0 comments/ 67254 views/ 3 favorites Group Connections By: Vo0d0oGirl My computer desk looks like a battlefield; empty 20 ounce bottles of Diet Coke and Diet 7-Up lay half empty, like wounded soldiers attesting to my battle with boredom. There are unopened letters, Chinese takeout boxes, and even my prized pair of red chopsticks. It’s very apparent that I live at my computer. I’m surfing the web, trying in vain to find something I haven’t already come across online to entertain me. As usual, I’m alone, bored out of my mind, lonely and horny. The generic blue of the screen reflects off my face in the dark, and the contended purr of the processor and fans mimic the purr of the cat curled up at my feet. My mind wanders to the prospect of my own pussy purring happily after hours of great sex. Suddenly re-inspired in my search for something to do, I decided the best possible thing to “do” would be myself. I run off to my bedroom, and grope under the bed for my trusty goodie bag. I unzip the bag and survey my stockpile, looking for tonight’s weapons of choice. I can already feel the heat between my legs starting to intensify in anticipation. Groping through the bag, I find a medium sized blue marbled rubber dildo, slightly curved and extremely stiff. I lay it aside lovingly, along with a bottle of Aqua Lube. I can already feel the beginnings of wetness inside me, and I contemplate leaving the lube. It stays out though, as I dig deeper. I grab onto the familiar diamond shaped squishiness of my butt plug, my favorite, but definitely not my only, anal toy. Into the pile it goes. I grab aimlessly at one of the several vibrators, and come up with the familiar bullet shape, this time a long thin purple one. I do a quick battery check, and feel the soft numbing sensation in my palm. Check and check. I lay it in the growing stack of accoutrements. I’m getting impatient to get started, and I feel the familiar tugging of the muscles in my vagina flexing, the physical equivalent of whining for attention. My nipples stiffen underneath my thin white tank top, and I’m reminded of what I’m forgetting. Impatiently, I lean back on my heels, digging them into the swollen flesh between my legs hoping for some relief as I dive into the bag again. Pawing around to the very bottom of the bag, I find the last of my treasures for tonight; a pair of seemingly harmless wooden clothes pins. I gather up my collection, pressing the arsenal of oddly shaped tools into my breasts once again hoping in vain for at least a slight decline in the uncomfortable longing and march dutifully back to my desk. Pushing aside the collection of junk, I plop my armload onto the desk, and after some brief arranging I’m ready. I slip my fingers into the elastic of my loose-fitting flannel pajama bottoms, and slip them quickly off my full hips and into a pile on the floor. Stepping out of the tangled material, I can’t help but slide my fingers down over my cotton covered clit, now throbbing and aching. I rub myself slowly, just enough to turn the pain pack into tension, and plop down in my chair. The cold leather bites at my bare ass, and I quietly curse myself for wasting a g-string from my sparse supply of sexy underwear on a night at home. Sliding my chair back up to the keyboard, I grab the mouse and open a new browser window, which displays my favorite search engine, Google. Although I’m pretty sure I’ve exhausted the insane amount of free pornography listed, in addition to following an endless stream of graphic banner ads and pop ups for ‘The Best Cum Shots On the Net!’ and ‘Nasty Sluts Take it in the Ass, LIVE!’, I still type in my favorite masturbation fodder, “group sex”. I scan the list of links in bold blue, squinting against the harsh white light. After opening a few links to the same damned thing, threesomes with triple E fake boobs and more make-up smeared on small cocks than I wear in a week my excitement level has dropped to almost nil, and the once enticing array of toys now looks like a testament to my lack of a social life rather than an inviting adventure. Downtrodden but not defeated, I type ‘gang bang amateur’ in the search field, figuring between the more graphic description along with the correct spelling I might actually find something new, exciting, and interesting. Finally, halfway down the third results page, I find a link to someone’s personal webpage. Figuring the flood of pop up ads can be no worse on a free web host than on any porn site, I click the link. The opening page has a picture of a cute couple, average looking, average build, cuddling under a tree. The biography is long and drawn out, as they always are, so I scan the text and after finding ‘We have an open relationship’ and ‘often invite couples and groups into our sex life’ along with things like ‘bisexual’ ‘anal’ ‘multiple penetration’ and ‘exhibition’ I’m getting the wonderful warm sensations between my legs again, and my nipples are painfully erect against the rough poly-cotton fabric of my tank top. I click the ‘Enter Our Site’ link, and am informed by a glaring red text that I must enter my name, a short bio, my e-mail and a messenger contact in order to enter the site. Oh lord, more junk mail. But the pulsing of my clit and the pounding of my pulse make it obvious that SPAM is not a priority. As a reward, I’m greeted by a graphic gallery. There’s an introductory shot of the group’s girls; most are pretty at best, but I much prefer an average woman to a silicone filled Barbie. They’re all sans make-up and sans clothes, all different shapes and sizes. The average age is 23-28, so all the breasts are perky and full. Some are shaven, some are trimmed, some are au natural, but all of them are thrilled to be with one another. I’m already feeling the moisture inside me seep into my panties as I click through the individual shots of the guys. Finally, a sex group that isn’t full of gigantic, hairy, ugly old men with lots of money and small dicks. The guys are the same ages as their female counterparts, of average to strong build, and the line of erect cocks proves that none of them are ‘below average’ when it comes to the equipment. I click on, and absentmindedly slip my left breast out of the top of my tank top. I lick my fingers and pinch the nipple lightly as I click through pictures of the party getting started. There are a few shots of the girls playing with one another, and I focus on a stunning brunette eating out a mousy little bleach bottle blonde. The blonde is spread eagle on an armchair, lovingly admiring the brunette between her legs. Her fingers are at her nipples, pinching them outward into deep reddish pink points between her fingers. Tweaking my own nipple roughly, I maximize the picture and my imagination plays out the full scene. I prop one of my legs up on the desk, and reach down to massage myself. I play my fingers over my slit, imagining the brunette sliding her tongue along the folds of the blonde’s flesh. I push the thin black cotton harder against my clit, rubbing roughly and spreading the wetness of my pussy in imitation of the brunette’s hot saliva. Aching for more I grudgingly pull my hand away, grabbing for the mouse and cursing my 56k connection. I click back to the gallery, and find a pale skinned, lusciously curvy black haired woman sucking the tiny nipples of a petite girl with hair streaked purple and a labia piercing. Behind the black haired girl, a tanned, wiry blonde guy is pushing his large cock into her, the soft light curves of her ass glistening with her cum and sweat against his rough stabs. She, in turn, is thrusting a rather large dildo into the neatly shaved girl with purple hair, who appears to be literally squealing with delight. I feel my cunt tighten and drip at the sight of one of my most imagined combinations and decide it’s time to start with the heavy artillery. I maximize the picture and push the g-string to one side of my swollen, tender and bare lips. I grab my own blue dildo and, spreading my lips with two fingers, push the tip inside myself. My muscles contract roughly against the foreign object, sending a flood of my own juices down over my hand and the rubber cock. Forcing my hips up out of the chair, I thrust myself onto the dildo. Shuddering from the excitement, I work the toy in rough pushes in and out of my aching hole, imaging the tanned man poised behind me, forcing his huge pole in and out of me. My oral fixation kicks in, and I find myself sucking harshly on my lower lip. I allow my eyes to close and imagine the girl’s tiny breasts encircled by my mouth, her small frame shaking with pleasure and arching up against my lips. The pounding in my pussy is excruciatingly hard, but I still want for more. Pushing the dildo deep inside myself, imagining one last hard thrust and grunt, and wanting to feel the hot trickle of a man’s ejaculation running down my thigh, I force my eyes open. Leaving the toy in place, I gingerly wipe my hand against my thigh, leaving a thin, shiny trail of moisture. Once again with my fingers on the mouse, I click back to the gallery. I find a picture of the girl from the front page on all fours, full to the brim with cock. Though her mouth is busy deep-throating her doting partner as he holds her long hair back from her face, her eyes are smiling up at him with pure pleasure. The tanned blonde man from the previous picture is straddling her from behind, pushed tightly against her full, round ass. I fleetingly wonder if there are assigned roles, and he’s been dubbed the ‘man in back’. Below the loving wife a fair skinned redhead has her lips puckered tightly against the gently dangling breasts of the woman above her. I can just see the edges of dark brown nipples dimpling under the pressure of the redhead’s teeth above her soft, wet lips. Her hand is stretched down to fondle the woman’s clit, while her hips are pushed up firmly into the darker flesh above her. Her pale thin hips are unmistakably criss-crossed with the black straps of a strap-on harness, no doubt burying another fake cock deep inside the beautiful brown haired, dark skinned wife. I sigh in anticipation and double-click the picture to full size. With the scene now covering my screen, I’m sure this image will finish me off. I’m dripping fluid down my ass into what will soon be a puddle between my legs. Where to start? I spread a bit of my own lubrication over my asshole, and then reach for the Aqua Lube. I pop the top open with one hand and let the thick sticky liquid drip down onto the sensitive skin. As I spread the lube over my ass I can feel the first quick clenching muscle pangs of orgasm deep inside me. Grabbing the butt plug, I coat the soft surface with lube and place the tip against my tightly clenched asshole. Forcing myself to relax I tilt my hips upward and slowly push it into my ass. The pain of the first penetration is startling as always, but once the plug is in place the exquisite pressure re-excites my vaginal muscles, and my clit begins pounding again from the stimulation inside me. The sensitive nerves at the surface are massaged gently by the base of the plug, and I can’t help but squirm and writhe in my chair with want. But, this is too good a possibility for a mind blowing orgasm to allow myself to indulge in short sighted pleasure. Breathing deeply and slowly to calm myself, I reach for the only innocent item in my collection. The hard wood of the clothes pins has been worn smooth inside the clamp and the spring has lost some force from repeated use, making them just perfect. I gingerly clamp one to my already exposed left nipple, and flick the end lightly with my fingers. I can feel the nerves shooting a rush of adrenaline down my spine into my already painfully aroused cunt. A loud moan escapes from me and I quickly pull my right breast out of my tank top. My full, round, taught tits glow almost iridescently in the light of the monitor. I love the way they look like this, hoisted up and pinned together between the thin straps on my shoulders. I crane my neck forward and nip at my own erect nipple. Sighing hard and sitting up, I pin my right nipple and nearly fly out of the chair from the intense sensation. Diverting my attention briefly from the task at hand, I control my breathing and clench my hands against the arms of my high backed office chair. I watch my chest rise and fall rhythmically, the clothes pins sticking out like some strange sexual antenna, letting the world know I’m ready for a peel-me-off-the-ceiling orgasm. Closing my eyes, I concentrate on relaxing my instinctively tightening vagina. I’m almost meditative, regaining strength and stamina for what I’m sure will prove to be one of the best self-sex sessions of my life. Now calmer and less sensitive, I open my eyes for one last glance at the picture, and then let my imagination run wild. In my mind, the dark haired woman disappears and I’m in her place. Her husband’s cock is now that of my lover; warm, hard, and pulsing deep in my mouth. I let my tongue slip up and down the length of this imaginary cock, sucking it roughly into my mouth and almost feeling the tickle of the neatly trimmed pubic hair against my lips. The warmth of his body pressed to my face is almost intoxicating. I imagine reaching up and lightly fondling his balls, every now and then letting my tongue cross my lower lip to wet the thin flesh. I swallow hard against the smooth head of his cock and suck down against him, drawing his hot load closer and closer to my hungry mouth. I let my fingers wander down to my ass, and grip the edge of the butt plug between my fingers. It’s now the hard member of a man behind me, straddling my thighs and gripping my hips with force and determination. He is at first slow and deliberate, pushing into me until his thighs meet the slick surface of my ass. He drags his finger along the line where his cock meets my ass, spreading his pre-cum and lubricant over the tight opening. Once he is sure I’m primed, he begins to push in and out of me harder and faster, sending my mouth bobbing forcefully against the base of my lover’s dick. In a hot back and forth, I feel his head slip in and out of me as my lover’s throbbing erection slips in and out of my throat. Flicking against the ends of the clothes pins, I see the redhead’s teeth clamp down on my pert nipples, and feel her tongue slide over the tip pinched between her teeth. Her lips are tender and soft, caressing the outer edges of my nipple, working the cool flesh into an ever warming frenzy. She alternates teasingly between them, playing her fingers lightly over one nipple as her hot mouth grips and massages the other. She rocks back and forth as my tits bob before her in sync with the oral and anal engagement going on above her. Every now and then she bites hard into the soft flesh, sending me nearly into convulsions and muffled moaning, which only entices my lover more. I begin to push and pull the dildo in and out of my slippery, tight cunt with force. The redhead is pounding her hips into mine now, mashing the strap-on into me and grinding the walls of my pussy into the cock of the man behind me. She thrusts powerfully into me, all the while grasping and kneading my breasts with mouth and hand. Nearly over the edge, I grope blindly for the vibrator and turn it on, sliding it against my now almost protruding clitoris. The redhead is rapidly working the slender fingers of her free hand against me. Intermittently she pauses and pushes her hips up to dig her false erection into me before resuming the racing pace her fingers dance over my hot spot. Alternately, she massages her own clit. I can feel the warm squish of her fluids and mine when her hips rise up to meet mine. Almost overwhelmed with sensation, I alternate working the toys inside and against myself. I can feel the raging hard-on of my lover pulsing hotly in my mouth, as he nears climax. The man behind me pounds mercilessly into me, gripping my hips more and more tightly as he too gets ready to explode. The redhead arches her hips into me more and more quickly. Her teeth dig into my soft flesh as she bites harshly against one nipple, and pinches and rolls the other between her fingers. I feel her other hand switching between her clit and mine, sharing out sticky sweetness. I arch my back, pressing my shoulders into my chair and panting heavily. As I feel my pussy tighten down for the last time and the warmth of my cum spilling out of me, I imagine the combined orgasm of my fantasy mates. My lover moans deeply and shoves his cock into my mouth. I can feel the ooze of his ejaculation down my throat, taste the salty bitterness on my tongue. The man behind me plunges into me, pressing his thighs tightly against my ass. He grunts roughly and grabs at my hips as he reaches orgasm, writhing against me and panting. The redhead beneath me latches onto my breast, sucking down and biting my sore nipples. She thrusts her hips up one last time, trapping her hand between us, stroking furiously at my swollen clit and moaning against my skin. Locked together, I can feel exhaustion setting in, as well as the trembling tiredness of my companions. Slowly bringing myself back to reality, I’m faced with the consequences of this extended, exquisite torture. Every muscle in my body aches; my vaginal muscles continue to contract spasmodically while my thighs tremble, my pulse races, and I feel completely spent. I’m covered with sweat and the liquid remnants of my experience. As I whimper through the last, now painful waves of lessening intensity I begin to contemplate the idea of clean up. My body feels too heavy to move, and every inch of skin is flaming with the slightest touch. I’ve lost the vibrator under the desk, and fortunately I don’t hear the faint buzzing that would require me searching for it to turn it off. I wince as I release my nipples from the clothes pins. Setting them aside, I gently lift the top of my tank top back up over my breasts, stretching it away from my skin to avoid as much as possible the sting of the fabric rubbing across the raw flesh. I grope for the hand towel I know is lost somewhere on my desk. Finding it, I begin the slow, painstaking process of removing devices that now feel more like medieval methods of punishment than objects of pleasure. Now undone, I stand up and nearly pass out from the rush of blood from my lower regions flooding back through my system. A dripping mess, I collect my things and trudge to the bathroom to wash myself and my ‘helpers’ for the night. I return to my desk, now sans underwear, and slip my pajama pants back on. I tiredly clean up the mess left on my chair, and plop myself down to bookmark the page. As I get ready to close Internet Explorer, disconnect, and call it a night an instant messenger window pops up on my screen. I contemplate clicking ‘ignore’…the last thing I need is one more horny 17 year old boy trying to be smooth. But I know the user name. I can hardly believe it. Her screen name was under some of the pictures on the site. This was the girl who, unbeknownst to her, just spent the last hour and a half fucking me. Figuratively, of course. My redheaded companion just stepped out of my dream and into a tangible existence, even if it was only online. I swallowed hard, suddenly rejuvenated as adrenaline forced its way through my body, and clicked ‘accept’. ~To Be Continued~ Group Connections Ch. 02 Group Connections II: Meeting Liz Her screen name is LaFleurDuFeuRouge…The flower of red fire. My mind is suddenly flooded with complex visual images and base, sexually explicit puns. I’m as bad as the lone 30 year old single guy in a bar full of eligible college girls. My I.Q. immediately drops thirty points along with the swift decent of my brain from my head into more sensitive and less verbal parts. Focusing in on the actual text, I quickly snap back to reality as she asks me about viewing the web page and if I enjoyed the content. Confronted with my acts of gross indecency, I feel more like a teenager with a tube sock than a 24 year old psychology grad student with a fetish for orgies. “Definitely!!” I reply dumbly. I grope to find some solid ground in a sea of sexual rip tides that yank my functioning higher brain back towards primal urges. Managing to compose myself, I try again, “I appreciate real people having real sex.” Still lame, but at least a little more refined. She asks me what I liked about the site, and pushes me into rebound thoughts of her fucking me with the strap-on. Your effortless inhibition…considering the fact that my last girl friend had so many sexual hang ups I could have strung her up easier than made decent love to her. Yes, the idea of you and I pounding each other into excruciatingly exquisite climax kept my attention fully. “I’ve always had an interest in group sex, but never the circumstances or guts to try it myself. The site is extremely…informative…and…enticing.” “That’s all? After logging over two hours on the site I’d think you liked a bit more than the GangBang101 classes.” “Well, I’m sorry for not being a bit more blatant, but it’s not every day that I actually talk to someone that’s been in pictures I’ve masturbated to.” Somehow that didn’t quite hold the bite to it that I thought it did. “Ahh, now we’re getting somewhere!” she teased. I started to feel less and less good natured about the idea of my porn coming to life. “How’d you access my screen name? I thought that information was kept ‘confidential’.” If you show up on my doorstep, do I get to have free rule of you? “I’m the webmaster. I received your log in information while I was removing my pictures. I gave you access to the site. Usually I send most people packing, but I really liked your bio. I left my pictures up until you logged off.” I struggle desperately to recall what useless information I provided that prompted such a gracious act, and instead settle to be berated with questions by the webmistress. Yes, I live in the city. No, I’m currently seeing anyone. Two sexual partners, no STDs. Two long term relationships, one with a man and one with a woman. I honestly couldn’t say which I preferred, I loved them both. Samantha, 24 years old, 5’4, brown hair, brown eyes, small, curvy build. Teaching basic classes and studying for my Ph. D. in Psychology and Education. I feel like I’m filling out an employment application for a brothel. Of course, I can see the upside to this as well. I decide to return fire. Her name is Elizabeth and she’s 25, 5’9, natural red hair and green eyes. She’s been single for the same year or so I have, but unlike me her sex life hasn’t slowed down any thanks to the ‘gang’ as she calls them. Yes, they were all clean. No, she doesn’t think she’ll be participating again. Yes, she’s a lesbian. Guys are a fetish, not romantic partners. One long term relationship. She’s an artist, studying under full scholarship at one of the most prestigious art schools on the west coast. She is a nanny for a very well off, well known family and spends more time off than working. We poke and prod each other about family history, friends and hobbies, music and the mysteries of the universe…I start to stroke the sensitive lines of past, present and future; exploring the old emotional scars and fresh soul-deep wounds with as much passion and curiosity as I had previously imagined her exploring my physical body. She begins to pull me deep inside her, and before I know what is happening, I am lost with her, aching hungrily in my skin and soul to be a part of her. I feel as though I’ve built a relationship in the course of 20 minutes conversation, and I know that’s not a good thing. The hours melt together and as talk of love and relationships mesh with harsher urges for the sexual and exotic I can see that I’m in over my head. There is a reason I haven’t dated in two years, and it isn’t for want of willing participants. She offers to send me a few pictures of herself via e-mail, and when I notice that her pictures are indeed gone from my bookmarked page, I eagerly agree. Before she sends the photos, she asks me to come meet her…tonight. I grope for an answer, not sure of myself at all. Its one thing to play the flirt in text…but in reality it’s been a very long time since I’ve actually marketed myself in the flesh. Not to mention it’s now midnight. Using the ‘at this time of night’ card rather than the ‘I’m a hopeless loser who just wants pretty pictures of you fucking people instead of a real chance at being one of those people’ approach, I try to dodge what now seems inevitable disaster. Elizabeth is insistent, telling me that for all the time and effort she’s put in tonight the least I can do is let her buy me a mocha. “It’s just coffee, really! In a safe public place where you can run away if I turn out to be the boogey man. What’s the harm?” Without conscious thought, I find myself agreeing to drag my unprepared, destructive, and extremely exhausted ass to meet Elizabeth in about an hour. She asks if I know where the artist’s lofts are along the shoreline, and I painfully recount my rejection notice from the building she now resides in. There’s a café on the street level of the building where I’ve met for intense debates over the relevance of the Freudian Theory of Penis Envy in modern American lesbian culture with my fellow overachieving and undersexed graduate students. She and I agree on a secluded place near the back entrance to meet, and as suddenly as she appeared, ‘LaFleurDuFeuRouge’ is gone, leaving my own ‘SamanthaPanther’ hovering alone in the tiny window. I check my e-mail, and sure enough I find the pictures promised. It looks as though she has just taken them. I save the files to my hard drive, and open the first file, kisses4sam.jpg. She’s blowing the camera a kiss and has all the adorable charm of a lioness in heat. It’s obvious that this isn’t going to be as simple as I wish it could be. O.K. Sam, start with the basics; wash, dry, and dress. I plod off to the bathroom, and pile my remaining clothes into the laundry hamper. I crank the water on as hot as I can stand, and lather myself into a jasmine fluff of scented bubbles. My mind races as the hot water stabs at my back, trickling down over my shoulders and burning little hot rivers down my breasts. Sleep is no longer an option tonight. I plan out my outfit in my head as I scrub and soap my way out of the mess I’ve made of myself with Elizabeth earlier tonight, simultaneously praying for and putting off the chance of her in reality. I can’t believe I’ve agreed to this. I’ve gone to see people I’ve met on the internet, sure, but never without talking to them for quite some time and at lease speaking to them on the phone. And never someone I’d met from logging onto a porn site, forget about one of the ‘stars’. But something about Elizabeth made her feel safe…and after all we were meeting in a public place, right? How much that’s unsavory can go on in an upscale snob house? I step out of the shower and wrap myself in a towel, flipping my dripping hair back over my shoulder. As I trudge to the bedroom and pull my clothes from the closet, I think back over the evening. I head to the living room and drop my towel. I chew the edge of my lip and try to convince myself that I’m just meeting a friend for coffee. In the middle of the night, at a clique-ish little coffee house hidden in the center of downtown, which is all but deserted at night. I pace the floor in the living room dangling the last clean pair of my ‘sexy’ underwear, a lacy red thong, from my hand. I pause with my hands on my bare hips, and stare down at my silvery white Siamese cat, now lazing on the towel from my shower, expecting wildly that she’ll have an answer. No such luck. I stand in the middle of the room naked and nervous, debating with my sex and my logic. I glance over at the picture Elizabeth had sent me. She has beautiful long red hair, not the garish carrot color I’m used to but a softer coppery auburn. It falls down just above her breasts in soft waves, framing a face of smooth, flawless cream. Her lips are deep pink, full and shaped into a neat pucker blowing the camera a kiss; I can almost feel them brushing against my bare breasts, and my nipples harden with the chill of the room and the excitement of the thought. Above, a cute little button nose with a dusting of freckles that spread out over her high cheekbones. Her eyes are a mysterious mix of deep greens and light browns, framed by long, thick, lightly colored lashes. A stab of need digs into me, my body suddenly aching to be near this beautiful, mysterious creature and have those amazing eyes locked on mine. Suddenly entranced, I click over to the next file on my desktop: ForSam.jpg. She snapped these just for me tonight, and I open the file to renew my sense of determination. Elizabeth is stretched out, a marvelous display of sexuality, on her small single bed. She’s fully nude and obviously aroused. She’s on her back, with one knee bent up and the other leg falling gently off the bed, dangling a finely boned foot to the floor. She has long, well sculpted legs. The delicate, thin fingers of her right hand are pressed lightly in between her legs, and the hint of a flame colored strip peeks out between them. I shudder hard and imagine my hand there, pressing into the warm wetness. My eyes follow the line from her hand up the curve of her belly, a very slight fullness lacking in her hips lingers there making her human, real, and all the more wonderful to see. She has large natural breasts that are pale and richly white, as though they’ve been painted with milk. Her nipples are erect, and only a slight pinkness defines where they begin. The tips are thick and dark pink, matching her lips. The nails of her right hand pucker the soft skin of her right breast, which overflows her palm. I bite my lip instinctively, almost feeling the cool skin of her tits flooding my mouth. Her shoulders slope onto the thick down comforter beneath her, and the light shadowing of her collar bone draws my eyes up to her soft, long, porcelain neck. My tongue slips past my lips and I can taste her sweet skin. The tangled mass of her hair dips over her shoulders, laps up at her face, and commands a space of the bed with curls and waves of deep red and gold. Her jaw is delicate, her face passionate. Eyes almost closed, lips slightly parted; blissfully needful, enticing and erotic. The low track lighting in the room casts a minimal light, making her body radiate in the false dusk. Not only am I now ready to face her, I’m near the point of jumping on top of her on sight. I fight my way back to reality and slip into the thong. I grope around the room in the dark trying to remember exactly where I laid out my clothes and trying desperately and unsuccessfully to erase the images of Elizabeth laid out before me that dance in my mind. Tripping over my own feet I manage to fall flat on my face and land with my hand conveniently on my vibrator. I pull myself up to a sitting position on the floor by my desk, reach up and flip the switch on my desk lamp. I find the scattered double A’s and put them all back in place including the ‘cap’. I turn in on for a test, and the warm purr of it draws my mind back into complicated fantasies involving Elizabeth and various places in my apartment. I’m tempted to stay home and leave the real world and its possible disappointments behind, and to keep my fantasy of Elizabeth as fresh, pure, willing and inviting as I can imagine. Unspoiled by personality flaws and hang ups, complications of relationships, jobs, and grown-up life, she can be mine however I wish her to be. But looking back up to my monitor, I can hardly imagine that anything short of a disaster in person can be more exciting than a 17 inch rendering spread across my screen and my own wandering hands. I turn off the toy and collect my clumsy body and lustful thoughts. Working my way through the clothes spread out on the couch, I start at the top and move down. I pull the lace-up corseted top around me and adjust my breasts to leave as little to the imagination as is acceptable in public. The naturally tanned skin lacks the luster of a sun-drenched beach baby, but it is still appealing, smooth and relatively new to the spotlight. My small dark nipples strain against the constricting fabric already. Grabbing a hold of the laces, I give a yank that sends my head spinning and the edges of my nipples peeking out of the straight cut collar of the corset. My breasts push up and out against the stiff hem at the top, and the straight thick shoulder straps pin them against one another, creating a deep, dark valley of flesh. I run my finger along my newfound cleavage and feel another tingle of desire trickle down my spine. I step in front of the large, long mirror that runs along the wall into my living room and survey the territory. The heavy red fabric of the corset hides my excited flesh well enough, and the boning accentuates a normally shapely but well hidden figure into a sleek, elegant hour glass shape. The lacy red ‘V’ that slips in and disappears between my legs looks as though it was made to be worn with the corset. I’m well aware the chic sophisticated store I purchased it from had no intentions of it being paired with slutty underwear from my favorite dirt cheap online adult store. But to see them together was to see the perfect combination of class and trash, turning the coupling into a uniquely sexy design. I look at the overall effect in the mirror, debating whether or not to loosen the ties allowing myself to breath and the edges of my nipples to hide. When I see myself fully revealed, top to bottom, my reflection makes my decision for me. My lungs and ribcage will have to take one for the team. This is the best I’ve looked nearly naked that I can remember. I secure the laces in a neat bow at the base of my back, inhaling sharply as the boning pinches at my flesh. I turn around to examine my ass in the mirror, hoping that the corset has a similar positive effect on my backside. Sure enough, the fullness of my hips is smoothed and soft. My usually full ass is pushed into a heart shape against the back of my thighs, with the silky red thong tracing the curves and enhancing the soft brown tint of my skin. I ponder briefly the thought of slipping on a pair of fishnet stockings and sauntering into the coffee shop with nothing but a smile and my red ensemble on…but common decency dictates that I finish getting dressed, at least for a first meeting. I snatch my skirt off the couch and step into it, pulling it snugly up underneath the stiff points at the front and back of the bottom edge of the corset. It’s an ankle length black silk skirt, with a thick weighted bottom hem that pulls the light fabric around me in etched and shadowed curves. The side seam is split up just above my knee, hiding the only tan lines I have from a summer spent in shorts. I slide my feet into the waiting pair of strapped black heels, rising myself a full four inches of the carpet. I’m hoping the effect of the shoes will bring me at least within lip height of my date. I check the clock above my mantle; 12:30. I’m supposed to meet Elizabeth at 1:00am near the bookcases nestled by the coffee bar at ‘Kat’s Kups’, the trendy and exclusive drop spot for the well educated and philosophically inclined that is situated below her high-rise loft. I know it will take me at least 20 minutes to drive there from my little one bedroom apartment tucked in near the university, let alone the time it will take to park. I trip back to the bathroom, cursing the cat and nearly falling out of the corset. I run my fingers through my damp, dark hair, tossing it around and trying out a few clips and pins. Ugh…the overall look is lost on the clips. I grab for the necklace I’ve already decided to wear, a very small rendition of the Chinese symbol for ‘love’ carved out of black onyx suspended on a delicate line of red and black silk. As I slip it on, I feel the charm nestle itself in between my tender breasts, now slightly swollen and sore from the pressure of the corset. A spark of inspiration hits me, and I bolt to my computer desk then charge back before the mirror. My pulse pounds in my ears and across my flesh as I wind my hair into a tight bun and secure it with my red enameled chopsticks. The few loose wet strands twist into soft curls around my face, and I feel a flood of adrenaline hit my system as I collect my things. Once assembled with purse, keys, some cash and I.D., I step out onto the landing of my balcony. The night air is cool and clear, and I shiver with anticipation. Down the stairs and through the garage, into my little green Bug, and out onto the scenic route that will drop me at Elizabeth’s doorstep. The streets are fairly empty, and the roar of the ocean replaces the usual roar of traffic. I’m at the corner of her building in less than 10 minutes, parked and panting in 15. My heels click quickly on the cement sidewalk and my heart pounds. The cool breeze off the water mists across my bare arms and chest, sending goose bumps up and down my skin. The light material of my skirt flaps up over my thigh as I push into the rear doorway. Disheveled and already almost spent from the ups and downs of the evening, I fall heavily onto one of the overstuffed couches. One of the baristas looks at me strangely, but I barely have time to notice him before my eyes blur and I doze off, sinking into the velvety cush of the couch. I hear the rustling of soft fabric near me, and a few murmurs between people in the background. My eyelids are heavy, and the couch has not been kind to my corseted torso, which aches of bruising and abuse. I feel chilled, and realize that my skirt is open up to my high inner thigh. The warmth of a gentle hand slides up over my thigh and tugs the slippery fabric back into place. I force my eyes open and sit up abruptly, contorting my stiff neck painfully and pushing the stiff bottom of the corset into my thighs. The dark room comes slowly into focus, and as I recover from the thick sleepy haze I can see the woman sitting next to me, hand still resting protectively on my thigh. It’s Elizabeth, and she looks amazing. She’s perched next to me on the edge of the sofa, and her long wavy hair fights with a pair of gold barrettes for the low shimmer of light in the room. She’s not wearing any make up, but her lips hold a natural gloss and her cheeks shimmer with the candle lighting. Her eyes and brow are set in a sad line of worry, and her lips pout slightly with concern. Her shoulders are bare save two thin, forest green spaghetti straps that lead down to a low cut, thin fabric of the same color. The lack of a bra makes her nipples point straight out, two little drops of emerald on the luscious, full globes of her breasts. The green silk clings to her waist and her crossed legs allow the bottom of her dress to slide into her lap, revealing almost entirely her pale, long, well toned legs. A pair of flat gold sandals cling closely to her delicate feet and lace up around her ankles. I let out a heavy sigh, meeting her eyes for the first time. The dark green is astonishingly clear, and the flecks of golden brown are magnified by the candle flames. Breathlessly, I whisper her name, “Oh, Elizabeth.” Group Connections Ch. 02 Her look of concern is gone in a flash of her bright smile, and she’s ready for the games to begin. She sets a coy curve on her lips and leans back into the couch, now satisfied that I’m alright. Though she’s trying, and managing very well, to maintain a cool, collected, and calculating demeanor, I can tell she’s been on as much of a ride tonight as I have. I struggle to regain my composure, and stand up to straighten my clothes. I reach for her hand, and as she slips her palm against mine, I feel her ankle slide up along mine, the soft flesh pressing between the ties of her sandals and teasing my senses. It’s suddenly very obvious to me that her intentions are anything but pure. I feel the combined rush of fear, excitement, and disappointment flood me all at once. I have no idea what to do with myself or her. I drop my hand from hers and continue with the more formal and unnecessary introductions. I wave to the lone waiter on shift, and he scoots up beside us in the tiny corner. I can tell he’s been watching the two of us, even if I wasn’t fully conscious of it. He’s strategically positioned himself at an angle that allows a perfect view of my breasts, as well as a straight shot down Elizabeth’s scooping neckline. He can’t be more than 18, and his pretty blue eyes almost glaze over at the sigh of real tits. I’m sure if I let him stand here long enough, eventually his mouth with hang open, his eyelids will droop, and a spontaneous ejaculation will soak the front of his neatly pleated black pants. He’s already got quite a bulge going, and my long forgotten techniques of flirting are instinctively switched back on. I never had sex in high school, but I know I had a fair share of guys eating out of the palm of my hand. I figure I may as well warm up my skills on this easy mark. He’s cute, clean cut, and looks like he belongs in a boy band. I’m sure he’s a freshman at the college, because he looks like every other prep school pretty boy that walks into my classes. Sheltered, and sure of all of the ass that porno in high school has promised them awaits in college. I give Elizabeth a quick ‘watch me work’ glance, then turn my full attention on him. “What’s your name?” “Uhhh…I uh, I’m Brad. Hi, uhmm, What can I get you ladies tonight?” He’s trying hard to be charming, but there’s nothing about seducing the two eager sorority girls in ‘Slumber Party Part IV’. I lean in close to him and pick the lint off his collar, letting my fingernails nick at the skin of his neck. His eyes shift nervously between his boss and my cleavage, and eventually land there, studying my tits intensely as though they might have a list of instructions printed on them to tell him how to handle this situation. I drop my hand to his shoulder, then pull my palm down to rest on his chest. I feel his pulse racing, and he looks like a terrified puppy. I stifle a laugh as I compare the two in my mind, and wonder sarcastically if he’ll pee on the carpet if I call him a bad boy too. “Well, Brad, my friend Elizabeth lives upstairs, I’m sure you’ve seen her before. But I’ve never been out with her. Could you tell me what she likes best?” I purr, using my best sweet husky do what teacher says voice, the one that I use as a last resort when my champion football undergrads refuse work. “I…I think she usually gets a double latte, with a shot of Bailey’s, half and half, and,” He’s struggling for the rest of her order, and it’s apparent that though he’s served her countless times his thoughts are far from her order. “and a glass of water, with mint.” I turn to Elizabeth, who is bright red and grinning from ear to ear, trying to conceal her laughter. I nearly loose my cool seeing her myself, and I decide instead to apply my desire to my poor captive. She nods and chirps a quick “That’s it!” before clapping her hand to her mouth and collapsing face first into the arm of the couch. “Well, then, that’s what she’ll have.” I say, still watching her. Her back is bare as far down her spine as her lower back, where the skin is pressed into the couch. Her shoulder blades form neat little triangles in the smooth skin and I can feel my nervous formality giving way to unnatural familiarity. I’m not sure which is better, but at this point in the evening I’m finally starting not to care. As I turn back to Brad I hear her muffled giggles fade into the upholstery. He’s wisely used his time to try and conceal his now obvious erection down a pant leg. When he sees my face at his again, he’s beet red and his eyes are like saucers. “Bradley! What ever are you doing?!” I gasp in mock surprise. I cut off his stammering for an excuse by letting my hand drop from his chest and brush past his fly before settling it on the bookcase behind him at the level of his waist. I inch him closer to it, until his back is firmly planted in the shelving and I’m brushing my tits up against him. I lean over to his ear and take a few slow deep breaths, blowing them out heavily on his neck. “I think I’d like a glass of wine,” I whisper hotly, pressing into him. “pick something that goes well with meat.” At this his poor, tortured member can hardly handle any more, and from the feel of him against my stomach I’m sure he’ll be done if I look at him the right way. Satisfied that I’ve abused the kid quite long enough, and finally feeling more comfortable in my own skin, I straighten up, giving him a smile as he scribbles down the order, concentrating fiercely on the paper as though it were a final exam. I retreat to the couch and can’t help but feel guilty as he scurries as politely and quickly as he can to the counter, slams down the paper and disappears behind the swinging doors to the kitchen area. I plop down on the opposite end of the couch, cross my legs and turn to Elizabeth who is all but howling with laughter. “That was just cruel.” She gasps. “he looked like he was ready to cry.” “Well, he felt like he was ready to pounce.” I roll my eyes sarcastically, “There are 500 more just like him in my classes. Trust me, by tomorrow, he will have fucked me on this very couch after smooth talking me out of my clothes in seconds flat. I must be asked two hundred times a semester whether or not I’m sleeping with my students by someone.” “I’m sure; of course I can’t blame them.” She winks at me, and I’m suddenly reminded I’m with her, not a mob of my socially retarded coworkers. “You look great. I was so happy when you agreed to come tonight. I’m eager to get to know you better. Oh, What’s this?” I see here eyes drop to my breasts, and she lifts a finger to my chest, pulling in slowly down into the cleft between them. My eyes focus on the carved stone nestled between my tits…I can’t bring myself to watch her. Somehow I doubt ‘getting to know me’ entails anything mentioned in the musical rendition I’m used to. I sit rigidly, breathlessly, as she pulls the charm from my necklace between her thumb and finger, leaving her hand resting cool and casually on my exposed skin. “It’s the Chinese symbol for love.” My voice, strong and sure only seconds ago has dissipated into a weak, pathetic mew. She traces her fingers up along the silk rope and back to rest on the nape of my neck. Her palm is soft, smooth, and pressing me gently forward. I bring my eyes up to hers, and the intense passion and desire in them is almost frightening. Her hunger is overwhelming, inviting and threatening all at once. My mind races through the endless reasons not to be here and not to do this, but the growing need inside me has already begun to take over, and my imagination surrenders itself to the idea of a night with Elizabeth, rather than a cautious dance around natural tendency. I rest my hand above her knee, letting the soft green fabric of her dress slip over my hand. My fingers slide towards her inner thigh and I lean into her. Feeling a flood of nervous tension at the thought of her pulling away, I swoop down on her mouth, pressing my lips firmly to hers. My two years of yearning, pain and torture are released in this kiss. She falls back hard into the couch, neck craned back against the edge, pinned beneath me. I lock onto her eyes, watching her expression of surprise and slight pain slowly melt back into hunger as her tongue probes into my mouth. I lick her lips, tasting the sweet glaze of some honey lip balm and bite roughly against her lower lip. Her fingers on my neck grasp at the exposed skin and I feel her nails scratching harsh lines into my flesh. I suck her tongue deeply into my mouth, committing each bump and taste to my memory. Pulling back a little, we sit up together and I slide my hands hungrily up her body, feeling her smooth hips and waist, cupping her large tits, exploring the exotic landscape her figure provides me, that her kisses invite me to occupy. I hear the clatter of cups on the coffee table beside us, and I’m pulled unwilling back to reality. Any relationship I’d conjured between Elizabeth and I was shattered, and I was simply a woman sitting with another woman I’d never met before, having ‘indecent’ thoughts and now ‘inappropriate’ physical interactions with her. I break away and grab for my glass of wine, staring into the bowl of the glass, wishing I could drown my embarrassment and clumsy forwardness in the dark, rich liquid. If I think I could manage to run out the door without tripping over myself, I would. I sigh heavily, feeling the heat in my body transfer from desire into deep shades of shame and center in my face. Absorbed in my self loathing, I don’t notice Elizabeth sitting up beside me and reaching for her mug. She sets a hand on my shoulder, and I resist the urge to tear away from her touch and cry. “Samantha, it’s alright. Did you think I didn’t want you to kiss me?” She’s cooing at me gently, like a mother cleaning up spilled juice on an expensive carpet. I can only manage to turn my face away from my glass and to the window opposite the nook of leather bound books. “Sam, I didn’t exactly ask you here to play checkers.” She sounds angry now, and I swim in a sea of conflicting emotions and confusing loyalties. I turn on her harshly, and spit out “Why did you ask me to come then? Hot sex to go, one order of a mousey brunette, delivered?! I’m glad it’s so simple for you to invite someone to your bed. I’m happy that you’re as carefree and uninhibited as you are. I’m glad your beauty and grace have served your needs so well. But I just don’t work like that. My god, girl, I was banging myself into oblivion over your pictures not three hours ago! And now you’re here telling me to do the same in person? You’re not even real to me! There…what’s supposed to…how do I…” I slam my glass down on the table, frustrated with myself and hurting for no real reason. Tears drip down my cheeks without my permission. “Samantha, why did you come? What did you want? A fantasy? A friend? A commitment? I came because I wanted to meet a fascinating, attractive, intelligent woman who wanted to meet me. Whatever happens tonight happens, and I make no apologies for it.” She was very matter-of-fact, and sipped her coffee casually while I fought with…what? Myself? Was it really that simple? All I had to do was let go? No social police would bang down my door to carry me away if I slept with her tonight and didn’t worry about what happened next? My heart wouldn’t explode if I let her have me? I took a deep drink of my wine, looking for courage in a glass. I really did want to let it all go, to just enjoy this mysterious woman and whatever she had to offer me. I wiped my eyes and breathed deeply, forcing back years of formal training and strict ruling, putting away my social conventions and trying desperately to let myself have what I wanted, rather than be what other people expected. “Elizabeth, could we….I’d like to see your place.” It was lame, it was indirect. It worked. She smiled broadly, and all the tension and irritation was gone from her and the evening. “Of course! I’d love to show you around.” Group Connections Ch. 03 She takes my hand and pulls me toward the empty foyer of the complex, like a child dragging her mother to see her new want in the window for the umpteenth time. Just like the mother I stumble somewhat unwillingly behind, but I can’t help being caught up in her excitement. We pass our waiter friend Brad, and I see him smirk and I imagine my expression matches his from earlier this evening; deer in the headlights with a hint of anticipation. He waves goodbye, and calls “Goodnight Liz, Ladies” as she finally lets go of my hand and digs down the front of her dress. My mouth falls open and I ask “What are you doing!?” “I thought we’d get started right here, c’mon, take your clothes off.” She winks at me indicating a joke, but I can’t help but feel she might be serious. I glance nervously around the glass-walled entryway and look back at her questioningly. “I’m getting my elevator key card. I didn’t bring anything down with me but it, so I kept it in my bra.” How charming. I’m sure it works wonders on your poor gentlemen callers. Of course, when was the last time a man was allowed in her room? We haven’t talked at all about her recent relations, the group romps and threesomes that inadvertently introduced us, only those long buried in the past. I find myself tapping my heel on the cold stone tiles of the foyer as a flood of unanswered questions and new worries fills my mind. She looks back at me as she pulls the elevator key out of her dress, like some sick sexual magic trick. I half expect her to say some magic word. Instead for her next trick, it seems, she reads my mind. “Samantha, don’t think. That brain of yours is on overload. How long has it been since you just relaxed?” “Twenty-Four years, two months, 3 days and…” I count the hours and seconds back to what would be my birth on the oversized clock above the elevator doors, “two hours, 45…6 seconds.” She laughs at me, and slides her key card into the slot by the elevator door. The building has 20 stories, and her apartment is just below the penthouse. While we wait for the elevator, she pulls me over beside her. “Sam, you really are very beautiful, even if you are a bit uptight.” She leans down and kisses the side of my neck to emphasize her point. The pulse point right below and behind my ear lobe, the sensitive spot I’ve often touched myself when nervous or lonely but not one of my lovers or friends has managed to find. The touch of her soft, wet lips on the sensitive skin sends electricity shooting through me, concentrating a building charge low in my abdomen. Like a light switch, my brain is off and I’m hers for the morning, or what remains of it. She buries her nose in the spot again. “Is that jasmine oil? I love it.” I can’t speak, for fear I’ll lose this blissful, thoughtless feeling my brain and body have been aching for for years. She kisses my jaw just as the elevator dings its arrival in the foyer. I let her drag me into the elevator and settle myself into a back corner opposite the buttons for the floors. I watch her push 19, and scurry back along the rather spacious and comfortable elevator. It’s dark, lit by the track lighting made familiar by Elizabeth’s picture that I remind myself to make my new desktop wallpaper when I get home. It’s modernly and overly furnished, as far as elevators go, and I inch over to the cushioned bench along the rear wall. The top of the elevator is mirrored, and I look up giving myself a quick once-over before I realize my mirror image is seated next to Elizabeth’s reflection as well. I turn to her, and before I can say a word her lips are on mine. I close my eyes and allow the upward movement of the elevator to push me back into the corner, totally unaware of myself. Elizabeth is on top of me, our positions from the coffee house couch now reversed. Her tongue slips in and out of my lips, exploring the moisture and heat of my mouth that my pussy is now beginning to emulate. As the elevator dimly ticks off the floors, her hands work their way over my sore torso. I wince and jump each time her fingers force the boning of the corset into a fresh bruise, and each time she traces around it, committing the map of my beaten flesh to memory. I try desperately to do the same, focusing on the pain so as not to get lost in the night, but I’m already long gone. I slide my arms up over her hips, and slip my hands around her bare back, letting my fingers settle on the thin line of a g-sting just under the scooping back of her green silk dress. My chest heaves up with my breathing, each gulp of air more ragged and wanting than the one before it. Each time I inhale, I feel the weight of her tits settle on mine, the firm points of her nipples pressing into the taut skin of my cleavage. My fingers trace the dip in her flesh made by her underwear, and I feel her skin grow gradually hotter with mine. She brings her hands up my back and to my shoulders, resting her palms against my exposed shoulder blades and tickling my neck with her slender fingers. Her mouth pushes away from mine and down along my jaw, licking a slick trail to my ear. She latches onto my earlobe, biting and sucking the soft flesh with intensity. I let my head loll back into the corner, and feel the chopsticks in my hair stab at my scalp. I moan softly with the combined pain and pleasure being afforded me, and pull my hands up her bare back, digging my nails lightly into her pale flesh. I look up to the mirror and watch her twist under my touch, and see the dark red of ten evenly spaced scratches crawl up her ivory white back behind my fingers. I see her deep pink lips part, letting her tongue probe my neck and jaw. I shudder as I see and feel her suck down just behind my jaw. I push her to me, my palms flat on her shoulders. Her breasts squeeze against mine and the weight of her collapses onto me just as the elevator announces its arrival on the 19th floor with a sharp ‘ding’. I long to push the ‘close door’ button, to keep her trapped with me and myself trapped beneath her for the duration. But as the thought is forming, she’s already up and off me, laughing, smiling and beckoning me out towards her doorway. I push myself off the couch and as I stand the full weight of the wine I gulped downstairs hits me. My knees buckle under me, and I sprawl out of the elevator onto the cool marbled tile hallway floor. Forcibly loosening up a bit, I proclaim “C’mon Liz, do me right here!” and slap my hand on the marble next to my now aching ass. She laughs again and unlocks and pushes open her door before coming over to me and dragging me up. We tumble together inside the doorway, and land as a single laughing heap of excited, nervous female energy on her hardwood floor. She’s on top of me, and attempts to pick herself up first. I’ve long ago surrendered my formalities for the night, and I pull her back down on top of me. Her bare knees rest on either side of my full hips and the length of her thighs is stretched, pressing her ass tightly down into my pelvic region. The pressure inside me throbs against her weight, and I run my hands up her stomach and cup her breasts in my hands. She must be a full D cup, and I’m enthralled by the stiff perky heaviness. I can never get my own tits to spring up like that, and I’m only a C, maybe a D on a good day in the right bra. She tosses her long wavy hair to one side, letting the mass of it fall down over my left hand. It’s incredibly thick and soft, the deep reds and soft strawberry blondes mix awkwardly with the darkened tint of my tan hand. She leaves her head cocked to the side and gives me a mischievous smile, simultaneously forcing herself down hard onto my thighs and tender, swollen mound. A forced groan escapes me, and she traces a finger up and down my cleavage while I recover. “Shall I show you around?” She asks formally, far too formally for our current position. I laugh at her and press her tits together and up, allowing little pale pink half circles to peek above the neckline of her dress. I feel my own nipples strain and grate against the constricting fabric of the corset. She drags her hands down my stomach to her bare thighs, and traces her fingers in front of her legs, along the hard bottom edge of the corset. She brings her finger tips back along her exposed inner thighs, simultaneously slipping them over my covered hips and thighs. The dark green fabric of her dress falls in a concealing drape between her legs, and she pushes it back against her own hot mound, digging her finger tips into middle of the gentle ‘V’ made by my skirt between my legs, teasing my already swollen clit. She presses her thighs together over the outside of mine and I feel the familiar warm squish between my legs as I soak my thong with anticipation. The muscles of my cunt spasm lightly under the pressure and I feel the intense heat against my lips. Her fingers have wandered back out to my hips now, and she presses her hands into the floor on either side of me. I force my hips up against her, and she bounces her ass down against me driving my already tender ass into the floor. I release my grasp on her and instinctively rub my hips to soothe the sore flesh as she climbs off me. “Get up!” She squeals happily, “I want to show you my place!” She pads up to my shoulders, and I look up to a perfect up-skirt view. I lie still for a minute and allow my consoling hands to move from my hips over my thighs and between my legs. I smooth the folds of my skirt against myself, rubbing my slit enough to comfort the long building ache through the layers of fabric. The light of her loft shines through the silk dress, casting a soft green tint over her upper thighs, which appear as muscular and inviting as they did from under the dress. I can see the rich white curves of her ass, and make out the dark line of the g-string I felt earlier along her hips. I knead my own swollen, bare lips through my clothing as I notice the neatly kept red fuzz peek out around the very small triangle covering her, and the thin line of the g-string slipping along her bare lips. She’s very wet too; I can see the glistening of moisture coating her by the light through her skirt. A single drip inches down her right thigh, and I push my fingers hard against my clit, forcing my underwear and skirt between my swollen lips. I sit up quickly to avoid poking my head up her dress to taste it. “Well, then, what’s to see?” I say, attempting to distract myself and swiveling on the hardwood to look out into her apartment. I realize then that graduate school might not have been the wise career move I thought it was. Apparently, there is an untapped market in nanny-ing I was unaware of. She has the full half-floor of the level for her ‘apartment’, and three of the four walls are made up of pane glass windows minus perhaps four feet of bare brick wall at the top. On the right side, perched above a dining room and bar, there is a spacious sleeping loft with a wrought iron spiral staircase spilling into the living room area. There are leather couches and the newest, hippest furniture hangs around the room like artwork rather than anything functional. On the left wall, another loft that leads up to what appears to be her studio, with a matching staircase. It’s overrun with scraps of colorful paper, brushes, easels, and various other beautiful, artistic trash. Below is a slightly sunken office area, and I see the workstation and desktop she was no doubt using to talk to me earlier tonight. I pull myself up to a standing position using what turns out to be a stool for the breakfast bar of a large, well equipped kitchen. Opposite us on the red brick entryway wall, a huge painting of wilting flowers jumps to life. The blues and purples melt onto the canvas, and the yellows and oranges scream for attention. I’m riveted, glued to the mysterious aura of the painting. Elizabeth lights at my side and studies it as well. “I did that my first year painting. I was 13, and my parents were still together. It’s almost too happy for me now, so I keep it there to wake me up with my coffee.” “It’s wonderful, I mean, I’m no connoisseur, believe me. But I love it.” “Ah, well, my heart is in it, I’m sure that’s it.” She winks at me and grabs my hand, pulling me out to the wall of windows opposite the front door. “This is the best painting here by far, and it changes every day.” There is a display of the coast line, and I can see the scattered bonfires all along the beach. Out further, the lights of ships twinkle brightly against the water. I survey the lay out, naming silently the little islands and bridges I see. I scan back and forth, and catch the light of the moon reflecting on the water; a full, pale glow rippling with the wind and waves. As I look back up to see the twin moon hanging heavily in the foggy sky, I hear Liz scurrying around behind me. I turn around to am empty room, and hear rustling in the sleeping loft. The green dress lays limp and empty across the back of one couch. Scattered on the floor I see the gold laced sandals, and on closer inspection the thin, strappy silhouette of the empty g-string among them. So, Elizabeth is obviously in the loft, sans clothes. Why the hell am I still in her living room, fully dressed and admiring the ocean? I see it every day. It’s not every day, however, that there is a hot, naked redhead willing to sleep with me running around in close proximity. “Liz? Where are you?” In answer, slow thick strains of amateur jazz recordings float down over the edge of the sleeping loft. “Ee-LIZZ-A-beth! Where aaaaare youuu?!” She appears at the top of the spiral staircase, disappointingly clothed, in tight cut-off grey sweat shorts and a tiny jersey t-shirt proclaiming ‘Hottie’ in sequined red letters. Her dainty feet and ankles are hidden in a bulky pair of grey and red slouch socks, and her hair is pulled up in, of all things, pig tails. Suddenly I feel very over dressed and over aged. “Have anything more comfortable for me?” I call up. If we’re going to have a slumber party there’s no point in being painfully beautiful. Casual works fine for me. “Oh, I’ll find you something in a while” she teases. Elizabeth bounces down the staircase, and I am content to watch her bounce. The t-shirt proves to be more revealing that the dress did; the tight white cotton stretches over her breasts like a second skin, and the backing of the sequins has rubbed her nipples totally erect. Her pig-tails flip flop as she tumbles down the staircase and turns her back on me. Each cheek of her ass bumps up then down in time with the stairs. The grey sweats are shrunken and worn to accentuate the roundness of her butt, the seam slipping between her ass cheeks and hugging her skin. As she turns and lands at the bottom of the staircase, I’m more on fire than I was before. I grab for her, and pull her into a hungry kiss. She smacks at my hands and pulls out of the kiss. “You’re as bad as the guys, I swear. Get back to the window, or else!” she orders, and I grudgingly oblige. It seems as though we’re playing cat and mouse, but I can’t quite figure out which part I’m supposed to be filling. In a few minutes, she comes up close behind me and wraps her arm around my side, presenting me with what looks to be a martini. I take a slow, careful sip remembering what the red wine and the long night have already done to me. Liz doesn’t back off of me after handing me the drink. Rather, she presses closer to me, and I feel the curves of her body meet mine. Since she’s taller, I can feel her contours resting above my own, her breasts to my shoulder blades, her stomach to my back, and her thighs to my ass. I no longer feel like the mature adult of the pair, no matter who’s in the pig tails. She rests her hands on my cinched down waist and grinds herself against me. I nearly drop my glass as she wraps her arms around me, pushing her hands up to my breasts. I can see our reflection in the mirror, and her eyes focus intently on my constrained tits. I watch her in the window as she bends to my neck, kissing and caressing me with her tongue. Her fingers walk lazily over my bare breasts, and then slide down my arms. I lean back against her, and my skin crawls with anticipation. My breath, rapid and sharp, fogs over the thick glass in front of me, clouding her image in the window as my mind clouds over with thick, blunt stabs of desire. She doesn’t respond to my pleading body language at all. Instead, her fingers fold over mine as she takes my glass, then she disappears from sensation entirely to set it somewhere on the floor behind us. “Mouse” I mumble quietly to myself. “Hey, I just got that you know.” I protest jokingly, scrambling once again for a solid hold on the situation. Obviously, the jokes are over. She pushes me forward, inching behind me until I’m pressed against the cool, harsh chill of the glass. She drops to her knees behind me, and insists with her hands that I step out of my shoes, which are left somewhere with my half finished martini. She slides her hand up my leg along the slit of my black skirt, sending goose bumps up and down my legs. She flips the back half of my skirt up like a curtain, grabbing it with her other hand and holding it firmly to my hip. My bare ass is now displayed, and I’m unable to see what’s going on behind me. I feel her hand slide back around my upper thigh, and her fingers probe my lips through the thin red satin of the thong. Her lips pucker against my ass cheek and suck down. She nips and licks at the flesh of my ass while her fingers stroke my lips, squishing the dampening satin against my skin. She presses the fabric into my folds, running her finger in deeper and deeper lines against my slit. My pulse quickens and my head pounds. I feel faint from the intensity of everything this evening. “Liz” I whisper breathlessly “I think I’m going to fall.” Without a word she jerks me around to face her and pushes me back into the window, still holding the back of my skirt up. My skin burns with the cold and I claw at her shoulders to stay upright. Loosing my battle with my legs, I slide down the glass and land on the floor. I cry in pain as my hips and butt take another blow. My knees are splayed open around Elizabeth’s legs. She crawls forward and kisses me hard, banging my head back against the glass. I whimper into her lips as she pulls away. “I don’t think I can take much more of a beating” I whine. She kisses me softly now, stroking my cheek with her hand, and I can feel my faculties slipping further and further away. I’m lost in a fog of conversationless sensation and loving it. As she tugs and sucks at my mouth, I pull her body towards me. She scoots herself up against me, bringing my bruised and tender ass off of the hard floor and onto her tone but forgiving upper thighs. I’m close enough to her that I can feel her heat, and I thrust myself up onto her, banging my swollen, wet cunt against her cotton covered mound. She drops her head into my cleavage, and digs her tongue into the deep cleft between my breasts. I practically whine with want as she slides her hands down to cup my ass and begins rolling her hips against me. I’m so exhausted at this point it takes all of my energy to tolerate the ever intensening sensations, let alone to respond. “Elizabeth I’m sorry…I’m just so spent.” I gasp the words in long thick sentences mingled with wine and want as her hungry mouth gnaws along my skin at the edge of the corset. She looks up at me sympathetically, “Would you like to lie down?” Even in her tenderness she has an underlying element of mischief that I find uncontrollably drawing. You want to please her as badly as she wants to please you no matter what the request, just to find the little twist she has in sore. I nod and she scoots back from me, still supporting my weight until she gently sets my on the floor. I’m still impressed with her strength, and I admire the long lean muscles of her legs as she stands to help me up. I feel the adrenaline drip out of me for what I am sure is at least the tenth and final time for the evening. Group Connections Ch. 03 “C’mon, I’ll make up the bed in the loft.” We ramble up the spiral staircase and I’m once again admiring her body as her ass, now inches from my face, wobbles in all it’s splendor up to the sleeping loft. Even without the energy for sexual arousal, the temptation to bury my face there is almost irresistible. As we wind around to the landing, the incredible sense of style and grace about this woman is once again showcased in her room. A simple bed is draped with scarves of satins and silks at the head, giving a crowning effect around the two window panes that serve as a headboard. She steps over behind a paper and mahogany dressing screen to what I imagine to be her closet and linen area, since she emerges with a short red satin robe in one hand and clean bed linens in the other. There is a simple mahogany vanity oiled to a rich shine that showcases a neat contrast of colors to the messy art loft…hand blown glass containers of fragrant natural oils and lotions along with a simple antique silver hand mirror, matching brush with horse hair bristles, and an amazing ivory carved comb. She directs me to the matching stool as she fusses with the bed. Overtaken by the shiny objects and my slightly drunken state, I play with the bottles and comb, watching the colors and sparkle shift with the low light. I hear her distantly in the background explaining something about her great grandmother’s silver set. When I pull my eyes away I get the full impact of the room and its view of the city, along with the newly made bed and amazing display of what must be at least 30 handmade candles lit around the room. She motions me over to her, and once again letting go of my dictatorial stance, I obey. Standing behind me, I feel her begin to pull at the waistline of my skirt, inching it down over my full hips. I wiggle a little to assist her and I am rewarded with her lips at the base of my neck and her fingertips inside the edge of my thong as my skirt falls to the floor. Everywhere she touches me my skin tingles…tiny sparks of energy flow from her to me with each subtle movement. Keeping her fingers inside my thong, she slides them back to the base of the corset. I flash on a moment of dread as I imagine my well placed flesh flopping out before her but I’m too exhausted to care anymore. Her breath is heavy on my shoulder blades as she tugs the laces loose. My body rejoices at being released and I’m renewed by the blood flow and breathing room that’s being resorted. Still too tired to react, at least now I can enjoy the sensation of her tongue sliding down my now exposed spine. I allow her to move me, standing limply still like a doll, to finis removing my corset from behind. Her hands slide up my tender stomach, and I wince and flinch at every bruise and tender spot along the deep dents the corset has left in me. She rests her hands under my breasts and my newly freed nipples perk to their full, large potential. I lean back into her, allowing myself the comfort and sensation the support of her body gives me. Of course, no matter how tender, she is still the cat and I her mouse. She steps back from me suddenly. So suddenly I’m almost on the floor…now dizzy and disoriented again. She returns quickly, slipping me into the satin robe which I now realize was meant to be a waist length frock…Because of my height, it comes down on me just enough to cover my behind, leaving little slivers of moon below exposed to the cold air. I move to tie it shut, and she gently restrains my wrists at my sides. Though I can’t see her, I can feel her mischievous smile. Her hands slide to my hips, and urge me out of the thong. Unwillingly I oblige, and before she can get a hold of me I’m in the bed and under the sheets. I pull the covers to my chin and grin at her like some silly child who thinks she’s gotten away with something. “I bet you think you’re so cute, don’t you” she chides me. I can’t help but laugh at her…at the foot of the bed with her hands on her hips, all the while soaking a visibly wet spot on the light grey shorts. She does look slightly irritated, and I sense this game still puts the odds heavily in her favor. She straddles my feet with her knees and crawls up over me on the bed, ripping the covers from my hands and exposes my bare front, now surrounded in neat folds of red satin, to the air and her eyes. She has the same hungry look to her that she’s had all night, only now intensified by the chase. It burns into me and even in the chill of the room my body is on fire with her hot gaze. Clamoring over me, she straddles my hips and drops heavily onto me. I buck up and moan as the thick sticky cotton of her shorts grates against my swollen clit. She slurps and swallows my left breast, biting at the flesh and tearing at the nipple with her tongue. I feel helpless, I feel consumed. I’m a meal to her, simple prey. I’m not a mouse to her cat; I’m a gazelle to her hungry lioness. Pulling herself off of my chest, she continues to pound her hips into me mercilessly, racking my body with spikes of second long orgasmic energy with each stab. She tugs her shirt off and I enjoy for a moment the glow of her pale flesh in the candlelight, flushed pink and warm with excitement. Her hair flows over her shoulders and bounces in time with her breasts as she rides me. My view doesn’t last long. She descends upon me and plants her nipple in my mouth. It’s rock hard and pulsing hot even in between my warm lips. I suckle her, savoring the flavor of her sweet flesh and enjoying the gasps of pleasure she awards my efforts. I squeeze and massage her other breast with my hand, taking time to tweak her nipple roughly and listen to her scream with delight. I’ve never fucked a woman before this. I’ve made love, I’ve had sex, but the pounding animal energy of fucking has never taken over me before this moment. I push my free hand between us and save my clit from a premature orgasm by lifting my fingers and massaging her. Even the cotton is dripping wet from her slick wetness and mine. I probe and push hard against her folds, then dig into her slit. My finger moves back and forth along her quickly, and I flick her clit quickly matching the pace of my tongue on her nipple. Deep growls of pleasure echo above me. I want to make her climax. I want this beautiful animal to come for me, cry for me in the exquisite agony of orgasm. I move my hand up to her stomach and let it slide into her shorts, down over the soft fuzz of a thin strip of soggy pubic hair and into her smooth warm slit. Pushing my first two fingers up inside her, I thrust my hips against my hand, forcing them deep inside of her. Simultaneously, I bite down on her nipple and she screams “Samantha yes!” If nothing of this night has renewed my energy, hearing her wild cry does. I hook my fingers and rub the inner wall of what would be her clitoris while nipping and biting onto her nipple with more and more force. She rips her breast from my mouth and kisses me deeply, pounding her hips against my hand. She’s fucking my fingers with incredible force and I feel her muscles begin to contract with the first small twinges of orgasm. Her tongue explores my mouth as harshly as my fingers explore her pussy. I raise my hips again, grinding my palm into her clit and twitching my fingertips along her ever tightening insides. I want her to come for me so badly…to spill her sticky sweet fluids all over my hand and mound.