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My Friend Sophie Ch. 01

By: LeanneSinclair



Over the course of a couple of stories, I'm going to tell you about my friend Sophie. I need to say straight away that in this first story, she and I don't have sex. In fact, we just talk, or mostly she talks and I listen. But you will still find a fair bit of sex in the story eventually, and I think you'll get more out of the second part if you read this one first. If you really want to skip straight to the sex in this one, scroll down till you find some asterisks. That's where it gets going. But I hope you'd want to do Sophie the courtesy of getting to know her first.

And one more thing - unavoidably, this first part of the story makes quite a lot of reference to a couple of things that I posted on Literotica a few years ago. You'll see which ones if you read on. This probably looks like arrogant self-promotion. It's not meant to be, it's just kind of integral to the situation that arose.

But I'm getting ahead of myself.

So. Yes. Sophie. Or Soph, rhyming with "loaf". I first met her a few years ago, shortly after my husband and I had moved to London. I didn't know London at all well in those days, and to try to settle in and get to know people, I went through a phase of trying out hobbies and evening classes. One that I was keen to stick with was conversational Italian. As I have a bit of French, I reckoned Italian wouldn't be too hard to pick up, and I thought it would be great to have an idea of the language for when Paul and I went on holiday to Italy, which we were always planning to do without quite getting round to it. So, I started a course of evening classes. After a while, I started to find them a tiny bit frustrating. The teacher - a kindly, enthusiastic middle aged lady called Bianca - was great, but too many people in the class (mostly retired types with a lot of time on their hands) were not all that interested or motivated, and seemed happy to get stuck at a really basic, sub-conversational level, never moving on. I could see Bianca got annoyed sometimes too. There was only one other student in the class who really seemed interested in progressing - a woman called Sophie, the only person there younger than me. We began to catch each other's eyes across the classroom, pulling frustrated faces at each other when the class's progress ground to a halt yet again. We struck up conversations after lessons - just small talk. And as the course went on, we got into the habit of going for a drink after class. 

I guess this is as good a time as any to give you a bit of a description.

Sophie is about ten years younger than me, so was 27 or 28 when the events of this story took place. She is a little bit shorter than me (and I'm only 5'1"). I'll tell you more about her figure later. She is very very pretty in an unobtrusive, understated sort of way, with big, rather soulful, grey-blue eyes dominating her small, fine features. A lovely smile lights up her habitually serious face. Her hair is mid-brown, thick and fine, collar length. She tends not to wear much in the way of jewellery or make-up. She speaks softly, quickly and animatedly, with a very slight London accent, accompanying what she says with short, precise gestures of her small hands. Normally when I saw her she was dressed quite plainly, in office clothes. At the time I met her she was working in the marketing department of a software company, and had only quite recently moved out of her parents' home into a rented studio flat. As I got to know her, it took me a while to notice that in all our conversations she never mentioned a boyfriend, girlfriend, any kind of relationship. Which, considering how very intelligent, attractive and likeable she was, did seem a bit odd.

As the Italian course drew to an end, Sophie and I were having our post-class drink one evening and we started talking about maybe doing some different classes or other activities after the summer. Sophie had picked up a flyer from a local gym that was doing some free trial classes the following week - spin, Pilates, boxercise, aqua aerobics. I'm not a great one for gyms, but we decided to give each other some moral support, and Sophie agreed to sign both of us up for an evening of spin (I don't know if that's just a British term - it means intensive cardio exercise using gym bikes). Then Sophie said she'd noticed that the college where we'd done Italian was planning to offer a creative writing course next term.

"I haven't written stories since primary school," she said. "Might be fun, though, eh? Have you ever tried creative writing, Lee?"

Fatefully, I hesitated and stumbled over my answer before coming out with a mumbled "Er ... not really," blushing while I did so. Sophie is very sharp at picking up what people aren't saying - much more so than me - and she takes absolutely no bullshit from anyone, ever.

"That was a strange answer, Leanne. A simple question about whether you've ever written a story, and you get totally flustered. Hmm. I'm going to buy us both another drink, and when I get back you're going to tell me much more."

Damn, damn, I thought to myself. Still - it was strange with Sophie and me. We got on really well, I counted her as a good friend, but our friendship was in a kind of vacuum. She had no contact with other friends of mine, nor did I with hers. So I supposed that gave me a bit of licence as to what I could confide in her.

Sophie reappeared with the drinks. "Right, Mrs Sinclair, have you got your story straight? Take your time ..."

Deep breath. "OK Soph. Nobody else except Paul knows about this. Well, nobody I actually know knows. I think. Sorry, I'm talking crap. Right. Hm. About a year ago I sent a couple of stories to a website that publishes stuff on line. They got published there. Thing is ..." I hesitated again.

"Go on ..." She was smiling wickedly, and I was sure she had guessed at least the essence of what was coming.

Another deep breath. "This site is specifically for ... er .... you know ... adult stories. Erotica."

You need to remember that this was before the whole "Fifty Shades" phenomenon made written erotica more mainstream.

Sophie laughed delightedly and clapped her hands. "Woohoo! Bloody hell! That's made my evening, Lee! My mate Leanne, quiet, level headed Leanne, writes porn in her spare time! That is fucking priceless, babe!"

"Christ's sake, Sophie, the whole pub can hear!" I hissed.

"Sorry, sorry!" She giggled, then whispered. "You've got to admit it's pretty fucking cool, though. You've got-got-GOT to tell me how to find these stories, Lee. I'll die if I don't read them."

I sighed. "Look for a site called Literotica. Like L I T then erotica, no spaces. It's mostly but not completely American. There are thousands and thousands of stories on it. Some really good stuff, better than I could ever do. Mine are called 'New Boss (for Gareth)', parts one and two. They're ... they're in the ... er ... BDSM section. I use my own name, written all together, no spaces. Soph, can we talk about something else now?"

So we did.

The following week was the spin class. I was dreading it somewhat but Sophie and I had promised ourselves and each other we'd give it a try. I arrived at the gym a little late, got changed hurriedly and went into whatever you call a spin room, studio, whatever, to find I was the last to arrive. The other people, including Sophie, were already on the bikes, which were arranged in a horseshoe pattern. I sat on the one vacant bike, facing Sophie across the horseshoe. She smiled and winked at me.

At this point you need some more physical details about Sophie and me. Me first, as a sort of base line. As I said, I'm five foot one. I sort of hover between UK dress sizes 10 and 12, so I am of slim to medium build (UK dress sizes bear little relation to US ones, I should say). It sounds weird, but I look taller than I am, as my legs are long in relation to the rest of me, but my frame is slight. I have a naturally large bust: 34E.

OK, so that's me.

Sophie, as I said, is fractionally shorter than I am. Her frame is broader than mine, with wider shoulders, ribcage and hips, which means that, despite her short stature, she can really carry off her wonderful hourglass curves. She has very very large, full breasts. I don't know her bra size but she must be at the very least two cup sizes up from me. She has a narrow waist, then flaring hips and a round bottom. Her legs taper to small, dainty feet.

I hope that description makes Sophie sound sexy, because she is. Actually, I'm guessing that people might read those two paragraphs and just see "naturally large bust" and "very very large, full breasts". Which, for the purposes of imagining what happened next, is OK. Also for those purposes you should know that Sophie and I were very similarly clad in knee length Lycra gym pants and tight singlets, obviously with industrial-strength sports bras underneath.

I got on the bike and we all started pedalling according to the young instructor's over-enthusiastic shouts. Darren, his name was. To be honest I found the whole thing a bit of a chore, and I caught Sophie's eyes a couple of times with some sardonic looks. "Yes, c'mon guys!" Darren was barking, "Yes! Loving it! Gotta feel it, guys! Gotta push it! C'mon! C'mon, ladies!" I guess he was only doing his job but I found it quite wearisome. At the end of the session he had us standing up on the pedals, pedalling like crazy, as hard and fast as we could.

Now, given what I've just told you about Sophie's and my physiques, you can imagine what we looked like, on opposite sides of the horseshoe of bikes, stood up on the pedals, leaning forward in our Lycra tops, exerting ourselves. Whenever Darren looked to either side he was confronted by huge, jiggling breasts below flushed, sweating female faces. He had this shtick of coming up to each participant in turn and yelling encouragement in his or her face. Every time he got to Sophie or me he stammered and got flustered. Because of our postures he could not look at our faces without our boobs also being in his eyeline. I winked at Sophie. She understood. We both started exaggerating our movements to make our tits swing and wobble as much as possible whenever Darren came up to us, and we looked him straight in the face, very seriously. Faster and faster we went, jiggle jiggle bounce bounce wobble swing went Sophie's and my boobs, despite the best efforts of our bras to control them - poor Darren looked like a rabbit trapped in the glare of headlights. Soph and I started cracking up with silent laughter as he finally called a halt. "Whoa, well done ladies and gents, give yourselves a round of applause, great stuff there, love it!" As we all slowed down, Sophie and I sat very upright in our saddles and pulled our shoulders right back so our big chests stuck out as far as possible, and we both smiled sweetly at Darren. He seemed to want to make a speedy exit.

In the changing rooms, Sophie and I were in tears of laughter. "Oh the poor boy," she said. "He just didn't know where to look! I think we've traumatised him, Lee!"

I could barely speak for giggling. "Maybe he'll look back on it as a formative experience, once he's had a chance to recover! Attack Of The Killer Knockers!" We collapsed into helpless laughter, keeping it together just enough to get undressed and shower. We emerged from the shower cubicles into the open-plan part of the changing room and, as we dried ourselves off, I realised that I was looking at the naked Sophie with a degree of interest that surprised me.

I know that I am, essentially, heterosexual. Which is not to say that I don't appreciate and enjoy female beauty, but it is extremely rare for me to feel any sexual attraction towards a woman. Not completely unknown - like everyone, I had crushes on other girls when I was younger, and in more recent life there have been a few women who have turned my head - but very rare. And up to this point I had certainly never had any real, physical sexual contact with a woman. Also, if I ever had felt drawn towards another female, it was invariably to a certain type - tall, slim, willowy, lithe. Very unlike me. If I want short and busty I can look in a mirror.

And yet ... and yet ... I could not take my eyes off Sophie as she dried herself. I loved her curves. She was fit and toned, yet soft and feminine. There was a sculptural quality to her taut belly and round buttocks. Her breasts, as I have said, were huge, but full, high and firm: she carried them proudly. Her nipples were pale pink, with small buds in the centres of very wide areolae that would have almost covered small breasts. She was fully shaved (waxed, depilated, whatever) - not a fashion that I particularly favour, but on her it looked right. As she lovingly dried her damp pink skin, she put me in mind of a figure in one of those rather overheated, Orientalist, Victorian fantasy paintings of Turkish baths or harems. An odalisque. To my own amazement, I was beginning to get aroused.

She looked up and smiled. Had she noticed that I had been gazing at her? I blushed, muttered "Sorry Soph, I was miles away there," hurriedly dried myself, and got dressed.

We went for a drink.

Italian classes had always been on a Tuesday, but it was a Friday evening now and our regular pub was much more crowded than we were used to. We squeezed ourselves around a small corner table. The pub did a special offer: buy two large glasses of certain wines and they gave you the rest of the bottle free. We went for it. It was so noisy in the crowded pub that there was very little risk of our conversation being overheard. Which, given the course it took, was just as well.

"Right, Leanne," said Sophie. "I think you know what I'm going to say, my dear." I pulled a comic face of resignation. "I read your stories, Lee. Fucking hell, babe, you're a dark horse! They were amazing - way, way wilder than I expected! Forget that quiet, well-mannered, Mrs Sensible image of yours! My mate Leanne the kinky pornographer! Respect, honey!"

(At this point I should say that my powerful and very British instinct for modesty and self-deprecation makes me feel very very awkward indeed as I tell the story of someone else actually being very impressed by something I've done. I'm much more inhibited about that than I am about the sex stuff. But it is part of this story, so I'll carry on as best I can.)

Sophie carried on, more serious now. "I loved them, Lee. I mean it. I really like verbal erotica, written and spoken - there's not enough of it about, I reckon. I read some other good stories on that site, too. In fact it's helped me through a couple of quiet evenings at home in a very pleasant way ..." She blushed. "Leanne ... if you don't mind me asking ... is that really you in the stories, the Leanne character, I mean? Are you into all that, being dominant and stuff?"

I sighed. It was a fair question, if a terribly intimate one, but I had got myself into this situation. And that strangely sexually charged visit to the gym had probably reduced my inhibitions. As had the wine, as it hit my poorly-hydrated brain. "Look, Sophie, Paul and I play games together, sometimes. And sometimes I'm dominant and sometimes he is. We're not, like, into any scene or lifestyle or anything. And I've never actually had a threesome. Real BDSM people probably think those stories are crap. Most of what Paul and I do is more comical than anything else. But we have fun, and I guess that's what counts. I'm glad you liked the stories, babe, really. That's nice, thank you."

"Just one thing, though, Lee. Your husband's name is Paul. You used your own name in the stories. So why is the male character called Gareth?"

Oh God, I thought. I took a big gulp of wine. "OK, Soph. This is gonna seem really weird. When I wrote those stories, Paul was in his old job, travelling abroad a lot. I had a lot of time to myself. And just out of curiosity, one night I ... er .... I went on ... like ... a cybersex chat site. Text only, instant chat, right? No webcams, no logins, just make up a nickname and go. It's like virtual cottaging or something."

Sophie was open-mouthed in delighted amazement. I took another glug of wine.

"Well, to cut a long story short, a lot of what I found there was crap, but some was fun. And there was this one guy I had some longer chats with, and this particular boss-employee scenario was something he particularly liked. His name was Gareth, or so he said. I liked him, took to him somehow, even though I only knew him as words on a screen. We exchanged some e-mails and it became a little project of mine to work this fantasy of his and mine up into a story, just for the hell of it, really. Then I remembered I had read a newspaper article about erotic story websites - 'the literate side of internet porn,' sort of thing. That led me to Literotica and I sent in my stories, they published them, and that was that. I even got some favourable comments. I was quite surprised."

"Fuck ... ing ... hell ... Leanne! Does Paul know?"

"Yeah, I told him as soon as he came home. I even showed him drafts of the stories. He liked the whole thing. I think ... I think he likes me being really sexually confident, which I suppose this showed. And that's kind of nice."

"Lee, let's get some food, and another bottle, and drink to sexually confident women, your cyber friend Gareth, wherever he is, enlightened husbands like Paul, and the erotic power of the written word!"

She went to the bar to order - a little unsteadily, I thought. The wine seemed to be going to her head, too. Still, what the fuck, it was Friday.

As we sat down to some fairly mundane pub food, and more wine, Sophie seemed quiet and thoughtful. After a while, she said, "Thanks for being so open with me about the stories, Leanne. That was really good of you. Really trusting."

"That's OK, hon, I know I can trust you."

"Thanks. Thing is, Lee, I was so interested because the stories really spoke to me. Only ... well ... how can I say this ... and you've been so open with me so I can hardly get all coy now ..." Suddenly she seemed terribly vulnerable.

"It's all right, babe, it's not quid pro quo, you don't have to tell me anything."

"But I want to. Thing is ... thing is ... how can I put this ... I'm Gareth. Oh hang on, no, I don't mean I'm really him on the cyber site, God no, nonono ... I mean ... what he likes, what he wants ... what you wrote for him ... that's what I want, too." 

Fuck, I thought. Fuckety fucking fuck. My head swam. "How do you mean, Soph?"

"My boss. I would so love to submit to him, to have him do things to me, really crazy things, anything ..."

"Er ... Sophie, love, you don't need to tell me this, OK? We've had a few drinks. If you want to just change the subject, that's fine, OK sweetie?" I felt very protective towards her.

"No no, it's OK, Lee, I'd like to tell you, it'll be like one of your stories."

And so she began a very long, wine-fuelled monologue in which she laid bare her fantasy and her desires. I think the best way for me to relate this will be in the first person, in her voice, otherwise I'm going to tie myself in knots with quotation marks and reported speech. So there are some asterisks coming in a moment, and what comes between them and the next set of asterisks is Sophie's fantasy, in what I can remember of her words, considering we were both drunk and the pub was noisy.

*******

His name's Mr Marshall. Steven Marshall. Everyone calls him Steve, of course, but when I think of him like this he's Mr Marshall. Masterful Mr Marshall. I mean, you can't really submit to a Steve, can you? He's our Managing Director, my boss's boss. Forty-something, slim, short brown hair, amazing green eyes. Quiet, calm, authoritative. Doesn't need to raise his voice. Everyone respects him but nobody really knows him. 


My Friend Sophie Ch. 01



So let's say I'm working on this big assignment, and I know I'm fucking it up. I'm out of my depth, over deadline, over budget, it's a mess. Only a matter of time before I'm in real trouble, but I'm sticking my head in the sand. And late one Friday it happens. I get a message on IM from him - "Sophie, do you have a moment?". I work in this very modern-looking open plan office, where only senior managers have their own rooms. So I walk past those people who are still there late on a Friday - there's always a couple of guys from Accounts, often some of the techies too - and knock on the door of Mr Marshall's office. He calls me in. He's standing behind his desk.

"Sophie," he says, "I've been looking at progress on the campaign you're leading. I don't understand why you have not come to me before. Unless you are able to explain to me something that I'm not seeing, it's dead in the water, and our quarterly marketing budget is blown. Am I right?"

He's right. There's nothing I can say, so I say nothing. I am terribly conscious that the new white blouse I'm wearing for the first time today is a tight fit. It stretches across my chest, the buttons are gaping slightly and the lace of my bra is showing through the thin cotton. He seems not to be looking me up and down so much as looking at all of me at once.

"I'm sorry," is all I can manage.

"You've put me in a difficult position here, Sophie. The Board are going to be asking questions. And they may decide that it's all down to me, that I asked too much of a junior employee. Maybe I did. But I thought you were up to it. I can't let this pass."

I can feel tears starting in my eyes, and I am blushing madly.

You know what's coming next, right? The deal that always kicks off these stories. He's willing not to sack me, and not to go down the official disciplinary route, if I agree to accept a one-off disciplinary measure. It would be funny, wouldn't it, if in a story like this the employee said "Actually Sir, I'd prefer you to deal with this through the official channels. I intend to contact my Union rep and won't say any more without him present." Or the naughty schoolboy said "Miss, I insist that you write to my parents and inform them fully about my misdemeanours."

But we do the deal. He makes me stand in front of his desk. You have to imagine that I am dressed very plainly, at this stage. The white blouse, grey office trousers, flat shoes.

He says, "Undo your trousers, Sophie. Lower them to the floor."

I obey. He is standing behind me now. My blouse partly covers my bum but I'm sure he can see my boring, plain white cotton knickers.

"Pull your knickers down, Sophie."

I pull them down as far as my knees so they hobble me. I must look a fucking mess with my trousers crumpled round my ankles, my knickers round my knees and my blouse failing to cover my big round arse.

"Bend over the desk, Sophie."

I bend over it as low as I can, squashing my boobs against piles of paperwork. He steps up behind me. He pulls up my blouse to expose my bum completely. I can't help pushing it out towards him, seeking contact. He starts to spank me. Slowly but hard. Each blow sends a hot wave of pain and excitement deep into my body. I'm determined not to cry out, but I can't help gasping. As the pain diffuses through my buttocks they crave each spank as a release. I can't explain it. Pain seeks pain. And I am getting so fucking turned on. I'm sure that the people outside, in the main office, can hear the slaps but to be honest I don't care. I'm weirdly proud of the humiliating position I'm in. I feel myself pushing my bum out towards him, seeking his hand, seeking the sting and the burn. I'm like a cat on heat. And I know he can see my pussy from behind. He must be able to see I'm getting excited. I close my eyes and wallow in the heat, the pain, the arousal.

Eventually he stops. I don't want him to, and maybe that's part of the punishment, too. I feel dizzy, and I know that I am wet.

"I thought so," he says. "I thought you might respond like that. Good. Now get dressed."

Awkwardly, I pull up my knickers and trousers. I turn to face him, flushed and sweating.

"I have an assignment for you, Sophie," he says. "Something to give you a chance to repair the damage your mistakes have caused. A meeting with potential clients, this evening. Old friends of mine. I'd like you to accompany me."

"Yes ... yes of course," I say. I see that he has picked up a small holdall. He passes it to me.

"In here," he says, "are some items of clothing, footwear and jewellery. You will go home now and put them on. They are what you will wear to meet my friends. You will wear everything that is in the bag, and nothing else. A car will pick you up from your flat at eight o'clock. The rest will become clear. You may go now."

I leave his room and walk back through the open office, carrying the bag, pick up my own handbag and jacket, and head for the exit. One of the techie guys who I get on well with catches my eye, mouths "You OK?" as I pass him. I give him a thumbs-up, and go home.

At home I open the bag. I'll tell you what's in it:

A pair of scarlet patent leather shoes with fucking insanely high stiletto heels, the sort I can never usually wear without looking stupid.

A very, very short black dress with a very, very low-cut neckline.

A pair of hold-up fishnet stockings, black.

A black satin push-up plunge bra.

A pair of black lacy knickers, hipster brief style.

A box containing what may well be a genuine pearl necklace, and matching drop earrings.

That's it. The sizes of the dress, underwear and shoes are all correct, fuck knows how, especially as I'm a bit of a strange shape. If I put this on, I'm going to look amazing. Like an amazing fucking prostitute.

I have a shower, put all the gear on, do my make-up. The driver rings the doorbell. Off I go.

The cab takes me to a very, very upmarket hotel in Mayfair. The sort of place whose existence I usually ignore because I know I could never afford to go in there. The driver tells me to sit at the bar and get myself a drink on Mr Marshall's tab. I go in. The bar is moderately busy - rich looking men and expensive looking women. A lot of big watches and diamonds. I sit on a bar stool and get myself a gin and tonic. The dress I'm wearing is very short and tight. If I pull it down to cover my stocking tops then the already daring neckline gets positively perilous. If I pull at the top of it to slightly reduce the amount of cleavage on show, I start flashing my bare thighs.

Suddenly I realise Mr Marshall is standing next to me. "Well done Sophie, you got this right, at least," he says. "No hurry, finish your drink, then we're going upstairs."

"Thank you, Mr Marshall."

He seems almost amiable. "See all these men looking at you, Sophie? They're trying not to show it, but they all have their eyes on you. You know what they're thinking?"

"Er ... no ..." I do know, of course.

"They all think you're a hooker looking for business. They're sizing you up, wondering how much you'd cost."

I am furious, embarrassed, excited and aroused. He carries on.

"Ever thought of doing that, Sophie? I mean, you've got the physique for it. You might find you earn a better living from selling your body than from trying to market our software. There would be plenty of potential customers here."

I'm speechless. I gulp the last of my drink. "Come with me," he says. I follow him to the lift. We go to an upper floor. He opens a room and leads me in. The room is big, luxurious. Two people are in there already - he introduces them as Pedro and Anna. From their accents as they greet me, I spot Pedro as Hispanic-American, and Anna as London Caribbean. Pedro is a bit younger than Mr Marshall, shorter, stockier and more obviously athletic, with heavy, sensual features, wearing a suit with an open necked shirt. Anna is probably about my age but different from me in every other possible way - very dark skin, very tall, leggy, elegant, wearing a short shift dress. For some reason I think of Anna's dress as being green.

"It's Pedro's birthday today," says Mr Marshall, who has produced four glasses of champagne from somewhere. We toast Pedro. For a moment I wonder if this is all more innocuous than I had thought. Perhaps he even likes my company and wants to introduce me to his friends.

Or not. After we have drained our champagne, Mr Marshall says to me, "Right, Sophie, you're going to dance for the birthday boy."

It's really important to imagine that everything that Mr Marshall, Pedro and Anna say from now on continues to be in in a very low-key, calm, polite tone, as if nothing out of the ordinary is happening.

"Dance?"

"Yes, dance. Full strip."

"Strip?"

"Yes, Sophie, we want you to get naked for Pedro. If you want to keep your job, that is."

He puts some music on an iPod in a dock. Some kind of slow jazz, hard to dance to in any case and I am a rubbish dancer. Really shit. I only usually get up to dance when I'm too drunk to stand. And I've only ever seen strippers in films so I haven't got a clue. But, you know, I give it a go. I teeter and wobble, gyrate clumsily. Pedro sits in an armchair, with this pleasant, bland smile on his face. Mr Marshall and Anna stand either side of him, impassive. Like judges on the world's strangest TV talent show. So I bump and grind a bit ... here goes ... dress peeled off over my head, catching a bit on one of the earrings. Anything but elegant - still, hey, I'm down to my stockings, bra and knickers now and I know I look pretty fucking spectacular in nice underwear, no matter how bad my dancing. The bra shows off my cleavage a treat and I really like the way the knickers fit. Credit to Mr Marshall for not making me wear a G string, I hate them. You too, eh? So I'm starting to get into this now, wiggling my bum at Pedro, leaning towards him, pushing my boobs up, and he's just smiling, saying nothing, not moving. Time to go nuclear and get the bra off. I turn my back, fiddle with the clasp, bloody thing's stuck somehow, I lose balance slightly and nearly fall arse over tit but just about keep it together. Finally the bra comes undone. Still with my back to him, I slip the straps down off my shoulders, still holding the cups up to my boobs as I turn to face him - and then I let the bra fall. Even the imperturbable Pedro raises an eyebrow at the first sight of my tits. Well, you've seen them, Lee, I can't pretend they're not impressive. I squeeze them, push them close to his face, wondering if he'll go to touch them or kiss them - I don't know what the etiquette is. Etiquette? Ha! But he stays dead still. Just smiling at my tits. I lick my fingers, play with my nipples. Mmm, that's nice, actually, and a good idea to turn myself on a bit, get into the spirit of it. Cos I can't be far off the last lap now. How the fuck do I get my knickers off and end this? OK ... I turn my back on Pedro, wriggle the knickers down my legs, step out of them and bend over so he can see everything, and I mean everything, from behind. I give myself a spank on the bum. That feels good where Mr Marshall spanked me before. Another one. I bend low, resting my arms on the bed, wearing only the stockings and shoes, legs slightly apart, utterly, fully exposed and vulnerable. And fucking madly turned on. The music stops.

The three of them clap in a rather desultory manner. "Sit on the bed, Sophie," says Mr Marshall. I do. The talent show has reached the moment of truth. "So, Pedro," he says, "what did you think?"

"I liked her," says Pedro pleasantly. "I mean, sure, you can tell she's a beginner but, you know, she's got a hell of a body and she gave it her best shot. Fair enough. She's way better than the girl you brought last year, Steve. What about you, Anna? What does the expert say?"

Anna says, calmly, "Yeah, full marks for trying, but she's not a natural, right? She's got the body of a hooker, not a dancer, so it was always gonna be a bit of a challenge. She gave it a good go but in the end this one's built to fuck, not to dance."

"Well," says Mr Marshall, "that's fine, isn't it, as we're going to fuck her anyway? But first - Anna - do you want to show her how to dance properly?"

And the music starts again and Anna does a strip. For me. As if I'm the strip club punter. She's brilliant at it, of course - elegant, smooth, rhythmic, sensual. She's doing all the moves I was trying, but she's getting them right. Under the short dress she is wearing luxurious-looking cream silk knickers and bra, but they do not stay on for long. She has small, firm boobs with big, jutting nipples. The arse of an Olympic heptathlete. Long, long elegant limbs. Skin like burnished ebony. I have never really looked at another woman before but she has me spellbound. She is so beautiful and graceful. The opposite of me. I feel embarrassed but at the same time she is really turning me on. And behind her I can see that Pedro and Mr Marshall, watching from their armchairs, have started to stroke themselves through their trousers where they are beginning to bulge. Towards the end of the dance she pulls up a high backed chair near to the bed so that she can finish with one foot up on that and her crotch inches from my face. She stays like that for what seems like a long time. She must be able to feel my breath on her pussy, and I can detect her musky scent.

Pedro and Mr Marshall applaud enthusiastically. "Wonderful as ever, Anna, thank you," says Mr Marshall. "And I think Sophie likes you. I hope she was learning from it, too. Sophie, did you enjoy that?"

I nod. Anna, now completely naked, sits in an armchair.

"Right," says Mr Marshall. "To business. Pedro, as it's your birthday, you get first go. Now I've found that Sophie responds very well to spanking, so I think that would be a good way to start, if you agree, Pedro?"

Pedro nods. "Sure, Steven, that sounds great. Over the knee, I think. We could use that chair, maybe." He gets up, adjusts the position of the chair that Anna had used for the dance alongside the bed, and sits down on it. "Sophie, I'd like you to bend yourself right over my lap, so that your butt is right under my eyeline and you're not taking your weight on your feet. You can support yourself with your arms on the bed if you need to."

Funny, isn't it, how "butt" sounds sexy in an American accent and bloody awful if a Brit says it? Same with "ass".

Awkwardly, I lie across his lap. The problem is what to do with my boobs, of course. I end up with them sort of hanging past the edge of his thigh. My weight is on him and I steady myself with my hands on the side of the bed.

"That's great, Sophie, thank you," his voice is calm and considerate. "You have a great ass, I have to say. And I can already tell you're getting pretty turned on."

He places one hand gently on my shoulder blade and with the other delivers a powerful whack to my bum. Again: the sting, the pain, the heat, the arousal. My crotch is resting on his thigh and I cannot help pushing it against him. Another spank. And another and another and another, hard and fast now. It's like the spanking I got from Mr Marshall earlier on stored some heat deep inside me and this new onslaught is releasing that through my body, through my bum, my belly, my cunt, and adding more. I can't help whimpering and moaning. I'm starting to writhe, to grind myself against him. I know he's looking straight down at my pussy from behind and he can see I'm getting really really wet. Mr Marshall and Anna are sitting there watching him spank me. I can see Mr Marshall's got a hard-on and he's stroking it through his trousers. Anna's naked, of course, and one of her hands is starting to wander down towards her crotch.

Pedro stops spanking me. "Wow, she is getting so wet, man!" he says. "OK, who's next to spank her?"

Anna says to Mr Marshall, "Go ahead, Steve, I'm just enjoying watching at the moment."

He says, "Well, I had a pretty good go earlier today but I don't mind another." He grabs me quite roughly by the wrist and pulls me into a standing position. Holding me upright, he delivers half a dozen sharp slaps to my burning bum. Real naughty-schoolgirl stuff, this. Then he says to Anna, "Sure you don't want a go?" She extracts her hand from between her legs, gives a wicked smile, and says, "You know what, Steve, I'm gonna spank her tits."

This is new to me, and I am a bit scared. Mr Marshall is still holding my wrist. The naked Anna walks towards me. I feel weak, light-headed. Mr Marshall puts his hand on my bum to help me stay steady. Anna aims a sharp little slap of her fingertips at my left nipple. I have never felt anything like it. The sting and burn spread up through my breast, I give a deep gasp, almost hyperventilating. Mr Marshall steadies me. Anna slaps my other tit. She giggles: "I love the way they quiver! Y'know, Sophie, I'd like to swap bodies with you for a day, just to feel what it's like having such massive tits." I feel faint and lean back against Mr Marshall. He feels strong and safe, someone who will look after me, despite all the pain and humiliation he is subjecting me to. Anna continues to slap at my tits. My nipples are engorged, dark pink. Pain and heat fill my entire body. I want to touch myself, or be touched. Out of the corner of my eye I can see that Pedro is undoing his trousers.

"Pedro, you're keen," says Mr Marshall. He steps back and gives me a couple of last really hard slaps on the bum. "Well," he says, "she looks pretty much ready to me." My wetness has been oozing down my inner thighs and into my bum crack. "Sophie," he says, "You're going to give Anna a nice licking while Pedro and I take turns in you from behind. OK?"

Anna gets onto the bed and lies back with her legs spread. I am insane with arousal, but I have never touched a woman before, let alone licked one. Still, I think to myself, as the owner of a cunt I should have some idea what to do with somebody else's. Pedro and Mr Marshall are taking off their trousers and underpants. Their erections protrude grossly from under their shirts. Mr Marshall's is the longer cock of the two whereas Pedro's is chunkier and thicker. Both are definitely big. Pedro, being American, is circumcised (why do they all do that, do you think?). Mr Marshall is not.

I kneel on the bed in front of Anna, who is pornographically exposed, with her legs wide open. She is playing idly with her clit, which is noticeably prominent. She's almost fully shaved except for a little Brazilian strip. She winks at me. "Don't worry, Sophie, just do your best, I'm sure you'll be fine. I'm that fucking horny you'll have no problems making me come."

I go down on elbows and knees and lower my head to her crotch. I make a first tentative foray with my tongue, lapping gently at her clit. Of course, I'm now in a doggy position and ready to be fucked from behind. It's funny to taste another woman. I know my own taste well, of course, and she's almost the same, of course, but there's something ever so slightly different. She moans - probably just to reassure me I'm doing it right. I lick a bit more assertively, probing in between her labia, feeling that unfamiliar sensation of slick wet flesh on my tongue. While I'm down there I hear Mr Marshall say, "After you, Pedro," and then feel the weight of someone getting on the bed behind me. There is some fumbling at my rear end and then - whoa! Pedro's inside me. He's thick; he stretches me open. I gasp but do my damnedest not to lose focus on Anna's cunt. He starts thrusting and I use the movement to help with my efforts at cunnilingus. Anna genuinely seems to like what I'm doing. Pedro spanks me from time to time, of course, as he fucks me, like blowing on the embers. He gets a good, strong rhythm going and I'm working with him, this is good, I like it. Then suddenly I feel him pull away. He says, "All yours, Steve," there's some shifting on the bed and I feel a longer cock enter me. It's Mr Marshall. Less thrusting, more grinding, as if he wants to assert how big he is and stay as deep inside me as he can, as much as he can. And he's fucking deep, feels like he's right up under my ribs. He's pushing hard, forcing my open mouth onto Anna. She's holding my head, grinding against my tongue. I'm struggling to breathe when I feel Anna tense up, grind one more time really hard and come with my mouth pressed on to her cunt. She lets out these raw, moaning shouts. Mr Marshall is still all the way inside me, pushing me hard onto Anna, forcing me to swallow her juices.




My Friend Sophie Ch. 01



Anna relaxes. Mr Marshall pulls out of me. "Nearly done, Sophie. I have to say you're doing better than I had expected. Stay on all fours now, but turn so you are facing off the edge of the bed. Anna, get ready."

I had thought Anna was well and truly finished but as I shift position I see her get off the bed, go to her handbag and take from it a frighteningly large strap-on dildo. In a businesslike way she puts it on and gets on the bed behind me. Meanwhile Pedro and Mr Marshall, both naked now, are standing in front of me with their hard cocks in their hands. As thay move towards me, Anna shoves the strap-on into me and I gasp. It's the biggest thing I've ever had inside me. She could really hurt me if she's not careful but she stays just the right side of that, thank God. I am just about getting used to being fucked by something so massive when the two men shove their cocks right in my face. "We both need sucking off, Sophie," says Mr Marshall.

What's a girl to do? I'm absolutely drunk on arousal now, it's all completely unreal. I don't rate my chances of giving a decent quality blow job to both at once so I have a dilemma of etiquette - do I start with Pedro as the birthday boy or Mr Marshall as my boss? Happy birthday, Pedro. I take his big swollen knob into my mouth and swirl my tongue around it. He says, "That's awesome, Sophie," which is kind of nice. At this point Anna could make my life really difficult but, in the world's least likely gesture of female solidarity, she is keeping her thrusts of the giant dildo slow and steady, no surprises. Cheers Anna, I owe you one.

After a short while Pedro lifts my head away from his cock and steps aside to let Mr Marshall in. I very carefully roll back his foreskin and give him the same treatment I gave Pedro. I hear Pedro say, "She's some cocksucker, huh Steve?" Mr Marshall says "Not bad at all." And you know what? I glow inwardly with pride.

So I carry on like this for a bit, switching between the two cocks on demand when suddenly Mr Marshall says "Sit up, Sophie." Anna pulls the dildo out of me - which is a fucking amazing sensation in itself - and I sit on the edge of the bed. "Both at once," says Mr Marshall.

Oh fuck. How to actually do this? They must realise that I'm a double-fellatio novice as they make it easy for me, standing close together at a slight angle so their knobs almost touch. Hmm. It occurs to me briefly that this whole episode is about the three of them using me as a medium through which to have sex with each other. I put such philosophical musings to one side and begin doing my best to lap at both cock ends at once. You know, I actually have a long tongue and it is certainly coming in useful this evening. They do not force themselves into my mouth (I think they know it would be no fun for anyone concerned) but let me lick and flick with my tongue and I can hear them breathing deeper and this is not going to take long now.

Ah, here we go. Well done, gentlemen. I wonder how they practise simultaneous ejaculation. It's an impressive trick. There's fucking gallons of it from both of them. Spurting, spraying, dripping all over my tits. I mean really all over. They wank themselves to get the last drops out. My boobs are just smothered with cum, it's dripping down onto my thighs and belly, getting everywhere. You hear the term in porn, "cum soaked slut". That's me, right there.

Then I realise - the pearl necklace. This is the long-delayed punchline of a visual pun. Quite the comedian, Mr Marshall.

He wipes his cock on my face. Pedro does likewise. My head is reeling. I've gone beyond orgasm into some state of weird transcendent horniness where climax ceases to matter and my whole body and mind are consumed by arousal. Still, let nobody say Mr Marshall is not considerate to a woman's needs. He says, "Sophie, if you need to come, feel free to masturbate."

He and Pedro are cleaning their cocks with towels from the hotel bathroom. Anna is pouring some more drinks. Now they've had their fun they seem oblivious to me so I lie back on the bed and start to play with myself. It takes me about ten seconds to reach orgasm and strangely it's not that intense. Just a very slight turning-up of the dial of my arousal which is already near its maximum. But the release still does me good. I lie there for a moment, getting my breath back. The spunk on my body, Anna's cunt juice around my mouth and my own secretions are drying. The smell of sex in the room is intoxicating. I look up and see that Anna has only poured three glasses.

"That'll be all, thank you Sophie," says Mr Marshall. "There's a car waiting to take you home. I'm afraid I'd like to reserve the shower and towels here for Pedro, Anna and me, so you'll have to get cleaned up once you're home."

Bastard.

I pull my underwear and dress on. Of course they get cum smeared all over them. My thighs are still sticky from my own juice. There is dried semen crusted on my chest (which the dress shows a lot of) and face. What the fuck am I going to look like walking through the hotel bar? I think I know the answer.

Anna, still naked, kisses me on the cheek. "Bye Sophie. You were good. You'd could be a hell of a fucking hooker, babe, if you ever wanted to."

Pedro, also naked, pecks me on the cheek. "Sophie, you were great. It was nice to meet you. Take care." Seems like a genuinely nice guy, under the circumstances.

Mr Marshall, with a towel round his waist, is more reserved but has a slight smile on his face. No kiss from him. "You did well, Sophie. I appreciate that. Rest up over the weekend and I'll see you at work on Monday."

I'm keeping my job. The deal has worked. Mr Marshall - stern but fair.

I leave the room. As the door closes behind me I'm sure I can hear the three of them laughing. Now, I suppose, he will sell some software.

I go down in the lift. I walk through the still-crowded hotel bar, not only dressed like a tart but with dried sperm visible on my face and breasts. What a fucking disgrace. And yet I feel exalted inside. The car takes me home. I go to bed naked, without showering, and masturbate myself to sleep.

********

Finally, Sophie paused. Her face was flushed - I'm sure she had become aroused. I certainly had. But she was also, clearly, extremely drunk. The telling of the story had given her some focus and momentum but now that was over I could see there was nothing much behind her eyes. I was pretty smashed too but I - sometimes to my own annoyance - have a sort of safety mechanism that kicks in and sobers me up if I realise someone with me is further gone than I am. I'm the one who looks after everyone else. It was late and the pub was closing. I called a cab.

"Sophie," I said gently, "we've had a few drinks. I can't let you go home alone like this. We'll get a cab to my place and you can stay in the spare room."

"Nonono Lee I'm fine I'll get the bus honest I'm fine."

"C'mon Soph, that would be crazy. You can crash in the spare room, yeah? Come on, pet ..."

She stood up, staggered, stopped herself from falling by grabbing the table. Smiled crookedly at me. "Yeah OK Lee, cheers. That's kind."

She fell asleep in the taxi and had to be shaken awake when we got to my place. Paul was away. I parked Sophie in the kitchen with a glass of water and quickly made up a bed in the spare room. I left there one of Paul's old t-shirts for her to sleep in, a towel, a new toothbrush, and a metal waste paper bin tactfully and tactically positioned by the bed in case she was ill in the night. I went down to the kitchen.

"Soph, your room's first right at the top of the stairs. Bathroom is opposite. Take a glass of water if you like."

She seemed to have sobered up very slightly, or at least realised how drunk she was. "Thanks Lee. You're right. Best to sleep. Listen babe, I hope you didn't mind me talking so much."

"Not at all, sweetie. It's fine."

"You could write that story, couldn't you, Lee? Send it to your porn story website thing? Sophie the submissive slut. That'd be good."

"Maybe, Soph."

"OK. G'night, Lee."

"'Night Sophie."

She made her way slowly to bed. Once movement up there had ceased I went upstairs myself. Now Sophie was safe I could feel how drunk I really was. I cleaned my teeth, drank some water, got into bed naked. When Paul is away I usually masturbate before I sleep. And given the incredibly sexual nature of the evening's conversation, it was no surprise that I was reaching for my clit almost before my head hit the pillow. I played with myself stealthily, needlessly conscious of Sophie in the next room - she was certainly dead to the world by now. And as I approached climax it was not sex with Paul that I was thinking of. Instead, my mind was filled with the image of Sophie's naked rump, raised up to receive punishment and reddening under a hail of slaps ... from whom? The entirely fictitious Pedro and Anna? The no doubt idealised Mr Marshall? Me? Paul?

Drunk, horny, excited and disconcerted, I made myself come and fell into a deep sleep.



My Friend Sophie Ch. 02



In the previous story I introduced you to my lovely friend Sophie and told you about an evening when she and I got very drunk and she told me, in great and explicit detail, about her submissive fantasies and desires, which were focused on her male boss. I'll pick up the story again on the morning after that, briefly, although I'll probably then gloss over some of the next bit of scene-setting, out of respect to your patience, and get closer to what I can only call the action. 

So here goes. The morning after.

I woke up with a beast of a hangover. For me, that always means feeling ragingly horny, so before I got out of bed I made myself come, which seemed to get the blood flowing a little and made my head feel a tiny bit better. I dragged myself into the shower and thence to the kitchen, where I sat in my dressing gown looking at a cup of coffee and trying to persuade myself to drink it. I heard movement from the room where Sophie had been sleeping, then the shower running. Eventually she came into the kitchen, wearing the baggy T shirt I had lent her to sleep in, just over her knickers.

"Morning Leanne. Thanks for letting me stay, that was really kind. How are you doing?"

"Nothing a bullet through the brain couldn't fix, thanks. How are you? Coffee?"

"Oof, you too, eh? Why do we do this to ourselves, Lee? I don't think I could manage coffee yet. A glass of water, maybe. Shit, I'm going for lunch with my parents today. I'll have to get myself into a better state before then. Still, it was fun, eh? A good night."

"Yeah, it was, I really enjoyed it." 

Silence, for a while. I was completely torn as to whether to mention the conversation that had dominated the evening - Sophie's long account of her deepest sexual fantasies. Did she even remember?

"Leanne," she began.

"Yes, hon?"

"I think you might feel a bit awkward after last night. Please don't. I don't. I remember everything I said, and I'm fine with that, OK? I enjoyed talking about it, and it's nice that you're a good enough friend that I can trust you with all of that. I just hope I didn't bore you."

"Thanks Soph. That's really sweet of you. I'm glad you trust me; the feeling's mutual. I enjoyed that conversation too. It was many things but not boring!"

Silence again, but relaxed now. Then eventually Sophie said she'd better get her act together and get home to change and ready herself for the lunch date with her mum and dad. "To be honest, Lee, I'd love to spend the day just lazing around and drinking coffee - or water - with you, but needs must, y'know? Thanks again for letting me stay. It's a lovely place you've got here. I'd like to see more of it when I'm sober!"

"Sure, pet, I'm sure we'll arrange something. I'd like that. We'll have you round for dinner. You'll get on really well with Paul, I'm sure."

"You know what, Lee, if that's him in the pictures in the hallway, he looks an awful lot like my boss Steven Marshall!" She giggled.

What a very odd thing to say, in the cold light of day, I thought. My husband reminds her of her boss who is the object of her very graphic submissive sexual fantasies. The uninhibited conversation of the previous evening was one thing, but this unsettled me.

"Ha, really? Well, maybe they're long lost relatives or something ..."

She smiled, and went upstairs to get dressed. Of course, I was now able to visualise Sophie's fantasies in more detail - with Paul as a major character. Strange. And not entirely unpleasant. Well, that gives me something to think about as I shake off the hangover, I thought.

Sophie took her leave of me. I felt lonely after she'd gone. And still remarkably horny, in a confused-teenager kind of way.

I subjected you to quite enough extraneous detail in the last story so now I'm going to do my best to cut to something nearer the chase. I'm not going to go deeply into how I told Paul about Sophie's and my conversation and how her fantasies were a very pleasant addition to Paul's and my sex life when he came home. I'm not going to give you word-for-word on my subsequent conversations with Sophie. On how, tentatively and without daring to admit it, I was brokering a realisation of her fantasies, with Paul and me in the dominant roles.

At some point, I had to tell myself. I was going to have a threesome.

I remember years ago another friend of mine, Karen, joking about threesomes. "What do you think the third person actually does, Leanne? I mean, I know what happens in porn but can you actually imagine that in real life? I mean, really? How does any of them know what they're supposed to be doing at a given moment?" It's not a bad question. Especially in the two-women-one-man scenario. I mean, with two guys and a girl there are at least some basics of anatomy that, well, facilitate simultaneous participation by all involved, let's say. I had fantasised about threesomes in both combinations, of course, and imagined them in Literotica stories, but I had no idea what it would actually be like. And I could not deny that there were a couple of pretty fucking big thresholds to be crossed: I would be having sex with a woman for the first time; and, perhaps more of a challenge, I would be witnessing Paul having sex with someone else.

The safety thing was straightforward - for everybody's peace of mind, if Paul penetrated Sophie he would do so only with a condom (Paul and I do not use them, as he has a vasectomy and we have both tested negative for HIV). If Paul penetrated Sophie. If my darling husband put his cock inside the cunt of this nice girl I met at evening class. It was a very arousing and distinctly troubling thought.

It will come as no surprise that it took me a while to fully commit to the whole thing. Paul ... well, Paul was supportive of me, and interested in his own right, although he too had to work his way past some barriers. These were also to do with him being permitted - required, even - to fuck someone other than me. He did not have so much of an issue with me having sex with Sophie in his presence. Which goes to prove, I suppose, that even such a very enlightened, liberal, feminist man as my beloved Paul can't resist a lesbian show.

I was also concerned that Paul might be under pressure to perform, physically. While he and I love what we do in bed, I wondered whether Sophie's expectations of him might be driven by fantasy or pornography rather than what a reasonably healthy 40-something man could realistically do. I hoped that the accent would be on the roleplay rather than physical sexual athleticism.

Sophie was just very keen, and I was grateful for her patience while Paul and I sorted our heads out.

This is what we agreed on, in the end: we would not try to act out Sophie's "Mr Marshall" story - not just because we were one person short, but because she'd developed that scenario in such depth in her own mind, that any attempt to realise it would probably spoil it for her. Instead, we decided to adapt a teacher-pupil thing that Paul and I had played around with before (not wishing to tout my own Literotica stories too much, but "Headmistress" is based on this). Paul would be the Headmaster, Mr Sinclair. I would be a more junior teacher, Miss Price. And Sophie would be Sophie, a sixth former (i.e. final year student, eighteen or nineteen years old) who had committed various misdemeanours and needed to be disciplined. We agreed an outline "plot", leaving room for improvisation. We made a date for one Saturday afternoon in summer, a few days before Paul and I were due to go on holiday. Lunch at our place, followed by three-way roleplay and sex. Let nobody say that life in the London suburbs is uneventful.

When the day dawned I was screaming inwardly with excitement and apprehension. Outwardly, I was quiet and thoughtful, as was Paul. In tense situations I normally have what is, no doubt, an irritating habit of asking him repeatedly for reassurance - is it going to be OK, are we doing the right thing, what if it goes wrong, and so on. This time, for some reason, I did not. At some point during the day each asked the other if they were OK. That was about it. Paul (who is the cook in our little household) busied himself preparing lunch: grilled trout, pasta salad. There was white wine in the fridge. I made sure that our clothes were ready for later, and that the living room was ready to be adapted to purpose: items of furniture arranged appropriately; towels, bathrobes, tissues and condoms easily to hand. Perhaps this is what it's like running a brothel or swingers' club, I thought.

It occurs to me, by the way, that I have yet to describe Paul to you. He is a few years older than me, so in his early forties when all this was happening. He is just under six feet tall, slim and fit although not conspicuously athletic. He has very very beautiful green eyes, rather sad and utterly compelling, with unusually long eyelashes for a man (I sometimes notice that they brush the inside of his glasses lenses). His short, dark brown hair has a scattering of grey in it but has not started to thin at all. His hands are slim and delicate. He has a calm, wise face - he's the sort of person that others turn to for reassurance. He can come across as shy or reserved, because he tends to talk when he has something worth saying, not just to fill a silence or make small talk. When he does speak, it is in a soft, clear voice, and he weighs his words carefully.

It was a relief when the taxi arrived with Sophie in it (like many Londoners, she did not own a car). I walked down the driveway to greet her with a hug. She was dressed in a tight white t-shirt, three-quarter length pale pink trousers, and sandals. She looked fresh, pretty, young and sexy. Fuck, I thought to myself, maybe I am bisexual. I really fancy this girl. She had brought with her a dessert (summer fruit crumble), some flowers, and a small holdall "for later on". 

We ate outdoors, on the patio. It was a very beautiful summer afternoon. We don't get many of those in England but when they do come along they are glorious - they have an indefinable quality you don't get elsewhere. Something to do with lush green grass, and long daylight hours, I think. Bees and butterflies buzzed and fluttered around the marjoram and rosemary in our herb patch. Somewhere nearby, a blackbird was singing. The three of us ate, drank and chatted. Well, I thought to myself, even if what happens afterwards goes disastrously wrong, at least we'll have had a lovely afternoon together.

Eventually, Sophie said "Shall we ... er ...?"

I cleared the lunch plates away. Paul and I went to our bedroom, and Sophie to the spare room, to get changed. To be Miss Price, I put on a dark grey skirt over sheer black holdup stockings, and a plain dark red blouse. My underwear was black and lacy. I tied my hair back neatly and put on the glasses that I wear to drive and watch TV. Plain, low-heeled black shoes and small, discreet gold earrings completed the look. Paul wore a dark suit over a pale blue work shirt, with a dark blue tie and smart black shoes. He did not wear any underpants.

Paul and I got into our positions in the living room. He sat at the small folding dining table - his desk. I sat to one side in a dining chair. We heard Sophie's footsteps coming down the stairs. There was a soft knock at the living room door. Paul was straight into his role.

"Come in!"

Another knock.

"See who that is, would you, Miss Price?"

I walked towards the door and opened it. "Sophie Booth to see you, Headmaster," I said as Sophie stepped into the room and pretty much stopped my heart.

I want to be clear about this - she didn't look like an eighteen year old schoolgirl. She looked like a twenty-eight year old woman who knew all the sexual signifiers of the older-schoolgirl role in adult roleplay and had embraced them with great enthusiasm and attention to detail. That was what was so fucking sexy about her.

She had pulled her hair back into a short ponytail, leaving an untidy fringe. She wore no make-up or jewellery. She was chewing gum. Her skirt was dark blue. She had tucked the waistband over itself a couple of times to make it shorter - too short for her, certainly, and made more so by the way that her wide hips pushed it out, so that it revealed more thigh than any self-respecting school would permit. She wore knee-length dark blue socks and plain black flat shoes. Her white shirt was just too tight, so that it stretched across her big bust and gaped between the buttons, showing the white lace of her bra. The top two buttons were undone. A tie with blue and grey diagonal stripes was fastened only loosely round her neck, with the wide end of the tie left far too short. Over her shoulder was a brown leather satchel. She'd said before that this was in fact her real school uniform from years ago, lovingly kept.

She could have looked ridiculous. But what stopped that was the way she inhabited the character. She slouched ever so slightly, at the same time maintaining a tension in her body, a subtle contrapposto. One hip jutted almost imperceptibly to one side. Despite the lazy posture, her shoulders were drawn back and down so as to emphasise her bust. The look in her eyes managed to be assertive, not quite insolent, and at the same time a little nervous. She gave the impression of someone just about coming to terms with - and perhaps a bit frightened of - the sexual firepower that Nature had bestowed on her. 

"You wanted to see me, Sir?" She had managed somehow to make her voice lighter, younger-sounding.

"Indeed, Sophie," said Paul. "Now, stand up straight when I'm talking to you."

She straightened up, which had the effect of emphasising her breasts even more.

"I am very concerned about a number of aspects of your behaviour, Sophie," Paul continued, in an even, serious tone. "Things have reached a stage where we can no longer turn a blind eye. I fear that you are not only failing to realise your own potential but are a disruptive influence. That is why I have asked to see you."

"I'm sorry, Sir, I can't imagine what you're referring to ... " she interjected with just enough righteous hurt.

Paul continued: "As you know, school rules stipulate that for any meeting between a male staff member and female pupil, a female staff member must be present, which is why Miss Price is here to witness our conversation and make any comments as she sees fit. Miss Price, do you have anything to add?"

My cue. "Well, Headmaster, I know you will be outlining the major concerns but I must say I am not at all pleased with Sophie's appearance. I would hope that a pupil of this school would wear the uniform with pride, not in the slovenly manner we see before us today." I got up and started to walk around Sophie, inspecting her.

"Quite right, Miss Price, I fear that Sophie's appearance is indicative of her attitude, which in turn informs her problematic behaviour" said Paul, sagely.

I picked up the baton. "Spit out that chewing gum, Sophie." I passed her a tissue. As she dropped the gum into it I saw a flicker of her moist pink tongue. It was an oddly intimate moment. I took the tissue from her and dropped it in the bin. Then I flicked Sophie's skirt with my fingertips. "This is far too short, to begin with."

"But Miss ..." Sophie began.

"I'm talking, Sophie," I said sternly. "The tie is a disgrace. And the shirt is at least a size too small."

"But Miss," she protested, "My Mum says it's really difficult to find a school shirt that fits me properly, because I'm quite ... you know ... because of my ... " she looked down in embarrassment.

"Your unusually large breasts, you mean, Sophie?" said Paul, calmly. I felt a wild rush of arousal. Christ, if I was like this before we'd so much as touched each other, what was the rest going to be like?

"Y ... yes sir," stammered Sophie.

"You know, Headmaster," I said, "This is not the first time we've seen this issue. Do you remember Sandra Baxter? Perhaps we should have a word with the uniform suppliers."

"Yes, quite, Miss Price, although I must say I don't recall Sandra or Kim flaunting their physiques in quite the way that Sophie seems to insist on, do you?" said Paul.

"Indeed no, Headmaster," I replied. "Sophie, we will leave the matter of your uniform for the moment. I believe the Headmaster has some more serious concerns."

Paul cleared his throat. "So, Sophie, let's start with something very simple. You were not in school yesterday afternoon. Where were you?"

"Um ... yesterday ..." she made great play of trying to remember, "Yes, Sir, I wasn't feeling very well so I went home at lunch time. My Mum said she'd phone the school and let you know. Didn't she phone? She must have forgotten. I'm sorry, Sir."

"Sophie," said Paul, "Your mother did not call us. And my secretary went to buy printer paper in town yesterday afternoon and saw you in the High Street, coming out of Ann Summers with a shopping bag. Could you explain that to me, please, Sophie?"

(Note to readers outside the UK: Ann Summers is a chain of sex shops, adult stores, whatever you want to call them, thoroughly respectable and mainstream, open to over 18s only. They sell sex toys, underwear, DVDs and so on.)

Sophie stammered, "Sir ... there must be some mistake ..."

"I think not, Sophie. You were wearing the school uniform. I checked the register. No other girls were absent that afternoon."

Sophie bit her lip and looked up and away, evading Paul's and my glance.

I chipped in. "What did you buy in Ann Summers, Sophie?"

"Nothing Miss, I was just looking ..."

"You were seen with a shopping bag, Sophie."

"It was nothing, Miss, well, sort of nothing ..."

"Sophie ..."

"All right, Miss. I bought a pair of knickers and ... and ... "

"Yes?"

"Something else."

"You are trying my patience, Sophie."

"It ... it was a toy, Miss."

We were all silent for a moment. Then Paul spoke: "Where are these items now, Sophie?"

She gulped. "I'm ... I'm wearing the knickers, Sir. And the toy is in my bag."

"Show us, please, Sophie."

"But Sir, please ..."

"Show us, Sophie."

She reached into the satchel and pulled out an Ann Summers carrier bag. From it she removed a strap-on dildo. I reached out my hand. "Give that to me, Sophie." She passed it to me and I placed it on the Headmaster's desk where it lay, gross, obscene, hilarious.

Paul said, "We'll talk about that shortly, Sophie. But I asked you to show Miss Price and me what you bought. You mentioned a pair of knickers."

"Yes Sir, I'm wearing them."

"Show us, Sophie."

"Oh but Sir, please, please ..."

"I said, show us."

She lifted her skirt high above her waist. Adorning the curves of her hips and crotch was a pair of scarlet lace knickers in what is marketed these days in the UK as Brazilian style - basically hipster briefs with a thong gusset. The mesh of the lace was quite wide and the pale skin of her hairless mound was clearly visible through it.

Paul said to me, "Miss Price, does that item of clothing conform with school regulations for girls?"

"One moment, Headmaster," I replied. I bent to look closely at her groin."Sophie, turn round and lift your skirt."

She obeyed. The knickers were lacy all over. They clung tightly to her full, round buttocks, flattering them very nicely. The cleft of her bottom showed through the lace. Again, I inspected her closely.

"Headmaster," I said, "school regulations call for plain cotton knickers, white or navy blue, with no more than five millimetres of lace trim in the same colour as the main fabric, at the waist and/or leg openings. The knickers that Sophie has on here clearly contravene that rule."

"I thought so," said Paul. "Sophie, take them off."

She looked horrified, "Sir! Please!"

"You are not permitted to wear non-regulation clothing in school during school hours, Sophie, as you very well know. Take them off. You may have them again at the end of the day."




My Friend Sophie Ch. 02



Reluctantly, Sophie fumbled under her skirt. She wriggled her knickers down her legs. They caught on her shoes. She stumbled a little as she disentangled them. She screwed them into a ball and passed them to me. In my hand I could feel that they were warm from her body. I was almost fainting with excitement as I placed the knickers on the Headmaster's desk. Sophie straightened her skirt, under which she was now naked.

Paul seemed to be thinking deeply. "Sophie," he said eventually, "you clearly need to be disciplined, as a matter of some urgency. I am not confident that the usual, rather drawn-out process will serve our present purpose."

"Sir?" she said.

"I propose to administer a summary punishment here and now, before we go any further."

"What do you mean, Sir?"

"Corporal punishment, Sophie. Physical discipline. I am enough of a traditionalist to believe that some old-fashioned ways still have their place."

Sophie did a very good job of appearing frightened. "But Sir ... Sir ... surely you don't mean you're going to ...?"

"Spank you, yes Sophie. On your bottom. And it will serve as training for Miss Price, too. It will be the first time she has been involved in a sanction of this nature. Bend over the desk, Sophie."

She seemed almost to be genuinely crying. For a second I wondered if we were going too far, too fast. But no, she was just a very good actor.

"Sir ... please ... you know I'm not wearing any knickers. My bottom's bare under here."

"Yes, Sophie, we are fully aware of that, and you have only yourself to blame for coming to school in underwear better suited to a lap dancing club or brothel than a prestigious educational establishment. Bend over the desk."

She stepped up to the table and bent over it with her arms stretched out in front of her and her face down. Her breasts were squashed against the table top. She straightened her legs and set her weight back on her heels so as to push her bottom out. Her posture managed to combine sexual provocation with meek subjugation.

"Miss Price," said Paul, "please lift Sophie's skirt."

The Grand Ceremonial Unveiling of Sophie Booth's Naked Arse. I lifted her skirt right up and flipped it over so it rested on the small of her back. Her glorious round buttocks were completely exposed. I stepped back, Paul stepped forward.

"Sophie, I will begin the punishment but I will ask Miss Price to take over at some stage."

And Paul began to spank Sophie. Now, he'd done this to me plenty of times so he knew what he was doing. Sharp slaps at a steady rhythm, on the fleshiest part of the buttock. They sounded loud, and I knew they would sting. Sophie was whimpering; her body seemed tense. The skin of her bum began to redden. Paul speeded up, and increased the strength of his blows, very slightly. I could see that Sophie was subtly pushing her bum out towards us, seeking the spanking. A cat on heat. Paul paused.

"Miss Price, I would like you to continue the punishment." he said. "You have seen the correct method, as I have just demonstrated."

Well, this was it. The first time in my life that I would touch another woman sexually. And I would do it by smacking her on the arse. Again, I was used to spanking Paul's lean, taut male buttocks, but the soft fullness of Sophie's bum was something new to me. I took up my position, breathed deeply and aimed a first, firm slap. Sophie whimpered gratifyingly. The feel of her smooth naked skin, the slight give of her flesh under my hand - these were new, exciting sensations for me. Gaining in confidence, I spanked faster and harder. Sophie writhed under the bombardment, whining and whimpering softly, "Miss Price ... please ... I'm sorry ... please ..."

I gave her about as long as I normally give Paul. When I stopped, Paul said, "Excellent, Miss Price, you did that quite correctly. Sophie, stay where you are for a moment but please move your feet so that they are about hip width apart." She obeyed. Paul stood behind her and looked down at her. "Miss Price," he said, "Take a look at this. Would you agree that Sophie has become sexually aroused in response to our spanking?"

We made great play of bending low and scrutinising her pussy from behind. Paul was right, of course. Her labia were beginning to swell and there was a glisten of moistness on them. 

"Interesting, Headmaster," I said. I don't think we've seen a response like this since Katie Bishop, a couple of years ago."

"Indeed, Miss Price. Well, it certainly leads us to what, in any event, was the next item on the agenda. Sophie, stand up and face us, please."

Sophie stood up. Her face was red, and her shirt had become crumpled by being pressed against the table. She straightened her skirt as best she could.

"Can I go now, please Sir?"

"Absolutely not, Sophie," said Paul, "that was just the punishment element of our meeting. There is some educational material to cover, too."

"Educational, Sir?"

"Yes, Sophie. When you decided not to attend classes yesterday you missed the compulsory Advanced Sex Education lesson for final-year students. It is a legal requirement for all students in your year to attend. You will therefore now have what is in fact a privilege, as Miss Price and I go over the content with you individually."

(Yes, yes, I know. It was a pretty clumsy plot device. But the purpose was just to move us from one bit of sexual activity to the other while staying more or less within the roleplay scenario, right? What did you expect, Chekhov?)

"What do you mean, Sir?" asked Sophie.

I replied. "Sophie, do you know what an erogenous zone is?"

"Er ... isn't it something to do with earthquakes or volcanoes, Miss?"

For a second we all worked hard to stop ourselves from laughing. "No Sophie," I said, "or at least only in a very figurative sense. An erogenous zone is a part of your body which is susceptible to sexual stimulation. We've just seen an example of this, haven't we?"

"I don't know what you mean, Miss."

"When the Headmaster and I spanked your bottom, you became sexually aroused, didn't you, Sophie?"

"Miss?"

"Turned on, Sophie. Horny. It was clear when we looked at you."

Sophie looked down in embarrassment, saying nothing. Paul intervened. "Sophie, do you know some other erogenous zones in the adult female?"

"Don't know, Sir." (Sullen, uncooperative.)

"I think you do, Sophie. Let's have a demonstration, shall we? Please take off your shirt and your bra."

She looked shocked. "But Sir! That ... that would mean you would see my breasts!"

"It's all right, Sophie, Miss Price is here to make sure that nothing untoward happens."

"But Sir! Pleeeeease!!"

I interjected, speaking gently and solicitously. Her chaperone, with her well-being at heart. "Sophie, would you feel more comfortable if I were to remove my own blouse and bra first, so that my breasts are exposed? If I were to do that, would you be prepared to expose your own breasts? Sophie?"

"I ... I suppose so, Miss."

"What an excellent idea, Miss Price!" Paul beamed.

.

I could actually hear the rush of my own blood in my veins as I unbuttoned my blouse, took it off and placed it on the arm of the sofa. I took off my bra, laid it on top of the blouse. I stood straight, with my shoulders back and arms by my sides, my breasts naked. Now, if I say so myself, I've got pretty good tits. I like them, and so does everyone I've ever shown them to. My bra size, as I think I have mentioned before, is 34E. They are natural, full and heavy. The fact that the rest of me is rather slight emphasises them. My nipples are wide and flat when at rest, but when erect - as they were now - they pucker into prominent pink points.

"Thank you, Miss Price," said Paul, calmly. "Now, Sophie, please would you do likewise?"

"Yes Sir," she said, meekly. She unbuttoned her shirt, took it off and handed it to me. I placed it on the pile of my own clothes. She was wearing a pretty white lacy bra. She unclipped that, and gave it to me. It was warm in my hand, as her knickers had been. The tie stayed on, hanging untidily into her cleavage. She stood up straight, hands by her sides.

Sophie had previously made it clear that it was a huge turn-on for her to have a lot of attention paid to her breasts, even in ways that might seem embarrassing or humiliating. As I said in the first part of the story, they are, quite frankly, massive. I did not get a look at the label when she passed me her bra, but I'm guessing that she is a good two cup sizes up from me, with a bigger back size. So, let's say, if I'm 34E she's probably 36G. They look right - to say the least! - because her broader shoulders and ribcage (compared to me) mean she carries them high and prominently, and they are very full and firm. Nature has been kind to our Sophie, no doubt about that.

"Thank you, Sophie," said Paul. "You really do have remarkably large breasts, don't you? Doesn't she, Miss Price? It's rare we see a student with breasts the size of Sophie's."

"True, Headmaster. I think Sophie is even better endowed than Sandra Baxter."

"Whatever happened to Sandra, Miss Price?"

"She went to work for an adult cable channel, Headmaster. Doing rather well, I believe."

"I'm pleased to hear that. Sophie, that might be a career option for you, of course."

"Yes Sir, thank you Sir," said Sophie, meekly.

I put on my concerned voice again. "Sophie, I know what it's like to have a large bust. Do you find it makes your back ache?"

"Sometimes, Miss, thank you, but my Mum makes sure she buys me good quality bras. She's got really big ones too, so she understands."

"That's good, Sophie. And do you find that other girls in the school get envious of your breasts, or perhaps even tease you about them?"

"Yes, Miss," said Sophie. "They call me things like 'Melons' or 'Booby Bird'. When we get changed for games, some of them still really stare at me. Tracey Williams keeps asking me if they're real, and trying to touch them to make sure. Just because she's flat chested. It's not fair, Miss."

"Well, Sophie, I shall have a word with Tracey about that, it's certainly not acceptable behaviour. Although I understand why she would be so obsessed with your breasts, Sophie, as her own are so tiny. In the meantime perhaps you should see it as a misguided compliment."

"Yes Miss, thank you Miss."

I could see a bulge in Paul's trousers. He was clearly enjoying the spectacle of two big-titted woman, both topless, talking about their breasts. And God knows, I was loving being one of those women. But it was time to move the plot on a little. "Headmaster," I said, "should we proceed with the demonstration about erogenous zones?"

"Indeed, Miss Price," said Paul. He walked over to Sophie and, with one hand, very very gently brushed the backs of his fingers over each of her breasts in turn. Suddenly, I was watching Paul touch another woman sexually. What a complex situation. And what a simple response it engendered in me: I fucking loved it. I saw Sophie give a little shudder of pleasure, exactly as I do when Paul touches me like that. The little pink buds of her nipples puckered.

"How does that feel, Sophie?" asked Paul.

"Really nice, sir. Really sexy. My nipples are getting hard, Sir."

"And does it feel nice anywhere else apart from in your breasts, Sophie?"

"Yes Sir," she looked down, "you know ... down there ..."

"Exactly, Sophie. That means your breasts are erogenous zones." He carried on stroking her. "If I stimulate them, you become sexually aroused. I am not actually touching your genitals at the moment, but I am confident that your vagina is becoming wet with lubricating secretions. Am I right?"

"Yes Sir."

"I think it will be interesting to see whether it is only the male touch that you respond to. The diversity of human sexuality is a core topic for the lesson in question. Miss Price, would you help to investigate, please?"

Very lightly, I too stroked Sophie's breasts. She caught her breath and half closed her eyes. Both Paul and I were stroking her. "Are you getting even wetter, Sophie?" I said. She nodded wordlessly. Paul licked his fingertips and very gently tweaked one of her nipples. I did likewise. She let out a tiny moan. Emboldened, I took the weight of one of her breasts in my hand as I continued to rub her nipple with my moistened thumb. I have very small hands, and her breast seemed enormous as it rested there.

Paul spoke very softly. "You are obviously responsive to the touch of either a man or a woman, Sophie. That is very positive. You will be glad of this in later life."

"Yes Sir," she whispered. "Thank you Sir. Thank you Miss Price."

Paul bent his head to her breast, lifted it to his mouth and began to suck. Sophie moaned more loudly. Without even thinking, I followed suit and took her other breast into my mouth. I felt with my tongue the tight nub of her nipple, the slight roughness of the areola. The flesh of her tit filled my mouth. She let out a sob of pleasure as both Paul and I sucked, steadily. I was insanely aroused by now. I could feel that my knickers were saturated in cunt juice, to a point where it felt quite uncomfortable. But it would be a little while yet before I could take them off. I sucked harder. Sophie sobbed more loudly. Then both Paul and I pulled away. Our saliva glistened on her tits.

"Sophie," said Paul, "do you like touching your own breasts?"

"Yes sir. It feels nice." Her eyes had a glazed look, drugged by her own arousal.

I said, "Sophie, do you touch your genitals as well? Do you masturbate?"

"Miss, do I have to say? Will it get me into trouble?"

"Sophie, just answer the question, please."

"Yes Miss. I touch myself a lot. Every day, really. But I'm worried because Mrs Johnson in Religious Studies says it's very bad to masturbate. I'm frightened something bad will happen to me."

"Sophie," I said, "Mrs Johnson has your best interests at heart but she has some rather old-fashioned beliefs. As far as I am concerned, it is entirely natural and healthy for a young woman with a powerful sex drive to masturbate regularly. Much better than suppressing your urges. As long as it is done in private. In private, Sophie."

Sophie looked down guiltily. Paul spoke. "I think what Miss Price means, Sophie, is that it is not acceptable to touch yourself under your desk during lessons. Or to hand in homework with damp fingerprints on it. Do you know what I am talking about, Sophie?"

She said nothing.

"Or," Paul continued, "to take boys behind the gym block at break times and give them displays of masturbation in exchange for money. What do you have to say about that, Sophie?"

"I ... I'm sorry, Sir," she whispered.

"Oh dear, Sophie," I said, "you know what this means, don't you?"

"Yes, Miss. Oh no, Miss ...."

I took her firmly by the wrist and led her back to the table. "Bend over again, Sophie!" She did. This time, of course, her breasts were naked as she pressed them down onto the table. I flipped her skirt up again. It was not very straightforward for Paul and me to both spank her at the same time as we are both right-handed. Paul, gentleman that he is, went on the "wrong" side. We rained a short and really pretty forceful salvo of blows onto her arse, which was blushing a deep red. She whined and sobbed, "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! I know I'm a bad girl but I can't help it! I need to touch myself all the time! Pleeeeeease! Sir!"

We relented. She stood up, straightened her skirt, and faced us, flushed and sweating. For a moment all was silent - were we running out of steam? Then Paul spoke.

"Sophie, I would like you to show us how you masturbate, please."

"Sir, do I really have to?"

"Yes, Sophie, you do. It is important that we monitor the physical and sexual wellbeing of our students, and part of this is continuing to monitor your sexual responsiveness."

(Nonsense, of course, but see my previous comment about Chekhov.)

"Can I sit down to do it, Sir?"

I grabbed one of the towels that I had placed in readiness earlier on, and spread it out on the sofa. Sophie pulled her skirt up round her waist, sat on the towel and, well, spread herself out on the sofa. She sat back and pulled her legs apart and up, flexing at the knees, into something like a birthing position. Her cunt was a slick pink gash against her smooth white skin. The curves of her breasts, belly, thighs and crotch interlinked with a wonderful geometry. She put me in mind of some ancient fertility goddess. The Venus of West London. She began to rub her clit with one hand, and tweak at a nipple with another.

"Well, Miss Price," said Paul thoughtfully, "Sophie certainly seems very much at ease with her own body and her own sexual instincts, don't you think?"

"Yes, Headmaster," I replied. "I only wish all of our senior girls were this attuned to their deepest needs, it would make them far more healthy and relaxed. If I may make a suggestion, Headmaster?"

"Of course, Miss Price."

"I'd like Sophie to teach other girls how to masturbate, how to release sexual tension, for those that are more inhibited. I feel she could be a great help."

"What an excellent suggestion, Miss Price. Sophie, would you be prepared to do that?"

Sophie was breathing heavily now, only able to speak between gasps. "If ... if that's what you want, Sir ... yes, Sir."

Paul took it to another level. "Sophie, I'm just going to test your arousal with my finger. I'll be quite gentle." He reached down. As I watched, he pushed his middle finger inside Sophie. She whined, and tugged at her nipples. "Very healthy indeed." pronounced Paul sagely. "Labia engorged. Abundant lubrication. Miss Price, would you like to feel for yourself?"

So, a few moments after I had seen my husband put his finger up another woman's cunt, I was about to do the same. Quite an afternoon. My small middle finger slipped into her tight wet hole very easily. So, so strange how the inside of a vagina - such as I feel with that same finger on a very frequent basis - could feel so alien as well as familiar. I kept my hand there. "Yes, Headmaster," I said, "Sophie is clearly very responsive."

Paul said, "Sophie, what do you think about when you masturbate?"

Her voice was thick and hoarse as she replied, just about getting the words out between gasped breaths. "I ... I think about cocks, Sir."

"Cocks, eh Sophie? And what do you imagine doing with these cocks, as you call them, in your masturbatory daydreams?"

"Touching them, Sir ... and sucking them ... and letting men put their cocks inside me, Sir, like Miss Price's finger is now ... Emma Newman says she'd like one up her bottom but I think that would hurt, Sir ..."

"Have you ever seen or touched a man's penis, or cock, rather, in real life?"

"No Sir ... that's why I bought the toy ... Emma and Hannah and I were going to practise with it, Sir ..."

"I see. Well perhaps it is time you saw what you have been imagining. By way of education." Paul was unzipping his flies.

Now, as this is a pornographic story, and I have already dwelt at some length (so to speak) on the size of Sophie's and my breasts, I suppose it is incumbent on me to mention the size of Paul's penis. Cock size is not something that matters too much to me, I must say. But one day, just for a laugh, we did try to measure Paul's erection. It's rather difficult to do with any precision, as we found. But we eventually agreed that it was probably around seven and a half inches long. It is also thick - nearly as thick as my very slim wrist - unhelpful, I know. We were measuring with a metal tape so couldn't do the circumference. It's very straight and juts out at just above right angles to his body. I love it, of course, and to be honest I don't think I'd want him to be much bigger. When I read about guys with nine inch pricks I just wince. Oh, and just to complete the picture, Paul does not trim or shave his body hair in any way. Neither he nor I sees the attraction of the hairless look in men.




My Friend Sophie Ch. 02



Anyway - Paul eased his cock out through his flies. Unconstrained, it throbbed into full erection. I felt relieved for Paul. We didn't need to find some fallback scenario for him not getting a hard-on. So, onwards and upwards ...

"Sir," said Sophie, "it's really big."

"In fact, Sophie, my penis is not abnormally large. You are likely to encounter both bigger and smaller ones as you go through life." said Paul. "You may touch it."

Paul stood very close to the sofa. Sophie reached out tentatively and held Paul's rigid shaft in her small, soft hand. My finger was still inside her.

"Sir, it's so hard ..."

"Yes, Sophie, I am highly aroused."

"And the skin is so smooth, Sir. Is that so it will go inside a woman's pussy really easily?"

"That's right, Sophie. Especially when that woman's pussy - vagina, I should say - is heavily lubricated, as yours is now. I think you are ready to take a penis inside you - would you agree, Miss Price?"

This was it. This was where we would commit to Paul fucking Sophie. And Paul, in a coded way, was checking for my approval. I could barely get the words out. "Yes, Headmaster, she is clearly very aroused, and very well lubricated. She may be a little tight but I do not see that as a problem."

"Excellent, thank you Miss Price," said Paul. "Now, Sophie, as well as taking my penis inside you I would like you to be aware of the female sexual response in another woman, not just yourself. While I get myself ready, would you suck Miss Price's nipples, please?" I wondered if this was a, er, titbit for me in recognition of my forebearance of him fucking Sophie. What the hell, I was utterly high on arousal by now, living a pornographic dream. I let my finger slip from Sophie's cunt. She sat up on the sofa, her face level with my breasts, and sucked one of them deep into her mouth. I moaned uncontrollably. She sucked hard, pinched slightly with her teeth. The sight of my big tit disappearing into her pretty little mouth made me almost faint with horniness. I stroked her hair - the first affectionate as opposed to sexual gesture of the whole episode. "Good girl, Sophie," I said. "Do you like doing that?"

She lifted her head away for a moment. "Yes Miss. Miss, you've got really big nipples. They stick out much more than mine." It was true. She sucked on my other tit, deep and hard again.

"Yes Sophie ... nipple erection ... nnhh ... nipple erection is a clear sexual response in the adult female ... ohhhh ..." I was starting to lose my grip on my role, and to be honest I wasn't too worried.

Paul, meanwhile, was taking his shoes off.

(That may be the most radical line I'll ever write on Literotica. Look carefully at all the porn stories you read. How often do you find out when the man got a moment to take his shoes off?)

"Sophie," he said, "I can see that Miss Price is also very aroused, which is to be expected. I would like to see if you can bring her to orgasm. We will call it an exercise in sexual altruism. Miss Price, would you perhaps like to take your skirt and knickers off and lie on the floor? Sophie, be a good girl and place a cushion for Miss Price's head, and a towel for her to lie on. I think you should take your skirt off, too, it will be less cumbersome for what I have in mind."

Sophie and I obeyed. As he spoke, Paul undressed as far as his shirt, which he unbuttoned. His cock jutted from his thick, dark pubic hair. I was now naked except for my stockings, Sophie likewise but for socks, and the tie which still hung between her breasts. I lay on the floor and opened my legs. I desperately wanted to touch myself, but that was not quite in the script. Paul picked up a condom from a side table.

"Sophie, you know what one of these is, don't you? It is very important to get into the habit of using them, insisting on them, even, when you do eventually have sex with boys, which I suspect will be quite soon."

"Yes Sir, thank you Sir," said Sophie as Paul rolled the condom down his shaft. He was discreetly stroking his cock to sustain his hard-on.

"So, Sophie," said Paul. "I would like you to get on your hands and knees with your head between Miss Price's legs, and your bottom raised up towards me. I would like you to stimulate Miss Price's genitals with your lips and tongue. This is called cunnilingus. You will appreciate it when it is done well to you, even more so if you have had a try yourself. At the same time, I will penetrate your vagina with my penis, from behind."

"From behind, Sir?"

"Yes, Sophie. No need to worry, I will only enter your vagina, not your anus, today at least. If you have ever seen dogs or horses mating you will understand what I mean."

"So does that mean I have to be like a bitch for you, Sir?"

"If you like to put it that way then yes, Sophie, you will be my bitch."

I was beginning to wonder when they would stop talking and get on with all the fucking and licking. Mine were the only genitals in the room that had not yet been touched. Then Sophie assumed the position Paul had requested and ... fucking hell. Of course, I had been licked out hundreds of times, but the sensation of it being a woman - the soft skin of her face against my inner thighs, her small, delicate mouth - was completely new. My nice friend Sophie was a talented and enthusiastic cuntlicker. Who'd have thought it? Her tongue seemed long but she used it gently and subtly, flicking and caressing my labia and clit. She kissed softly with her lips. She played lovingly with my pubic hair, using her tongue. I started to spin out of control, to let out some most unladylike animal moans and shouts. Sophie paused for breath.

"Miss, I really like the taste of your pussy. It's really really wet, too, just like mine."

"Tha ... thank you Sophie ... you are ... you are stimulating me very effectively ... good girl ..."

"And Miss, I never knew a hairy pussy could look and feel so nice, it's really - ooh, Sir!"

The "ooh, Sir!" meant that Paul had shoved his cock inside her. From where I lay, I looked past the ripe curves of her buttocks to where my darling Paul loomed over both of us, looking me straight in the eye as he steadily ground himself into Sophie, occasionally slapping her bum. She returned her face to my cunt and let Paul's thrusts push her outstretched tongue against my clit, rhythmically. Occasionally she looked up and cried, "Sir, your cock's so big!" or "You're stretching my pussy, Sir!" or something similar before going down on me again. I stroked her hair, pushed my pubis against her mouth, smiled crazily at Paul and came like a fucking firecracker.

No point trying to describe in words an orgasm like that. I thrashed and twitched, I yelled and moaned. It faded, then came back. It went on for what seemed like minutes. I felt faint. I lost control of my breathing. If I'd felt like that in any other context I'd have called a doctor. As it was, I luxuriated in it, letting my thrilled cunt take control of me.

For a moment, everyone was still and quiet. Paul eased himself out of Sophie, causing her to gasp softly, and took the condom off. It had probably helped him to delay his own climax. He said, "So, Sophie, you have felt another woman's orgasm."

"Yes Sir," she said, kneeling up, and looking down at my sopping crotch. "It was really strong. Miss Price must have been very horny." I nodded, wordlessly. I seemed for a moment to have mislaid my powers of speech.

"Yes," said Paul. "Like you, Sophie, Miss Price is lucky enough to have a powerful sex drive, and to be very sexually responsive. And how did you like having my penis inside you, Sophie?"

"I really liked it, Sir. I mean, at the start I thought it was going to hurt me because it's so big, but it was amazing the way my cunt opened to let you in. I can't wait to do something like that again, Sir. Sorry Sir, I said cunt. That's not polite, is it?"

"We can pass over that under the circumstances, Sophie. I have no issue with colloquial language in a sexual context, if it puts you at ease. Cunt, twat, pussy, snatch - the main thing is to express yourself clearly and confidently. Now, as the final stage of our lesson I wanted to demonstrate male orgasm, which is not best done with my penis inside you. But, now I think of it, we may be able to take advantage of your purchase yesterday to continue with your practice at being penetrated as well as with our demonstrations."

"Sir?" I think she was genuinely baffled by Paul's circumlocutions.

"The toy, Sophie. That device you bought from Ann Summers. We can use that, but we will need Miss Price's help, if she feels up to it."

Chekhov, you see. He famously said that if there is a gun hanging on a wall in Act One of a play, it has to be fired in Act Two. And if he ever planned sexual roleplay sessions I'm sure he'd have said that if there is a strap-on dildo on the table at the start of the game, it has to be shoved up someone's twat before the end.

I stood up, shakily. "How can I help, Headmaster?"

Paul handed me the toy. I attached it to myself, fumbling a little with the straps, still unsteady from that mad orgasm. I had never used a strap-on before. And to be quite honest I don't use toys on myself - they don't do much for me. Just a matter of personal taste - I much prefer the touch of human hand, mouth or cock. But that wasn't quite the point of what we were about to do.

The toy itself consisted of a realistically sized and shaped flesh coloured cock affixed to what was effectively a black PVC thong, with adjustable side straps. As I fastened it I noticed that the cock was set too high - it sat at the upper edge of my pubic bone, looking as if it was sticking out from my belly rather than emerging from my crotch. But then I realised that this was a cunning piece of engineering that would allow the wearer to thrust more effectively, if she so desired. I must have looked utterly freakish - a small, pale woman, wearing nothing else but black stockings, with this thing protruding from her. The thong bit was uncomfortable, especially because I was so wet.

"Sophie," said Paul, "I would like you to fellate me in a moment. I realise that you have not done this before so perhaps Miss Price can briefly demonstrate."

"Fellate, Sir?"

"It means to suck my cock, Sophie. Miss Price, if you would, please?" Grateful for something familiar, I knelt in front of Paul and softly took his prick into my mouth. I found it comforting. I sucked delicately on his swollen glans. Sophie bent down to look closely.

"So, Sir, the woman doesn't have to, like, take the man's cock really deep into her throat if she doesn't want to? All the girls say you have to take it as far down as you can or he'll dump you."

"You're correct, Sophie," said Paul. "You should do as much as feels right for you, and not be swayed by pornographic fashion."

"I'd like to try it, Sir."

"Good girl. Now what I suggest is that Miss Price, now equipped with the toy, lies on the floor. Sophie, you would then straddle her and lower yourself onto the toy, so that you continue to train your vagina to be penentrated. At the same time, you can fellate me and see if you can bring me to orgasm. Miss Price may wish to stimulate you while you do so and, who knows, perhaps you will reach orgasm yourself. Are you ready, Sophie?"

"Yes Sir."

As Paul had instructed, I lay down, and was glad to do so. I held the fake cock steady and upright as Sophie squatted over me. Again I thought of an ancient goddess. She carefully lowered herself onto the toy. It slid into her easily. She did not let her full weight down onto me but stayed squatting, and moved herself slowly and carefully up and down the dildo shaft. Her eyes were half closed in concentration on her arousal. She had stopped talking. Perhaps the role did not matter so much now. I reached up to play with her nipples. She was still wearing her tie, which pointed down towards her cunt.

Now Paul stood over me, offering his cock to Sophie. I was looking straight up at the underside of his hairy balls as he guided his cock into her mouth. She sucked slowly, lovingly as she pleasured herself on the dildo. Paul put a hand on her shoulder to steady her as she started to move more quickly. I took my hand from her breast, licked my fingertips and reached forward to frig her exposed clit. She moaned with her mouth full. Paul was starting to rock gently back and forth, a subtle mouth-fuck. "Good girl, Sophie," he was saying, "you are a very promising cocksucker. This is another thing you can teach the other girls. Don't you agree, Miss Price?"

I was on the point of agreeing when Paul came. He pulled his cock back just enough so as to be able to spray a very large amount of cum over Sophie's face and breasts. Only an instant later Sophie's body tensed, she pushed down onto the dildo and my finger, and emitted a series of high pitched yelps. Somehow she was still in part.

"Sir! Sir! Miss Price! I'm coming! And I've got your sperm all over me, Sir! Oh Sir, there's so much of it! And it's dripping onto Miss Price! Oh Sir! Oh my pussy! Oh I've never come so hard before, Sir!" Her voice dissolved into little sobbing gasps.

Then silence.

The smell of sex in the room.

Paul stepped clear. Sophie extricated herself from her impaled position. She was still squatting over me and looking up at Paul as I somehow worked myself free of the toy.

"Sophie," said Paul, out of breath, "you are young woman of exceptional sexual energy and appetite, it seems."

"Sir?"

"Or, as you might put it, Sophie, you're a big-titted, wet-cunted, cock-crazed little slut."

"Yes Sir, thank you, Sir. Thank you, Miss Price."

Silence again.

It was over. Sophie shifted her weight to her knees, then bent right down to embrace me, kiss me on the cheek and neck. I hugged her. "Oh Leanne," she breathed. "Oh my fucking God, Lee, that was so fucking amazing." She looked up at Paul. "Paul ... incredible ... the way you took control. Kept control. And Leanne ... so amazing ... just right ... Jesus fuck. I have thought about this stuff so much but ... oh God ... actually doing it. You two are so beautiful. Thank you. Thank you. Lee, you fucking have to write this story. You have to. Use my real name. I'm fucking proud of this."

She stood up, allowing me to do likewise. There was a speck of Paul's cum on my glasses lens, and much more than that on my body. Sophie's chin and breasts were doused in it. Paul fetched bathrobes for the three of us. We all put them on and I hugged Paul. "Are you all right, darling?" I asked. He nodded.

"I'm fine, babe. High as a fucking kite, but fine. You?"

"Yeah. Same." Both Paul and I looked at Sophie. She smiled.

"Don't worry about me. I've never been better."

We sat on the sofa, me in the middle with one arm round Paul and the other round Sophie. For a while we said nothing at all. I'm sure a drugs test would have found us to be dangerously intoxicated. On ourselves and each other. We had agreed beforehand that whatever happened, Sophie would not stay the night, so that we all had a chance to come to terms with what we had done. But I was in no hurry for her to leave. I kissed her head, gently, as she leaned it on my shoulder. I could feel the sperm, sweat and cunt juice drying on my skin. After a long time I said, "Soph, you're welcome to use the shower first if you like."

"I will, Lee, but not just yet. I like being like this."

"Yeah, me too. That's fine, isn't it, Paul?"

"Of course," Paul said.

Then I felt an unexpected surge of laughter well up within me. "You know, this will sound weird, but there is one thing I want more than anything else right now." I said.

They both looked at me quzzically.

"A cup of tea," I announced.

We all laughed, for a long time.

******

And now, something of an epilogue. I would love to be able to tell you that this was the beginning of a long-lived arrangement in which Paul, Sophie and I pushed the boundaries of our sexual lives into undreamed-of new worlds. But life doesn't work like that. Paul and I went away on holiday a couple of days later, and while we were away I got a text from Sophie saying she had accepted an out-of-the-blue offer of a promotion and transfer to her company's head office in California. By the time we got back, she was gone. I had only ever had her mobile number - no e-mail, and neither of us used Facebook or any other social media site. I am guessing that she knew about this well beforehand, and perhaps even timed our afternoon together to fit with her plans.

The texts were frequent to start with - saying we must come and visit one day - and then they gradually dried up. After one long silence she texted to say she had got married. "The whole Vegas thing, Lee! Crazy!! Can you believe it??" A couple more texts after that. And then nothing.

And in a way, perhaps this is how it should be. That one summer afternoon remains as a unique, extraordinary experience in Paul's and my lives. It will never fade, never be compromised.

So, Sophie, if you're reading this: it took me a while, but I wrote the story, like you said I should. I hope you like it. And I hope you're happy, I really do. Take care, Sophie , my love. And thank you.