4 comments/ 9344 views/ 6 favorites The Cleopatra By: Eve2015 I wasn't sure which category to put this story in, it includes elements that would make it a natural in several, but I'm putting it in fetish on account of the fisting scene. Hopefully it's the right choice. Enjoy! **** The only roommate I ever had in college was a lesbian. Still is, I assume. I love men. Always have, always will. Jody and I met in our post-grad program at a university in Seattle. If you ever want to pay a lot of money for an inflated-sounding degree, get a Doctor of Physical Therapy. You won't be an MD, you won't be a PhD, you'll be a DPT, which is nearly meaningless, except you can demand your family members call you Doctor at holiday gatherings. Anyway, at one point Jody and I were both seeing people who lived in Oregon. Jody's girlfriend Sonja was doing an internship in Portland, about a three hour drive south of Seattle, and my friend John was at university in Salem, a further 45 minutes down I-5, south of Portland. The four of us had the genius idea to rendezvous in Portland the Friday after finals, then pair up and go our separate ways until Sunday when I'd drive Jody back to Seattle. It was a good plan that didn't take into account how unreliable John was. He wasn't exactly untrustworthy, not irresponsible in terms of being flaky, crazy shit just happened to him, and though most events were beyond his control, they were simply too frequent to be chance. Interesting things occurred when John was around, and there was rarely a dull moment. This little quirk was part of the reason we'd stayed friends since high school. In those days, I was a geeky athlete and John ran with the heavy-metal stoner crowd. Despite outward appearances, he was charming and clever, and represented all of the freedom and lawlessness I admired but wasn't brave enough to take for myself. If I was being honest, not much had changed, even in my late twenties. Ironically, John ended up school, though that might have been part of his peculiar luck, too. Sometimes our friendship crossed into the sexual, sometimes it didn't, but we had fun together and between our two programs, neither of us had time for anything serious. John called me his muse, I called him my distraction, and the fluidity of our relationship worked for us. I was looking forward to reuniting with him in Portland for a weekend of drunken debauchery, our usual post-finals antics when neither of us was otherwise attached. On that Friday, Jody and I left Seattle in the afternoon to avoid traffic and get to The Cleopatra by 8:00. I didn't know until we arrived The Cleopatra was a lesbian club, not that I was surprised or that it would have changed anything. My apartment was often filled with Jody's friends and I didn't think anything of it, except for being envious of her free time because I had to study harder to get good grades. Really, I didn't care where John and I met up, I only knew I was going to want a drink after my long drive and he was destined to be the designated driver. John didn't show. I stood just inside the club waiting for nearly two hours, bottle of beer in hand, my attention rotating from door to clock to phone. I got a lot of curious glances from a steady stream of women entering the club with Friday-night excitement. All shapes and colors and dress, they were an interesting testament to the fact you couldn't always tell a lesbian by looking at her. The bouncer was friendly and sympathetic to my apparent rejection. He shared a story about how an ex-boyfriend had once stood him up for dinner with his parents and it had ended the relationship. I tried to explain John wasn't technically my boyfriend, so being stood up wasn't exactly tragic, but I don't think he believed me. At 9:30, I gave up. Wasn't entirely sure why I had waited so long, but I finally decided it was time to buy myself a real drink and get started on post-finals celebrating. First I wanted to find Jody and Sonja, with the hope of securing Sonja's sofa for the night. I'd figure out a new plan for the weekend the next day. I could have fun in Portland all by myself. The city had the best bookstore in the western US, possibly the country, and lots of great places to run. Plus I was training for a half-marathon and would have gone for a run anyway. Maybe I'd even find a replacement for John. I found my roommate and her girlfriend cuddled up in a dark corner booth reacquainting themselves via hands and tongues and lips. My face heated and my palms got sweaty at the sight of them making out. I wasn't sure why seeing girls kiss seemed so much more sexual than a man and a woman, but my body definitely found it to be true. Not wanting to intrude on their reunion, I spun away, but Jody's voice stopped me. "He's still not here?" I turned back to see they'd separated a few inches for my benefit. "Nope, and there's no way I'm driving back to Seattle tonight. Can I sleep on your sofa, Sonja?" I figured if she said no, I'd take a cab to a cheap hotel because at that point I intended to let my hair down, figuratively at least, and enjoy a nice buzz. I told myself it was not because of John. Not because I was disappointed. "Sure, you can have the sofa," Sonja replied. "You'll have to fight my cat for it, but she's old. I think you'll win." I laughed because Sonja looked like a little blond pixie, but she was a spitfire and she probably wasn't joking about her cat. "I'm buying the next round," I announced. "What'll you have?" They gave me their drink orders, and I navigated through dancing bodies back to the bar. The club was set up so there were four small dance floors with booths and tables around the perimeter, and a single bar central to them all. The owners had taken the Egyptian theme to an extreme with walls that looked like they'd been carved with hieroglyphs and kitschy sphinx statues guarding the arched passages between rooms. What little light there was reflected off gold leaf and gold paint decorating every surface but the walls. Overall, the effect was warm and calm. Not at all what I normally associated with a club. The bar was the brightest spot in the place, and also the most crowded. I stood in the press of bodies for five minutes before an exotic looking bartender with black hair in a Cleopatra-style haircut finally made eye contact with me. "What can I get you?" she asked with a little smile that made me feel as though she already knew my answer. I rattled off the drink list, including a double vodka-cranberry for myself. I would have asked for a triple, but I didn't want to seem like a lush. "I haven't seen you here before," she said as she made the mojito for Sonja. "It's my first time. I'm here with my roommate, down from Seattle." "What's your name?" "Christy." "I'm Diane," she said, starting on the lemon drop for Jody. "I like your hair," I said, really wanting to know if it was a wig. It was just so smooth and shiny. It couldn't be real. Diane gave me an odd look and said, "Thanks." I chewed on my lip in embarrassment because I didn't know if complementing a lesbian on her hair was a faux pas, or even if Diane was a lesbian. The black apron around her waist declared 'Manager, Bitch' in red stitching. "You need help carrying the drinks?" she asked. Once she mentioned it, I wasn't sure how to hold two tall highball glasses and an overfilled martini glass. "That would be great." She walked around the counter with the lemon drip in hand and I led her to the back corner where Jody and Sonja were still making out. It was a little embarrassing, but I supposed Diane saw it all the time. "Thanks," I said. "See you around," she grinned, flipping her hair as she turned. I could see then it wasn't a wig, just admirably tamed hair that was genetically superior to my own. I self-consciously grabbed the top of my brown ponytail and smoothed it down, but nothing would reduce its dowdiness when compared with Diane's hair. I sucked down my drink, and when I went for another, the bar was less busy and Diane wasn't there. I ordered a regular vodka-cran and wandered with it, people-watching and taking in the feminine vibe. Jody had warned me when we arrived that the girls would 'love me' and I was going to be hit on, but if I was, it was too subtle to notice. Eventually I passed Jody and Sonja on the dance floor and went back to the corner table to enjoy my happy buzz and the music. ** At around eleven o'clock, Diane from the bar walked up with a little half-grin and asked, "Do you want to dance?" It took a long moment for me to respond, because I didn't know what she expected. When a man asked me to dance, I understood what was entailed. I understood the rules of engagement. The girl-with-girl thing was uncharted territory for me, even if my roommate was a lesbian. It's not like knowledge transferred through shared use of furniture and dishes. Besides, I was a girl in a lesbian club. She probably assumed I was available. I slid out of the booth, game to bounce around to the music a little before it was time to leave. "Sure," I said. "But just so we're clear, I'm straight." She gave me a funny little head tilt and said, "I only asked you to dance, not to fuck." Alrighty, then. Boundaries established. Diane didn't see my blush because she was already walking toward the dance floor. Her cutoff jean shorts covered her ass and not much beyond. She wore a black tank top and black suede ankle boots. She was a bit rounder, a little softer looking than I was, but not overweight by any standard that mattered. A new song spun up just as we reached the dance floor, one with a heavy beat backing melodic techno music. I wasn't a fan of electronic music, had no idea who the musician was, but I felt the heavy bass all the way through my bones. It shook the soft parts of me, excited my nerve endings and overwhelmed synapses until I just wanted to close my eyes and let the sound waves caress me. I didn't realize I had until I felt Diane's hand on my arm. My eyes popped open and she laughed. "Are you okay?" Truth was, I was slightly drunk and more aroused than I should have been as a straight girl in a club crowded with lesbians. I smiled at Diane and took her right hand in my left and put my other hand on her hip, ballroom style. "Let's dance," I said, beginning to rock side to side. Did I mention I'm a complete dork when I'm a little bit drunk? She smiled and stepped into me as she picked up my rhythm. She actually did know how to dance, apparently, and she led me on a slow, swaying circuit of the dance floor. I knew it was probably leading her on to let her stand so close, but I figured since I'd already stated my preferences, any assumptions she made were her own. I was just there to dance. Except. Her body was so soft, and when our breasts and pelvises pressed together as we avoided running into another couple, I didn't pull away. Neither did Diane. She rocked her body against mine with her face right beside mine, the ends of her straight bob tickling my cheek. Her scent was like the love-child of a health-food store and a new age shop, and I liked it. It was the smell of mysterious healthfulness, and it matched her rosy cheeks and lush body. She wore the same knowing smile she'd given me from behind the bar, like she knew a secret that involved me. "You look like the cat that got the cream," I said near her ear. "You have no idea how right you are," she replied. I suspected she was talking about me. I didn't know if the cream she had in mind was metaphorical or literal, but thinking about it made me wet. I was having too much fun to question my arousal let alone be worried by it. Diane stopped our turn of the dance floor pulling closer to the middle where other couples danced. Actually, it wasn't so much dancing at that point of the night as grinding and heavy petting. I assumed what I was witnessing was all foreplay. Maybe all dancing is, regardless of gender, but once again I found myself marveling at how overtly beautiful and sexual two women together could be. "Do you like watching?" Diane asked. Was that bad etiquette? Like watching people at the gym? "I didn't realize I was." I tried to laugh it off, but there was an attractive couple right beside us making out, and they seemed to be enjoying it so much. Their sweat-sheened skin and grasping hands were hypnotic. I was jealous. I wished John had shown, because I felt hot and fluttery, and I would have dragged him into a toilet stall and fucked him right then. I needed to be touched. I needed to feel the fullness of a dick moving inside me. What I had instead was Diane, who seemed to sense my arousal and stepped a long leg between mine. She pressed her thigh against my mound and I leaned into it like it was the most natural thing in the world. "I can feel your heat," she murmured in my ear. This was no surprise because I was wearing knee length skirt of thin yellow cotton. It was pretty and flattering on me, but wispy as all hell. The slightest breeze blew it around, but I had worn it for John because he liked my runner's legs. Diane started grinding on my thigh, the rough jean material scratchy against my leg. I knew the hard seam in the crotch of her shorts would be rubbing against her folds, maybe against her clit, every time she rubbed against me. It hit me we were touching each other's most intimate places in public, without actually touching. It felt so good I wanted the other kind of touching, too. With her. For a girl who'd claimed to be straight an hour before, I was doing a bang-up job proving myself wrong. I'd pretty much jumped ship at that point, and I didn't feel bad about it. I felt brave and adventurous and really fucking turned on. My underwear were swamped with my own juices, and I was starting to wonder if Diane could feel that through my skirt on her bare thigh. How could she not? "Wanna go someplace more private, Straight Girl?" My left hand was still clasped in her right, and she pulled both up to her mouth and took the tip of my index finger between her lips. So warm and wet, and her tongue curled around it with prehensile precision. My pussy clenched to think of that tongue on my clit, probing into my tight sheath. "Are you making fun of me?" I asked, doing my best to ignore her mouth. "Only a little," she said around my finger. "I suppose you just want to dance?" She let my digit drop out of her mouth and looked me in the eye. "No, I want to fuck. Think you can you handle it?" I thought she might kiss me right then. Our lips were only inches apart and we were breathing the same air, but she didn't lean in. Diane waited for me to make up my mind. My choice made me remember John, and I did a quick scan for him, but there were too many dancers. I would have had to move out of the crowd to have a chance of finding him. There were other guys, just not many of them, and John wasn't especially tall, so he wouldn't have stood out. It didn't matter anyway, he'd already stood me up. "I can handle it," I told her. "Do you think you can satisfy me? I'm used to a nice cock, you know." She had a glint in her eye when she told me, "You may never want another cock for the rest of your life." I laughed. "That's a bold statement." Because there's nothing better than a dick attached to a man who knows how to use it. She smiled at my challenge and pulled away, leading me by the hand across the dance floor toward the bar. The thing about hitting it off with the manager was she had access to private places in the establishment that remained off-limits to others. Diane led me into an office with a desk and a brown leather couch. There were two stacks of metal filing cabinets along the wall to the right and a humorous poster of cartoon stick-women in various sexual positions. I found it educational. There was a scissor move that I'd heard of but never taken the time to try to picture in my mind. I didn't have to wonder anymore. Most of positions weren't so different from those I'd taken with men for foreplay if not actual sex. The ironic thing was, I'd never agree to sex with a man after an hour of dancing, no matter how much I'd had to drink. Is that sexist of me? I almost asked Diane because I was fairly sure she'd be able to give me a sound, well-reasoned answer, but she distracted me by pressing up against my back and reaching a hand up my leg under my skirt. To the underwear I'd almost not worn at all. They were only present because I'd decided John might think it was a little bit slutty of me if they weren't. I was a good girl, relatively. Obviously. I was really outdoing myself that night. Diane's lips pressed into the side of my neck and her right hand slid between my legs, and it felt so good. She leaned her mound into my ass and breasts into my back, and I rested right back into her. Soft. Her hands were soft, her body was soft, her cheek and lips were so, so soft. I had a flash of insight as to what it must be like for a man to be with a woman, the attraction of soft and smooth when you lived in a body that was hard, and, let's face it, at least a little hairy and abrasive. Diane let out a sharp breath when her fingers slid between my labia, along the wet groove and back up to my clit. "You've got a big clit," she murmured in my ear. "I want to lick it and suck on it." I'd never had any reason to believe I had anything other than a perfectly average clitoris, but then I'd never had any first hand comparison. She rubbed around and over it with a finger and I felt like I might die if she didn't put her mouth on it. "I want you to," I managed to say, rocking myself against her fingers. The combination of my remaining buzz and the way she touched me made me dizzy with need. Diane's hands slid away and she turned me around to face her. "Arms up," she said, gathering the hem of my white tank top. She lifted it up over my head and arms, leaving me in my bra. My boobs are small, but as she looked at them, I felt the same as when a man looked at me. Diane liked them and seemed intent on feasting on them. I fumbled at the clasp on the bra until it gave, and slid the lacy scrap off. Diane ran her fingers over my little peaks and said, "What a fucking gorgeous color." I shivered with pleasure from her compliment, and that was before her dark pink tongue reached out to my peachy-pink nipple, gliding over the erect nub once before sucking it in. My core clenched when I felt her teeth on me and I probably would have come with the slightest stimulation to my clit. Diane took her time licking and sucking before she finally pulled off her own top. She wasn't wearing a bra, and her boobs were bigger than mine, with much darker nipples, both pierced. I couldn't help reaching out to touch, not because she expected me to, though in hind-sight, she probably did, but because I'd never felt any tits but my own, and I was curious. They were every bit as soft and smooth as they looked. I flicked the silver ring running through the right nipple with my thumbnail and she gave a little moan and started kissing me. Diane was so sweet tasting and soft, her lips fuller than any man's I'd kissed and somehow it just made me want to press myself into her harder, to have the kind of contact I was used to. I felt wild with the need to be fucked, but once again, I didn't know what to expect or how to proceed. I reached down to unbutton her shorts, and she was apparently reminded she wanted to taste me. The Cleopatra "Lay back on the sofa," she said. It was a low profile, modern style couch with soft brown leather upholstery. I slid my underwear off, but for some reason felt taking off my skirt might be taking things a bit too far. As if I wasn't already anticipating her going down on me. I lounged back on the sofa as Diane kicked off her shorts and underwear exposing full hips and small waist. Her curves drew my eyes, forced me to follow the line of her body all the way down to her strong calves. Her dark bush was trimmed short, but not shaved that I could see. She smiled down at me and knelt on the floor before the couch, pushing my knees apart. "Ooo, look at you, Straight Girl. You shave." She slid her fingers down between my lips and stirred the wetness around. My hips jumped when she brushed over my clit, the zing of sensation making my nipples ache. She explored my folds and clit at a leisurely pace with her fingers, until I was beginning to think she was tormenting me on purpose. Maybe she was. She circled teasingly while I raised my hips in an attempt to harden her touch. But like everything else about her, it remained soft. Finally, she lowered her face between my legs and placed her open mouth over, hell all of it, it felt like. She sucked in and latched on. I was already so keyed up my orgasm hit straight away, with a cry at the intense feeling of hot suction. It felt like she was touching everything at once, except that my pussy tightened and squeezed at... nothing. Still, her mouth felt so good as her tongue circled the clenching entrance to my sheath. She slid her tongue in, then out, immediately pressing two fingers in its place. "Oh, yeah," I said, because that's what I needed. I wanted to be filled, to feel flesh moving inside me. Since she didn't have a cock, I was going to have to content myself with fingers. She added a third finger and said, "Do you like the way this feels?" "Yes," I moaned, enjoying the tight warmth that always followed an orgasm. She curled her slender fingers up and caressed the inside of my tunnel. "You want a dick, but I know something that's better," she said. Better than a dick? I supposed some toys were fine substitutes, but not better. I figured since she was a lesbian, she might not have had a cock before, so better was a relative concept. Either way, she piqued my curiosity, and everything she did felt good, so I wanted whatever else she could throw at me. "Give it to me, then," I said, wiggling on her fingers. "I can take it." She smiled and said, "That's the spirit, Straight Girl." I expected her to get up, to retrieve some massive dildo or strap-on or something from a drawer in the filing cabinet. Instead, her head dropped back down to where her right hand was penetrating me, and she licked my clit again as she withdrew her fingers. Her knuckles bumped gently over my wet folds, and I couldn't see, but it felt like she was caressing me with her whole hand. A moment later she was pushing back in and this time, there was more pressure. "You're so wet," she said in a smoky voice. "Usually I like to use a lot of lube, but you're self-service." The pressure increased until it was slightly uncomfortable, and I realized what she was trying to do. Diane intended to fist me. I'd never done that before, guys' hands were simply too big, but the thought of it was dirty and exciting. To my mind, it was something sexually adventurous girls without boundaries did for shock and awe. The reality though... it hurt. I tried to relax the tight ring of muscle as I felt her bearing down, trying to slide under my pubic bone. I knew the anatomy well, I had textbooks full of anatomy, but in that moment I wasn't sure my anatomy was built to allow that kind of access. I opened my eyes and curled my head up to look. I couldn't really see the entrance of my pussy, but I could see the exposed part of her hand and her wrist. "Fuck," I swore, as she increased the pressure. "That's it," she said, her eyes meeting mine. "Let my hand in and I'll make you come harder than any dick can." Shit, if she was right, I was all for it. But the stretch was so intense my eyes teared up as her highest knuckles pressed in. She twisted and made it a tiny bit further with each little thrust. "Almost there," she said, her own voice tight with arousal. Her left hand was somewhere I couldn't see, and I guessed she was playing with herself, too. I dropped my head back, trying to take deep breaths to keep myself relaxed, but my legs were shaking and I was anxious about the pain. I wasn't one of those girls who liked it. I gasped at the sudden burn and grabbed Diane's arm to stop her progress. As much as I wanted to, I just couldn't do it. She wasn't going to fit. I looked down to where my hand held her, and all I could see was her slender forearm coming out of me. She'd done it. Diane had pushed her entire hand into my pussy, and my swollen lips were closed around her narrow wrist, which, by the way, was bigger than John's cock. The fullness was astonishing and astounding and overwhelming and a whole number of superlatives that I couldn't quite focus on. "I am so fucking turned on right now," I panted. "You and me both," Diane said. "How does it feel?" My body shook with the fullness, but with each passing moment, the actual pain drew further away. I relaxed the death grip I had on her arm and my knee, which I'd been holding wide. "It's amazing." She said, "I'm going to start moving now, just slowly." I nodded and closed my eyes, letting my head drop back on the throw pillow on the couch. Every little move she made felt magnified because her hand stretched me and rubbed places a cock never could. She rotated her forearm as she slowly thrust, her flat hand dragging against the soft insides of my cunt. Diane curled her fingers slowly into a fist and moved that hard ball of knuckles inside of me. I felt the pressure on my g-spot, and knew I was going to have one hell of an orgasm. When she dropped her head down and snaked her tongue out to flick my clit, I nearly jumped out of my skin but was held in place by her arm protruding from my pussy. "You taste good, Straight Girl. I feel you tightening on me. Can you admit this is better than a cock?" It was hard to focus on her words with what she was doing inside my body, but I nodded my assent. "Say it. Tell me my hand is better than a cock." Just to punctuate her point, she curled her fingers over my g-spot again, making my whole body tense in delicious anticipation of orgasm. "It is... it's better than a cock," I gasped. She began rubbing my clit with her left thumb as she thrust with her right hand, and I was consumed with the certain knowledge I was about to have the most amazing orgasm of my life. Until I heard the door hinges creak. My eyes flew open, I twisted my head right to look at the door and there stood John. His mouth hung open as he tried to process what he was seeing. I panicked. My first thought was to get as far from Diane as possible, but I was pinned to the couch by her hand inside me, and I knew instinctively fast movement would equal pain. Instead, my cheeks burned red and I tried to pull my skirt down to cover everything from my waist to my splayed knees. There was no point, really. Diane had ceased moving and looked surprised at the intrusion, but not angry. John was a good looking guy, even if one was a lesbian, I guessed. John's surprise morphed into a huge smile and already I could see an erection growing in his jeans. "How's it going, Christy?" he asked. "Get out!" I yelped. "Why? We had a date." "A date you were late for!" I didn't want to discuss it with Diane's hand buried in my pussy. Despite the distraction, I could still taste the first hint of orgasm, it was so close. He shrugged dismissively. "One could debate that I'm right on time." "Fucking lawyers," I moaned, because Diane obviously didn't care one way or the other about his presence and resumed moving her hand inside me. "Your girlfriend just told me she likes this better than your cock," she said with a smug grin. John closed the door behind him and stepped closer. He pinched the hem of my skirt and pulled it back to get an unobstructed view. I slapped his hand away, but the lust in his face was obvious. His jeans were as tented as they could get, and knowing him, he was trying to figure out how he could take part. There was no room for him between my legs, and once the immediate embarrassment of being caught had been replaced by the spiraling sensation of orgasm, I didn't even care where he ended up. John chose my breasts, an inspired decision that sent bolts of electricity to my buzzing clit with each nip of his teeth. My eyes slid closed, my legs quivered, and I began gasping for breath as my pussy tightened on Diane's wrist. "Holy fuck," John groaned. "I've never seen anything so hot." I started screaming because it was all too much and I felt like the middle of my body was going to implode. I don't know how long it lasted, I think my vision blacked out for a few seconds, but when I finally started to come down, I heard Diane say, "Step away, punk. She may like dudes, but I don't." "Sorry," John said. He must have been confused about who was meant to benefit from my entanglement with Diane. Me, clearly. But once my orgasm and all the little after-shocks faded, I felt bad for Diane because I hadn't really done anything for her, except allow her to show-up a cocky alpha-male type. I felt I owed her something for what she'd just introduced me to. I took hold of her wrist and slowly guided her hand out, setting off a new round of tremors. Her hand was shiny and slick, and my pussy felt hollow without it. I had a momentary flash of fear that she might have been telling the truth about ruining me for cock. Did that actually happen? The muscles in my legs protested when I lowered them and pulled them together, trying to sit up. I could already tell I was going to be sore later. Diane was using a paper towel from a roll on the wall to wipe her hand off, and I worried that she'd think I was done now that John had arrived, and she would be left sitting there aroused and pissed off. I brushed the stray hair from my ponytail out of my face and said to her, "It's your turn on the couch." "Uh, no, it's alright," she replied. "Really. I want to," I insisted. It was true, although I also wanted John to stay. I didn't really like rewarding him when he'd dissed me by not showing or calling, but the idea of him watching was a big turn-on. And Diane hadn't told him to leave, so I guessed as long as he didn't touch her, she wasn't bothered by his presence. Diane said, "You want to go down on me?" "Yes. I want to see what it's like. I can't promise I'll be able to fist you, though." "I'd rather you didn't," she said. "It's not an amateur move." But she was still naked, and she sat on the couch as I slid to the carpet, which was still warm from where her knees had been. John stood off to the side watching, probably afraid if he did or said anything else one of us would boot him out. I pushed Diane's legs wide and got my first close look at lady parts other than my own. She wasn't nearly bare like I was, but the hairs were very short and hardly noticeable around her thickly swollen lips. Everything looked different but the same, and I knew what felt good for me would probably feel good for her, too. I spread her lips with my fingers and lowered my mouth to her. Her scent was different but familiar, too, just like her taste. I had to admit I liked her salty musk better than the alkaline bitterness of a man's cum. Her hands found my head, fingers sliding into my hair to guide me for more pressure with my tongue. I was glad she was showing me, it excited me to know I might be able to make her come. I'd just set into a lick/suck rhythm when I felt John move behind me. I was leaning over with my ass sticking out, and doubtless it was a temptation he couldn't resist. I didn't mind. I felt him slide my skirt up to my waist and his hands trail over my round cheeks. A deep groan slipped out of him as his fingers glided over my sopping wet pussy. Normally John liked dirty talk before, during, and after sex. I was sure he had an entire dialogue going in his head, but he held it in in an attempt to remain unobtrusive. Silence was probably punishment enough for a talker like him and I didn't want Diane to kick him out any more than he did. I wanted him to fuck me while I ate her out. I wiggled my hips a little to indicate my desire, but he didn't need to be told. I heard the metallic teeth of his zipper release and clenched at the thought of being filled again. Diane's moans increased in tenor as she rolled her hips up to fuck my lapping and sucking mouth. My entire face from the cheeks down felt wet with her juices, but she was so soft and hot, her scent so appealing, it just excited me more. I heard a condom wrapper tear and felt John enter me a moment later, slowly, as if he was concerned with hurting me. Despite having just been stretched by an entire hand and wrist, I still felt him in that tight position. The way he moved felt good even if I was too focused on Diane's pussy to have another orgasm myself. I slid a finger into her, and then two. She clenched on me, so tight it wrenched my fingers a bit, but I knew how good it would feel, so I kept my hand moving, kept circling over and around her clit with my tongue. Then I felt John's wet fingers glide up from my pussy to my asshole. I'd never cared to have anal sex, it didn't seem necessary. But I was so turned on I didn't resist, and when he hooked a digit in while slowly thrusting his cock into my sheath, a shiver of pleasure wracked my body. Who knew? My attention was firmly divided between two places and I felt a bit bad for Diane since she'd been so attentive to me. I renewed my efforts as I sucked and licked her, adoring her lips and clit and doing everything I normally liked a man to do to me. She squirmed and moaned, and I thought she might be getting close to orgasm. John slid his cock out of me, and I felt the bulbous end take the place of his thumb at my untried anus. My heart sped up and, though it had been a night of firsts, I wasn't sure I wanted to go there. Before I could decide how to slow him down, I felt a searing pressure as he pressed the head in. Fuck! I gasped and sucked on Diane's clit to distract myself from the bright pain. He held still and rubbed my clit as my tight sphincter finally relaxed to accept him. Sometimes there's a fine line between pain and pleasure, and John's cock in my ass was just pleasurable enough that I wanted him to continue. Frankly, I was amazed. Twice that night I'd been penetrated in all new ways, and I fucking loved it. I braced myself against the couch with my arms so his thrusts wouldn't knock me into Diane. I was afraid of hurting her with my teeth or my chin or something. John took hold of my hips, and all of my cum and juices facilitated smooth thrusting through my tight ring. It was a different and strange pressure, and part of the thrill was imagining how it felt for John. Diane's voice snapped me out of my haze of pleasure. "Fuck, I'm gonna come." She grabbed my hair tight and mashed her clit against my mouth while I tried to keep my fingers moving in her. I didn't know if I was doing any of it right, but a second later she went rigid and made little panting screams to accompany her clenching pussy. I heard John swear behind me, and suddenly he was jamming himself in with lightning speed, over and over. I reached a hand down to my own clit, dripping wet with my juices and being slapped with John's balls. The fireworks came a second later with all the subtlety of the Fourth of July. I grabbed onto Diane's leg to ground myself as my nerves lit up with electrical bliss. My ass tightened along with my pussy, and John made a sound I'd never heard from him before, a strangled groan to accompany the slapping of flesh on flesh. He rocked forward with deep thrusts and shuddering breaths as he emptied his cum inside me. I could feel the rhythmic surge of his release through the tight ring of muscle, and holy hell was it hot. I don't know how long it took for us to start moving again, I'm not even sure who was first. But eventually we were all standing in the small space in front of the sofa, pulling on clothes and straightening hair. "I'm sorry about him showing up," I told Diane, tilting my head toward John. "Hey!" he said defensively. "It's alright," Diane replied with a shrug. "It comes with the territory. Straight girls are my fetish and it seems like there's always a guy." "Oh. Well, it wasn't on purpose. I had genuinely given up on him or I wouldn't have come back here with you at all." John was done being quiet. He crossed his arms and said, "Do I even get to defend myself?" "You were nearly four hours late!" I accused. "It wasn't my fault! I wanted to call but I couldn't until late, and once I did, you didn't answer." It was true I had turned off my ringer once I'd given up. Once I'd started drinking. "So what happened?" Diane asked, putting the finishing touches to her appearance in front of a small hand mirror. All she had to do was run her fingers through her hair and it became sleek and ordered. What I wouldn't give for hair like that. John leaned his bum against the desk and looked like he was settling in for a long story. I couldn't wait to hear his excuse. He said, "It all started because I offered a lift to a guy from university, but I blew a tire halfway up here. The state patrol arrived to see if I needed help, but Billy started acting mental, so they questioned him and he freaked the fuck out. Turns out he had a backpack full of pot and, to make a long story short, they assumed I was his knowing accomplice." John shook his head at the memory. "County is fucking insane on a Friday night. It took me nearly three hours to convince them I was just the chump who was being helpful. Once they let me out, I came straight here and Jody said you'd gone back to the office with the manager. I thought you were in trouble." He grinned. "Obviously not." I rolled my eyes at the explanation, even though I accepted it 100%. It was too quintessentially John not to be true. His broad grin widened and I realized this would probably go down as one of his all-time best nights. He had been turned into an unwitting drug mule, interacted with the law, talked his way out of county jail, caught his lady friend being fisted by a lesbian, and then taken her anal cherry while watching her eat out the aforementioned lesbian. I said, "You do realize this was a one off, right? We're not going to be escalating in an effort to out-do tonight." All he said was, "We'll see." I rolled my eyes again, Diane arched an eyebrow, and John just winked and let himself out of the office. I wasn't sure my imagination was big enough to conceive of what would outdo that night, but I had no doubt I would welcome whatever John's strange luck sent his direction. Our direction. Especially if it involved orgasms.