mark, I would wait for an opportune moment and purloin her I-phone. Needless to say, my victims were more than delighted when I approached them later to return it.

It was simplicity itself to hijack Carissa’s Droid Ultra and keys from her wide open purse. (Some people are just so ridiculously trusting!) From there, it only takes the modern girl a couple of minutes to realize the most important object in her life is missing. Panic! Disbelief! Nausea! Next, I let her dangle for about 10 minutes while she frantically retraced her steps and crawled around under mannequins. Feeling that she’d suffered enough, I wandered up and shyly tapped her on the shoulder. Carissa whirled around like I was Anthony Hopkins looking for a slice of something to go with my Chianti and faba beans.

“I’m so sorry,” I stammered. “I just wondered if this phone and keys might be yours?”

Carissa was immediately a little suspicious. “Where did you get these,” she demanded, wrinkling that small, sexy nose of hers. Yum! I just wanted to suck right off her face but laudably controlled myself.

“I found them in that change room, over there,” I said, pointing to the one that I’d seen her come out of. “I’ve asked just about everyone else in the store, if they’re not yours…”

“No! No, they are mine.” And with that, the suspicious scowl thawed into a very warm and thankful smile.

After a few more contrite apologies and profuse expressions of gratitude, she offered to give me some money. I wouldn’t hear of it. White knights don’t take cash for performing their good deeds! “Well, at least let me buy you a drink. I know I could sure use one.”


The outfit I was wearing presented all my corporeal gifts to their best and sexiest advantage but stopped short of being obvious and slutty. The key was to show her the goods to build up her interest but not her show any signs of my interest. Unless she thinks she has the sinful “idea” first, I’d be wasting my time.

We laughed, told jokes, talked about her husband and the recent tragic demise of my own recent relationship with a cop. (As a true lover of the softer sex, I sort of understand why men lie to women to get them into bed. Mainly, because I lie to women to get them into bed. You don’t want to tell those awful, self-serving fibs because you’re basically a good person but gals are just so darned scrumptious, you can’t help yourself.)

“I’m taking a small break from ‘men’”, I sighed, making sure to be sad but not bitter.

From there, it was amazing how many things we had in common! (And we did actually have one or two.) Then I set the trap.

“It’s so nice to talk to someone who likes so many of the same things I do.” I opined, “When I think of all the plays and book readings I missed out on because Norman didn’t want go. (Hey, he’d just ruined my relationship with his stupid wife so now he could play the bad guy in my pitiful tale.)

“I know what you mean. Zack just hates art shows.” Sigh.

“Norman was the same way. God, I hated missing that last exhibition at the Babcock.”

So, after another drink, it was settled. We exchanged phone numbers and set a date that weekend to meet at some place called the Fredericks & Freiser gallery. It went really well.

More dates, more drinks, more jokes and lots of clothes shopping. There’s nothing like two half-naked women stuffed into a very small room with a tiny curtain and mirrors to get one’s naughtier blood flowing in the right direction. Why, you just couldn’t help but brush up against one another’s licky parts in a room that small. At first, I would apologize every time it happened.”

“Forget it.” she laughingly assured me, “We’re both girls.”

Oh yes, we are!

Next, I suggested we hit the gym. What a glorious place for females to frolic together in hardly any clothes. You get to touch each other all over while working out and then it’s shower time! But, beyond the suds and hot water and teeny shower stalls and helping each other out with those hard to reach spots, there was another level to my cunning plan. I needed her cripplingly sore and stiff. I didn’t take a ten week course in massage for nothing!

Poor, ailing Carissa came over to my place the next afternoon. It took her till lunchtime before she could get out of bed. Zack was working and then going off to some game or other with his buddies, so we had plenty of time to be sore together.

Could this be the magic moment? Over the weeks, we’d shared a few girlie kisses and hugs and I thought I detected a small amount of lingering but patience is the hunter’s best friend. That and copious amounts alcohol.

Instantly, we jumped into the wine and small talk about this and that and men and the various sex positions we liked. More wine and more talk about sex. Carissa giggled and complained, “You bitch! I really wanted ‘it’ last night but I was too sore to let him get on top of me.”

That’s when I dropped my little “licensed massage therapist” bomb. She seemed very intrigued. I take my shot. I park myself behind her and start to bring sweet soothing relief to her neck and shoulders. Carissa is getting into it big time. After a few seconds, she stops me and pulls off her top and drops her bra straps down to give me better access. I’m practically creaming myself as she moans to my touch.

“You are an absolute genius. Whatever you’re doing, don’t stop.”

I do stop momentarily, but only to refill her glass and then I make my play for Elysium.

“My table is in storage right now,” I sigh with regret, “but I could do your back and legs on the bed…”

“My legs are killing me!” she exclaims.

“Then it’s settled,” I said, getting up and taking her hand. “This way to the boudoir, Madame.”

I told her to remove all her clothes and lie face down on the bed while I went into the bathroom to slip into a t-shirt. After all, massaging is very strenuous and hot work. A girl needs to stay cool! (And of course, you can stay even cooler, if your t-shirt is ludicrously short and you don’t wear any underwear.)

When I drifted back into the room and saw her little ass sticking up out of the sheets, it was all I could do not to jump on top of it and sodomize her with my tongue. “Remain calm! Go slow!” my inner voice screamed inside my inner head. This was the most delicate and decisive phase of the operation. Moving too quickly now could send her scurrying for the door. And some women draw a hard and fast vaginal line, no matter how ardently you whip up the froth on her libidinous latte. I put my fingers together and cracked my knuckles. “Well, time to get to work,” I professionally declare as I straddled her butt mound. Instantly, I start kneading her shoulders to distract her from the fact that my shaved and gooey turnover that was oozing all over her ass-crack.

“You’ve got such beautiful skin, I’m really pissed,” I grumbled as I slowly slid my thumbs up the sides of her neck and felt her silky hair on the back of my hands. All this effort had better pay off big time or I was going to shoot myself.

“Nonsense, I’ve felt your skin dozens of times and it’s wonderfully soft.”

I was so turned on my teeth began to chatter, but regardless of my quaking quim, I stayed the course and methodically worked down her body in a desperate attempt to disguise my evil intentions. The trick was to turn her on without her knowing I was doing it. Almost all professional masseurs and masseuses do this.

“You have wonderful hands,” she cooed as I rubbed my way up her achy hamstrings and hit those weird pressure points just below the hip bone on the fleshiest part of her downy posterior.

“It’s the least I could do for all that torture I put you through at the gym, yesterday. Especially, all those crunches.” I figuratively crossed my fingers as I waited for her response.

“God, my ribs and tummy are so tender. You don’t have any therapeutic magic for them, do you?”

Do I!? I could hardly hear myself over the pounding of my heart as I mock-admonishingly tossed out, “Roll over, you little baby.”

And there is was. All of Carissa’s tender charms laid out like a sumptuous meal on a Beni Hana steam table. Her tits were to die for. Her little landing strip gave me shivers. I pulled my body up close to hers and began to slowly rub her stomach. All above the belly button at first, but soon my fingers began to stray an inch or two closer to Naughtyland.

“Could you do that all night?” she sighed with her eyes closed in rapture.

“If you want me to,” I softly replied into her ear.

She suddenly turned and looked at me with those doughy peepers of hers and I practically came on the spot. The next thing I knew, she had her tongue in my mouth and her hand firmly up my ass-crack, pulling me towards her. I quickly lifted my thigh into her mound and I rejoiced at how wet it was. My next order of business was those titties. I sucked on them nips like they were the last two M&M’s on Earth and they couldn’t have tasted any better if they had been made of chocolate! While I was ardently attempting to ingest her boobage, my mind was busily working out my next move. If I went down on her, I risked having to wank myself insensate after she’d freaked out post-orgasm and run home to guiltily blow Zacky-poo. No. This time, with this woman, I actually wanted to cum while she was in the room. I decided to shoot for the moon and go for a scissor. Breaking off our infinitely-deep soul kiss, I flipped over and plopped my severely puffed-up pump-monkey right down on top of hers. We both simultaneously let out a mighty moan as our labia, clits and girly seepage mingled and tingled. I spread Carissa’s legs out like Mary Lou Retton doing a floor routine and ground myself into her. It was absolutely fucking fantastic. It only took a couple of minutes of manic pelvic thrusting before I came like I had a nuclear powered vibrator strapped to my snuffle-cushion. It was un-fucking-believable. Like someone had fired a three-staged pleasure rocket up my vagina. The climactic spasms were absolutely staggering. Wave after massive wave of concupiscent convulsions ripped through me till I practically passed out from lack of breath. It took a minute or so before I came to my senses and realized there was another person in the room with me. And oh, what a person! My love lump was so hopelessly in lust with that girl.

But, now was the moment of truth. After the lovin’, comes the thinkin’ and the regrettin’. I dropped myself down next to her and kissed those irresistible lips and waited for the horror of heterosexual realization to fill her eyes.

Carissa looked at me very seriously. I braced myself for her adjudication. “Alisha, I really, really like you.”

“And I like you. I’ve never done anything like this ever before,” I lied, hoping beyond hope that she bought it.

“That’s why I’m going to be completely honest with you and tell you something you may not want to hear.”

Oh God, here it comes.

“I have been with other women.”

Was this good news?

“My husband and I have been with other women, if you get my drift.”

A tiny light of comprehension was now beginning to shine.

She continued her salacious sales pitch. “I’d love to have a relationship with you because you are absolutely incredible and sexy and beautiful but I’m afraid our private moments would sometimes have to include my husband.”

Wow! All the time I thought I was seducing her and she was actually seducing me! Ooh, Carissa was good. I didn’t see this coming at all.

“You mean with Zack?” I tried to convey the right degree of interest combined with a newbie concern.

“So, is there a chance? You know, for us to be together?”

After a little faux humming and hawing, while she kissed and fondled me, I reluctantly acquiesced. But in reality, it was a minuscule price to pay. After all, now I get to be with my wicked and wonderful Carissa on a regular basis. Sure, I have to let Zacky bone me once or twice a week, but if you do it right…it only takes about ten minutes or so out of your evening.
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