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London

By: Chef Jeff



A glorious night in London. My first glimpse of London - how alive it is at night! A light meal following some sightseeing and people-watching. I had a delightful concoction of beef, chicken, and mango at a Chinese restaurant. The theater - a thriller with a twist and a lesson. A rambling stroll from Trafalgar Square to Piccadilly. A late dinner on the main street in Piccadilly - Italian restaurant, table by the window, some delicious pasta, dessert and coffee. Some blues in a small, crowded club. The walk back to my hotel in Mayfair. All in all, a lovely night. 

But it wasn't over quite yet. Wouldn't be over for quite a while yet. Much to my surprise, I might add.

My friend at work had downplayed this trip to London. "The food is bad, the women are ugly," he said. So far, I'd found neither to be true. I've described the food. Let me describe the women. But first, let me describe what I find attractive, and how that fit so well with the women in London. 

I like women who are unique, uncommon, even unusual. I like women who are feminine but not submissive. I like women who have strong opinions and ideas, but are not overbearing. Distinctive eyes attract me. And I am a complete sucker for any woman in a skirt and black stockings!

This description fit many of the women I saw that night in London. Of course, I couldn't judge the personalities. Many of them were not English; there were probably more tourists than Londoners. But many of them had beautiful eyes. And many of them had short black skirts and black hose. It seemed to be the common dress code among the women there. 

Now, most of them were on the arm of their date. A few of them were arm-in-arm with each other! And though I started a few conversations with some women I found interesting, nothing came of these encounters. So I journeyed back to my hotel. 

About a block from the hotel, two young women were cavorting on a traffic island by Berkeley Square. From the other corner of the square, I saw them, laughing, hugging, dancing, maybe a bit intoxicated. But the first thing I noticed was the short skirts and black stockings!

I approached the spot and they were still fooling around with each other. I was wishing they would fool around with me! I make some remark, asking if they were having fun that night, in my typical style of asking the obvious question. Usually this gets one of two reactions; a polite disinterested reply or a clever response that shows some spark. This time, the response was unexpected.

"We were hoping to attract some attention, that's all. It seems to have worked," the taller of the two girls said. 

She had dark-skin, with dark hair and eyes too. She looked Middle Eastern, spoke English well. I have no idea where she was from, never did find out. She was wearing a red top, short black skirt, and funky chunky shoes. Her friend was Chinese; shoulder length dark hair and piercing dark eyes. She was all in black; I had already seen from across the street that she had thigh high black hose, which drives me wild, and black high heels. She had yet to speak, but I was in lust with her already. 

"A well-laid plan usually brings the desired results," I replied. 

"Well-laid, desired, these are things we'd like to be," said the Chinese woman, touching my hand as she said it.

"The desire is already there, or should I say here. The well-laid part could be right around the corner." I took her hand and lightly stroked the inside of her palm with the tip of my finger as I said it. Then I pointed down the street towards my hotel.

They looked at each other and smiled. Each one hooked an arm, the Chinese girl on my left and the Middle Eastern girl on the right. 

The walk to my hotel was short and since it was quite cold, we moved quickly. Maybe it wasn't just the cold that drove us to walk fast. A few ideas crossed my mind. First, caution hit me and I wondered if they were setting me up to rob me. I'm sure it wouldn't be the first time an unwary traveler had be set up in such a seductive manner. I decided that the opportunity was worth the risk. Next, I thought about how this had always been a fantasy of mine to be with two women. Of course, this in not unique; millions of guys have the same fantasy. But the idea of doing it with two women of different nationalities, different skin colors, and in a different country was a nice twist to this fantasy. 

As we reached the lobby, there was a very loud private party going on in the ballroom of the hotel. It looked interesting, but I was more interested in a little private party upstairs. As we walked past the front desk, the guy behind the desk just smiled and said "Cheers." 

We entered my room and threw of our coats. They came around to me and started kissing me and each other. Already I was quite presently surprised! "What are your names?" I asked. 

The Chinese girl said, "I am Amy, and this is my friend Lonni. We want to get to know you very well." 

"Well, my name is Alan, and I'd like to know you inside and out."

The hotel was nice but it was built long before sound-proofing had ever been thought of. We could hear the band from the party below quite clearly and loudly, playing some upbeat dance tune. We started to move with the music, all dancing close together. They were quite provocative in their gyrations, and I began to touch them to add some provocation of my own. They responded by shaking their lithe bodies even more. We danced a happy, carefree dance, rubbing each other, touching all over. We were grabbing each others' asses and pulling each other close, then moving to the other partner. Amy touching me, me caressing Lonni, Lonni feeling Amy. Oh, I really was enjoying this. 

The tune below stopped, we fell exhausted on the bed in a pile, laughing. Lonnie got some energy back first, standing up, dancing, arms in the air, very slow and seductive. Amy said, "Why don't you do a little striptease for us?" Lonni responded by grabbing the bottom of her red shirt and peeling it off, revealing a delightful blend of tannish skin sparked with a lacy red bra. Amy and I gave each other a few hugs and touches to accentuate our appreciation

"What next, Alan?" Her voice was low, almost whispering.  
"Mmm…Skirt…yes, take off your skirt." I could hardly speak myself. She complied, reached to her side and unzipped, stopped moving, then shook her ass just enough to make the skirt fall to the floor. Amy and I were delighted to find a distinct lack of panties, surrounded by a red and black garter belt, hooked to the tops of her black stockings. Her pubic hair was black and curly, but neatly trimmed into a triangle that pointed to her nether delights. What a sight! She unhooked her bra to show us her lovely breasts, firm, high, with exploded areolas and big nipples. 

She continued to dance, "Like me?" she said. We reached for her to show her how much we liked everything about her, pulling her back onto the bed with us. "No no no, your turn Alan," she said.

I got up and tried to do my sexiest dance, they giggled. I removed my shirt, unbuckled my pants, and turned around to shake my ass at them, glanced over my shoulder to see their reaction. They were watching intently, but Lonni had her hand under Amy's skirt, and Amy was pinching Lonni's nipple. "Pants! Take off your pants!" Lonni exclaimed. 

I did, and surprised them because I never wear underwear. As I turned around, they both looked me in the eyes, then moved to see my penis. I was about half hard, pointing directly at them. Amy looked at Lonni, saying, "Let's make him stand straight up!" Amy licked her lips and we all got the message. They moved off the bed onto the floor, on their knees in front of me. Amy licked one side of my cock, starting at the bottom, moving towards the top. Lonni worked the other side. They went up and down about ten times, then Amy grabbed the base of my cock and put her mouth over the head. She proceeded to bob up and down on me, while Lonni moved lower to lick my testicles. They really worked me over! I ran my fingers through Amy's black hair as she sucked me. 

Amy stopped and looked up at me. "I want to taste your cum. Cum in my mouth." I rolled my eyes and breathlessly replied, "As you wish my dear." She began to pump my cock faster, sucking my cock into her mouth and swirling her tongue around the shaft. Lonnie had started licking my anus, and when she inserted her tongue into my ass, I began to shoot into Amy's mouth. She sucked harder and I came even harder on the second spurt. She kept sucking until I began to soften. Lonni joined her and they kissed, exchanging their fluids with mine. 

I sat on the bed, a bit weak in the knees. "Amy, you still have all your clothes on. Take them off for us."

"Yeah, it's your turn, Amy," chimed in Lonni, joining me on the bed. 

"Okay, here we go!" Amy began to dance, immediately removing her black top. She had no bra, and her stiff nipples nicely accented her small breasts. I reached over and began to rum my fingers up and down Lonni's stockings, over the top of the stocking, following a direct path to her vagina. I caressed her there as Amy danced. 

"Take off more," Lonni said, starting to breathe a little faster and harder. 

Amy turned and grabbed the hem of her skirt and pulled it right over her head. The back of her black thong panty divided her shapely ass, looking extremely inviting above the thigh highs. She turned, asking coyly, "Alan, could you help me with these?" I reached out to assist her, but she shook her head. "Can you do it with your teeth?"

I smiled, got down in front of her. I grabbed the black strap on one side with my teeth, and pulled as far as it would go. I bit into the other side and pulled that down too. She kept her legs together, so the crotch stayed right where it was wedged. I moved her legs apart, then put my mouth on the strip of cloth covering her pussy. I kept my mouth there momentarily, breathing warm breath into her private area. Then I sucked the already damp silky cloth into my mouth, clamped her panties with my mouth, and pulled down to remove them. She gasped and giggled with pleasure. I gasped too when I looked up into her shaved mound and puffy protruding labia. I reached up, parted the petals of this beautiful Oriental flower, and felt the nectar run onto my fingers. I put my fingers to my lips and had my first taste of Amy.

We looked over at Lonni on the bed and she was touching herself watching us. Amy and I exchanged glances, a silent agreement to proceed with an obvious plan. We made Lonni the object of our desire, our mutual pleasure. I moved her supple body to the center of the bed. Amy immediately began to lick her nipples. I touched my way from her ankle to the top of her stocking, then moved to the other. I began to concentrate on the area framed by her garter straps. My tongue painted trails all over her upper thighs and pubic mound, but avoided her genitals. She raised her head and looked down at me. "If you don't lick my pussy I'll just die! Please, do me now!" 

I smiled, knowing my teasing had achieve the desired results. I put my tongue at the bottom of her slit, and licked my way to her clitoris. I repeated this about twenty times, going faster each time. She moaned with pleasure. Amy continued to work on her tits, mouth on one, hand on the other, occasionally venturing to kiss her neck and shoulders. I plunged two fingers into her, tonguing her clit furiously, and felt her arch herself toward my mouth. She screamed, and I could feel her orgasm coat my fingers and hand with her juices. 

Amy rolled onto her back and Lonni snuggled between her legs. I moved around to caress her upper body. We licked and touched her until she was very turned on. "Alan, I want you inside me. I want to be on top of you and ride you, ride you hard!" She got up, put one leg on the bed, and slowly rolled her stocking off her leg. She repeated this with the other, throwing the stockings on the bed. I laid on the bed and let her straddle me. She scratched my chest, starting at my neck going down my belly. She grabbed the base of my cock and slid herself onto me. She started to move up and down, slowly, an even pace.

Lonni got up and unhooked her stockings as well in a similar, lascivious manner. She took one of the just removed stockings and put them on my chest, pulling the silky nylon across me, on my shoulders, my legs, my arms. Then she took one of them and wrapped the end around my wrist and tied it. "Hey, what are you doing?" I shot to attention. 

"We have you right where we want you, and I intend to make sure you stay there. So, I am going to tie you to the bed so you don't move from here." Lonnie said this so matter-of-factly, like it was the most natural thing in the world. "And I bet you are going to like it, aren't you?"

At first I panicked. I thought about it for a minute, and thought that maybe this might be fun. "Yes, I think we're all going to enjoy this!" I smiled, we all laughed. Amy began to screw me in earnest, while Lonni moved around the bed and tied my wrists and ankles to the bed with their stockings. 

Amy raised up and nodded to Lonni. Amy moved forward, positioning her fragrant pussy over my head. Lonni got top of me, facing away, and began to imitate her friend's previous activity. Time seemed to stand still as we all pleasured each other. Sometimes I would forget and try to touch them, by the silky restraints quickly reminded me of my delightful predicament. 

After a while, they both turned so they were facing each other. Amy had a couple of little orgasms as I licked her. My mouth was slick with her juices, and my cock was sliding merrily into Lonni's pussy, drenching me with her love liquid too. 

"Let's make this bed rock," said Lonni. "Let's get a three-way orgasm going right now." Amy began to grind her pussy into my face, rubbing her clit furiously. Lonni was literally jumping up and down on my cock and she came first. As she came, she pinched Amy's nipples very hard, and that caused her orgasm right them. Lonni reached around and caressed my balls, prompting me to cum into her. The room was filled with the sounds of bodies working together and shouts of pleasure. 

Amy reached over to turn out the lights, and they snuggled down on either side of me. Each put her head on my arm and wrapped her legs around my leg, thighs on thigh. They caressed my chest as we all drifted off to sleep. 

Some time later, (I have no idea how long,) they stirred and woke. They began to touch me all over again, all over my body. I was wishing I could touch them too, but that was impossible and this was quite wonderful too. Without turning on the lights, I felt a lady on top of me and a pussy being lowered onto my cock. I think it was Amy, but I can't be sure. I also felt a tongue down there too, between my legs, on my balls and anus, and right where dick joined with Amy's (?) pussy. Silently I was ridden and licked to another intense orgasm. 

They left the bed, and I could hear them whispering, but I couldn't tell what they were saying. I heard rustling and movement. Next I felt a pair of lips on each cheek. "Bye, lover," they whispered. I heard the door open and close. I couldn't move from the bed, but I was so exhausted that I just passed out into dreamland. (As if any dreams could be that good!)

I woke up many hours later. I immediately realized my predicament, but I had to smile to myself, remembering how I got that way. It was about 11 am.

While trying to figure out what to do, and not being able to extricate myself from my bonds of pleasure, I heard a knock on the door. "'Hello, Maid Service! Anybody in there!" in a typically British female voice.

Thinking quickly that this may be my best chance to get out of this, I answered. "Yes, I'm in here. But I need some help. And don't be shocked if I'm not dressed." 

No answer for a few seconds, then I heard the key in the door. The door was around the corner, so we still couldn't see each other. "Not dressed???" I heard her say.

"Look, I had a bit of fun last night, but I was left in a …..umm….compromised position, so to speak, " I replied. Damn, I hope I don't get arrested for this!!!

She stuck her head around the corner. She was a black woman in her mid-thirties. The combination of British accent and her color surprised me, even though I knew there were many black English people. "Well, you certainly did." She giggled, looking at me spread-eagled on the bed tied up with black stockings. "And how'd you get this way?"

So I briefly described how I had met a couple of young ladies and we were fooling around and we…she stopped me mid-sentence with, "I could use a little of what you're supplying. Would you like a bit of me too?" 

I smiled. She was quite buxom and very nice looking. A black British maid … hmmm … why not? "Well, would you untie me if I do?" 

She smiled too. "When we're done I will. I've never had a man is such a position." She turned around, closed the door, and proceeded to strip of her clothes. She had the maid's uniform off and in a pile on the floor in a flash. Her white bra and panties weren't fancy, but looked sexy in striking contrast to her dark skin. She took off her bra and rubbed her big breasts together, pleasing herself and turning me on simultaneously. She turned around and stuck her ass in the air as she removed her panties. She reached between her legs to run her finger along her slit. I could see the pink inside her and the darkness of her surrounding labia. 

She moved to the side of the bed and looked at me, trying to decide what to do. She smiled a sly grin, then climbed on top of me, positioning her pussy over my face and her lips over my stiff cock. I reached my mouth up and licked her slit while she lowered her mouth onto my penis and starting sucking me. We pleasured each other for about ten minutes, then she slid down my body so that our genitals met. She was still turned away from me as she began to ride the white pony. She made circular motions, so that my cock stirred around inside her. Then she started jumping up and down furiously. We were sweating and straining and nearing orgasm.  
 But she stopped, lifted off of me so that my dick pulled out of her pussy with a very wet sound. She turned around to face me, then reached between her legs and rubbed herself from cunt to asshole. "I've never had a cock in my ass before," she said, "and since I've got you right where I want you, I think I'm going to see what you feel like up there." She put the head of my dick right at her anus, and very slowly pushed down on me. I could feel how tight her virgin anus felt, but she was slick with her juices. When she had the whole length of me in her, she let out a long sigh. "Ahhh, that's goooood." She then started moving faster, all the while rubbing her clit vigorously. 

All I could do was raise my pelvis to meet her movements on my cock. And that was enough. Enough to make her cum, and me with her. Her orgasm swept over her and I filled her ass with my hot white cum. 

Afterwards, she untied me and then cleaned my room while I showered. She kissed me on her way out and said, "Hope you enjoy the rest of your visit to London."

I kept the four stockings as a souvenir of my trip to London. Ah, what a trip!

London



I have always loved coming to London. I have always felt a sense of freedom here that I've felt nowhere else. It's kind of a "letting my hair down" feeling. It starts the moment I get off the plane at Heathrow. I can feel my psyche let go of inhibitions and modesty. I notice other women around me more keenly. I watch them move. Some with grace and elegance. Others with purpose and energy. I look at older women, younger women, large women, petite women, ultra feminine women and asexual ones as well. I love the look of all of them. They all excite and entice me.

To borrow a line from Top Gun it is "a target rich environment" and I most definitely am hunting prey. More than I usually do, I have been anticipating this trip for weeks. I have dreamed of tonight. When I dressed for tonight I planned on not ending my night alone. 

So, as I sit here in my favourite lesbian bar which is dark, smoky and lust fillled, I watch you come through the door and look around. How femme and delicate you look. Are you meeting your lover here? Are you early or is she late? When you got dressed to come here did you change outfits more than once wondering if this outfit was too seductive and that outfit not seductive enough? How did you manage to pick out just that particular shade of lipstick that makes those luscious lips of yours look so pouty and so damned kissable? I take in your long sexy legs that lead to an ass that entrances me with its movement. Your sweater caresses your breasts in a way that advertises how round and full they are.

I watch you order a glass of wine and settle at a table off to the side. You look around you with an almost nervous air about you. I can tell that you're not entirely comfortable here. Bars aren't your normal scene, are they? After you've taken a couple of sips of wine I notice that your foot is taping a beat to the music. You are beginning to relax a little. Still no sign of who you are meeting. 

Taking a chance, I ask the waitress to deliver another glass of wine to you. When she tells you where it came from you look over and smile at me. Have you any idea at all how wonderful your smile is? How it melts hearts? I rise and walk over to you and introduce myself. I ask if you're waiting for someone and you tell me no. I ask if I can join you and you nod towards an empty chair. As we talk, it becomes clear to me that this is your first time in a lesbian bar and I ask you if that's true. Yes, it's your first time. You have always wanted to come here and it has taken you years to work up the courage to be here. What are you expecting to happen? You don't really know but you just knew you had to come here. 

I take your hand, and lead you to the dance floor. A slow song has just started and this is my chance to find out if you feel as good as you look. You laugh at your awkwardness. I pull you to me and whisper to you to just relax and feel the music. I wonder at how your body fits into mine. I rest my head against the top of yours and breathe you in. What perfume is that? How delicious you smell.

As we dance, I feel you relax even more and rest yourself against me. I lower my hands to your ass and pull you into me. I hear your breath catch and you look up at me. Yes, that's what you feel. There really is something there. Your eyes become very large and you bite your lip. I whisper in your ear "Does that excite you?" and you only nod and hug me tighter. As the song goes on and we grind our way around the dance floor, I kiss your neck and blow softly on your skin. I feel you shudder slightly and I know that you're imagining where this might go.

When the song ends, I raise your face up to mine and kiss you softly on the lips. You return the kiss with some passion. I look into those deep brown eyes and whisper "My God you're beautiful".

You take my hand and we go back to the table. You never let go of my hand. As we talk, you are caressing my hand and it sends little signals to the rest of my body. I am very aware of every stroke and touch of you. Your laughter is music to me. Your eyes are shining and expressive. You are flirting with me and I am drinking in every ounce of you. 

I ask you if you have ever made love with a woman before and you grow silent. After a minute you tell ne, no, but you have wanted to for, oh so long now. You have dreamed and fantasized and wanted. You tell me about secret crushes on women you work with. You tell me about going online and reading every piece of lesbian erotica you could find. I ask you which type of stories excite you the most you tell me the ones where there is a butch and a femme. When I ask you if you play with yourself as you read the stories, you blush deeply and look away from me. Laughing, I bring your face back to look at me and tell you that we all do. You wonder out loud if I think you're a silly little girl pretending to be gay. As I lean in to kiss you I tell you that you're not silly, your definitely not little, and tonight, here with me you are most assuredly gay.

You become very quiet and I see a questions in your eyes. Ask me. Go ahead. "Um, do you, you know, wear that all the time? Only on nights like this, I tell her. You ask me what does it feel like to wear one? Sexy, erotic, powerful. It's my turn to ask a question. "Do you want to see it? Touch it? Have it in you?". You squeeze my hand and whisper "yes".

On the taxi ride to my hotel I run my hand up and down the inside of your thigh feeling the silkiness of your stockings. Your head is resting against my shoulder and your eyes are closed. I can tell that you are surrendering to the sensations flooding your body. You cannot even begin to fathom the height of feeling your body is going to find tonight. 

I hold your hand as we walk through the lobby and get on the elevator. I can tell this makes you a little nervous because you think that it is so blatant a signal to everyone who sees us. You think they all know that we are about to become lovers. Honey, they could care less. They are wrapped up in their own worlds. As the elevator doors close, I pull you to me and kiss you. A taste of more to come. When my tongue parts your lips you moan slightly.

As I lock the door to the room behind us I see you become nervous. Baby. Be sure. Be sure you want this. I won't pressure you. I'll take you home if you want. No. No. You want to be here and you come to me and wrap your arms around my shoulders and reach up to kiss me again. While we kiss, I peel your jacket off you and then take my own off as well. Never breaking from the kiss, I kick off my shoes and then grab you close to me. Grabbing you by the ass, I lift you up and you wrap your legs around my waist. I carry you over to the bed and sit on the edge of it so that you are now sitting in my lap. I feel you move so that you are settled on top of my bulge. You move a little to feel it all the more. 

I slowly peel your sweater up and over your head and toss it on the floor. I reach for those wonderful orbs which strain the lace of your bra. After a few minutes of necking and fondling your breasts, I reach around and undo your bra and throw that aside as well. You lean back a little and unbutton my blouse and remove it. You unhook the front clasp of my bra and release "the girls" from their confinement. Your hands caress my breasts and brush across the nipples. My nipples react by becoming very hard and big. You lean over and take a nipple in your mouth. I can feel your lips right down in my cunt. I can't help but moan. If you learned to do that by reading stories online, then you have learned well. As you suck my breasts my hands are running up and down your back and I kiss the top of your head. Eventually you kiss your way back up to my mouth and we kiss deeply and passionately. My tongue parts your lips and your tongue begins to play with mine. 

I fall back on the bed and roll you over so that I am laying on top of you. Looking down into your eyes I see such sensuality. I push your skirt up as far as I can and run my hands across your thighs in that place between where your stocking end and your panties begin. A garter belt and stockings. You are so femme and it excites me more than I have words to tell you. I feel you kicking your shoes off. I rise up on my knees and after you undo the skirt I peel it down and off you. I slowly undo the garters and peel each stocking off slowly. I reach behind you and undo the garter belt and toss it away. You have on thong underwear that makes your mound look small and perfect. I lean down and kiss your stomach and continue the kisses all the way down to the fabric of the thong. I can hear your soft moaning. I hear you whisper "yes" as I kiss your pussy through the fabric. 

Tell me what you want me to do for you. You moan. Darling, tell me. Say the words to me. What do you want? Do you want me to fuck you? Yes. Do you want my dick in you? Yes. Then say it. Say you want me. I push the thong aside and slip a finger in your soaking wet pussy. Your hips rise to meet my fingers and your breath quickens. Tell me, baby. What do you want? Your hands reach for your own breasts and start to stroke them. I slip in a second finger and move them around. Tell me. "Make me cum" you whisper. "Please". No baby, tell me what you want. I want to hear the words. "I want you in me. I need you in me". You want me to fuck you, darling? "Yes, I want you to fuck me with your dick". I take my fingers out of you and place them at your lips. Taste. You suck on my fingers which excites and arouses me.

I reach down and undo my pants and push them down my hips. My panties follow. You raise your head to look down at the harness and dildo on my hips. I grab hold of it and place it at the entrance to your pussy. I rub it back and forth over your pussy and clit. You cannot take your eyes off it. I put the head of the dildo at the entrance to your love hole and slowly start to push it in. Your breath catches and I watch you looking down as it goes in. I give one hard push and it is all the way in you and you moan out loud. I lean down to kiss you and your arms go around my neck and you legs go up across my ass. I plunge in as deeply as I can and pull out again as slowly as I can. You hips are matching my movements exactly. I can tell that you are lost in the feeling of being filled and fucked. Still stroking in and out, I pull back from the waist and lean back into you so that one of my tits is right at your mouth. You hungrily take it in your mouth and start to suck on it like a hungry baby. Oh baby. 

I feel the beginnings of my own orgasm start to build. I start to stroke you faster and faster. I can feel your body start to tense as it starts the build to orgasm. Cum for me baby. I want you to cum with me. As you suck on my tit I can barely stand it. My body is on fire and my pumping in your cunt is hard and strong. I hear a low moan escape your throat and your body rises up and tenses. Your orgasm triggers mine and I go over the edge into ecstasy. Your legs are squeezing me tightly to you and I am locked in your embrace. 

As the waves of cum subside, I pull out of you and roll over onto the bed. You roll towards me and lean in to kiss me. "That was so wonderful." I wrap you in my arms and pull you to me. You rest your head against my chest and close your eyes. Soon, I hear your breathing change and I know you are sleeping. I get up and cover you with a blanket and leave you there in the bed while I and go to take a shower. 

When I come out of the bathroom I stand and watch you sleeping. How beautiful you are in sleep. There is just the hint of a smile on your lips and your hair surrounds your angelic face. I find myself thinking "I could fall in love with this one" and I'm surprised at the depth of the feeling. I lay back down on the bed and feel the need to touch you again. I lift the blanket from your breasts and take a nipple in my mouth. My tongue plays circles around the nipple and I feel it getting hard in my mouth. My left hand takes your other breast and strokes and caresses it. I feel you stirring. A soft sound escapes your lips. 

Now that you are awake, I remove the blanket completely and get between your legs. I release your nipple and start to kiss my way down your belly. I stop to pay attention to your belly button. I continue my journey down to that wonderful pussy. I spread your pussy lips and my kisses play ever so softly around your cunt. My tongue goes into your hole and plays there. You are moaning again and I love the sound you make. It makes me want more. My mouth finds your clit and I take it in my lips and suck on it. Your whole body tenses up and your hands go to my head and play with my hair. You are pushing my face into your pussy. You've fantasized about this for a long time, haven't you? Your eyes are closed and you have surrendered to the feelings. Baby, you are so wet and ready. I run my tongue in circles around your clit and your hips start to rock back and forth. I can tell you are very close to coming. I reach a hand underneath you and find your ass. I know this will do it. As I push one finger into your asshole, you go over the edge and orgasm rocks your body. You cry out my name over and over and over. I take my finger out, and crawl back up your body to kiss you. I want you to taste what I have tasted. You lick my face to get all the juices off it and then kiss me long and deep. 

Finally you get up to use the bathroom and I pull down the covers on the bed. When you come back I hold open the blankets so that you can crawl in next to me. You rest your back against me and I wrap myself around you. I whisper in your ear how beautiful you are before I fall asleep.

The next thing I realize you are kissing me awake. You are showered and dressed. You have to go. You have to go home and change before you go to work. You have left your phone number on the desk and would I call you the next time I come to London. As you rise to leave me, I pull you back to me and kiss you again. Meet me at the bar tonight. Dress sexy for me and meet me. You get up and head for the door and as it closes behind you I hear you say "8 o'clock".

Yes, I could fall in love this one.



London, 1953



Dear Jenny:

You asked for my story of way back then: how did I survive, how did I find strength and acceptance? How did I find love? Yes, I'll tell you, Jenny. You've a right to know, and from what you've written to me about your life now, you need to know. I'm including the intimate, naughty bits, because they're part of the story, part of who Annie and I were together back then, and you need to know about that too. I don't remember our exact words, in all cases: I'm dramatising and inventing a little dialogue here and there, because that's how you tell a story. But it is quite a story, if I may say so myself. 

In London, 1953, a horse-faced young woman was about to be crowned Queen of an Empire. I was not much younger than her, twenty-two at the time. But my rites of passage were none so genteel. Not for me nor my Annie.

I was a locksmith, which was a pretty unusual occupation for a girl. Combined with my name, Jo (christened Josephine), my short, sandy hair, combed down like a boy's, my preference for trousers -- well, I came in for no small amount of abuse and misunderstanding from the society roundabout me. I knew I was different, from childhood on. At about age seven, I recall, my friends were chattering about whose brother they wanted to marry when they grew up, and they laughed at me when I said I wanted to marry my friend Beth. As I grew older, cut my hair, and started wearing trousers outside of school, the responses grew uglier. Schoolyard taunts, confrontations with gangs of young lads who were threatened by a non-girl girl like me, fights, almost being raped once, well, I toughened up pretty quickly. You know I'm not much above five foot, but I had some muscle on me then, and I learned how to throw an effective punch or kick when I had to. And I learned that when you let a bully have his way, he'll soon be back to push you down further. You mustn't let that happen, if you can help it. 

I've just made my East-End neighbourhood sound rough, and it was at times, but we all knew each other, and I think I eventually won a certain amount of acceptance, even friendship at times, from them. There was a war on, our houses were being blown to bits by the Junkers, we were sleeping in the Underground, and people generally had more to worry about than the queer girl down the street. 

I'd never have made it, though, without my dad. He had an inner strength about him that I loved: he knew exactly who he was, no better nor worse than the next man, and if anybody didn't like how he was, that was their problem. He taught me to see myself the same way. He stuck up for me with the neighbours when I wasn't strong enough on my own. And seeing as how I wasn't likely to become a housewife nor a fashion model when I grew up, he taught me his trade, locksmithing. I thank God for the club foot that kept him out of the army. My mum I barely remember, except from a couple of holiday snaps, and my dad's stories. She died of pneumonia when I was five. She looked like a softer, girlier version of me. My dad loved her, I know. He never found another woman to take her place, though many's the widow in our neighbourhood that wanted to fill the other half of his bed.

When customers came into our shop, or my dad brought me along on jobs, eyebrows were often raised at the girl apprentice in trousers. But as I said, there was a war on, men were in short supply, and if they wanted their doors fixed, they let us get on about our work. After the war, with half of London in rubble, there was a massive rebuilding boom, and consequently no shortage of jobs for my dad and me. Soon we had enough saved to buy out the business of a retired locksmith in the City, which I took over as my own shop. It was a different class of customer there -- barristers' and bankers' offices mostly, with gleaming brass fittings and old oak panelling all over the place. Sir Toff, QC, and Lord Torybugger, and their secretaries, looking down their noses at me as though I were an unpleasant smell, all the while begging me to please give their job top priority. I had my own assistant, my cousin Jimmy, and if customers gave me any trouble about my unconventional appearance, he could scowl at them like a surly proletarian and they'd generally back off. 

At first, I commuted to the new shop from our East-End home. But I was of age, ready to try living on my own; and I think my dad was maybe ready to give some of the neighbourhood widows an audition or two, with me out of the way. So I moved into the empty flat above our shop in the City, and furnished it according to my simple needs. I had, in sum, by age twenty-two, carved out an independent life for myself as an openly butch lesbian (we were called toms back then), in a totally straight, male-dominated world. Not bad, eh, Jenny?

The irony was that I had absolutely no experience of lesbian love. Now, I just said that it was a totally straight world, but that's only in a manner of speaking. Many times, I had caught the eyes of women -- neighbourhood mums, housekeepers, shop girls, aristocratic matrons, tradesmen's wives, young secretaries: hot, frank appraisals of me that made me blush to my toes and go wet in my cunt; brushing their breasts against me or subtly running their hand over my bum as they got off the bus; turning to wink at me. Many times, I returned their gaze, with dumb hunger. Once, a posh secretary in a solicitor's office slipped her hand into mine as I was working, squeezed it, and whispered in my ear, "I bet you do naughty things with these hands." But when the solicitor suddenly returned, she sprang away from me and resumed her supercilious manner. I hated that woman just then, though I understood her predicament. I was butch enough to attract her lust, but by the same token, too butch to be safely seen with. And so it was, I suppose, for all those closeted women with whom I exchanged hungry gazes. Perhaps they went home and touched themselves, thinking of me -- I know I went home and frigged myself raw, thinking of them. If there were any lesbian meeting places in London back then, nobody told me about them. 

So, the only person who could really initiate me into this depraved, unnatural, forbidden love was a pure innocent: my sweet Annie.

So here's where the story gets underway. With Coronation festivities about to begin, Buckingham Palace and such places were swarming with princes, dukes, rajas, and suchlike from hither and yon. But there was no room at the inn for a certain Prince, formerly the Nazi puppet ruler of a small eastern European country, chased out by the Russians, now living in Spain (I learned all this later from Annie). Because of his Nazi ties, he couldn't be accommodated too publicly; nevertheless, he was a duly pedigreed relation of the Prince Consort, so Lord Haggis (or some such name), owner of a grand old residence in the City, stepped forward and saw to it that this Son of Royalty would have somewhere to lay his head. Moreover, because this ex-Prince had overseen some rather nasty torture and mass execution campaigns during his Nazi heyday, he was in need of protection from his countrymen. He was in need of very secure doors -- not just the exterior doors, but the door to his bedroom, the door to his wife's bedroom, the door to his mistress's bedroom, and so on. Hence, my services were called for. 

I was busy installing a triple deadbolt lock with a steel doorframe in what was to be one of the bedrooms (wife's or mistress's, I'm not sure), when I heard a polite cough behind me.

"Sorry to interrupt you at your work sir, but Mrs Crimmons was wanting to know if you're likely to be finished by this afternoon, sir."

I looked up. She was a fat, pink-faced girl of eighteen or nineteen, about my height, in the black-and-white uniform of a parlour-maid.

"Cor," she started, "you're not a man! You're a girl!" She blushed even pinker.

"Last I checked, that's right."

"But ... then why are you dressed like a lad?" There was no taunt behind it: it was an innocent question. 

"I'm more comfortable like this," I shrugged.

Her response caught me off guard. "Well, I think you look right pretty that way, Miss. Or handsome, p'raps I should say," she smiled coyly. "My name's Annie Blake. What's yours?" "Jo. Jo Irons. Er, tell Mrs Crimmons I've got three more of these doors to do, and I shan't be finished before five."

Annie hurried away, but returned a half-hour later with a tray of covered dishes. "I thought you might be hungry for a bite of lunch, Jo."

"Well, thank you Annie, but I brought my own lunch pail. I never get fed on jobs like this."

"Are you sure you won't try some? There's a slice of ham-and-veal pie, new potatoes, and fresh asparagus. I just swiped 'em off his lordship's table for you."

"I don't want to get you in trouble, Annie." She shrugged, as if this was not a concern. And since she had bothered, and since the pie looked delicious, I sat down and devoured it. All the while, Annie hovered by me, peppering me with questions about myself, where I'd grown up, what it was like to be a girl in a trade, how I lived by myself. I had initially supposed she was a bit slow-witted, but as the conversation continued, I saw that she had a sharp appraisal of the goings-on in this household, and in the broader world. She was just an innocent with regard to women like me. And she had a smile that just seemed to radiate from the core of her being, warming me in her glow. After a bit, I noticed, underneath the starched ugliness of her maid's uniform, a plump, well-developed young figure that began to stir my fancy. Well, I told myself, who says I can't fancy a fat girl? And this girl looked quite cuddly, quite appealing, really. Her hair was a beautiful auburn, tucked up primly, alas, beneath a drab maid's cap. 

I was sorry me when she told me she had to get back to work. But her innocent directness once again bowled me over: "I've never met anyone like you before, Jo. I like you, a lot. Would you step out with me sometime? Thursday's my afternoon off."

"Annie, I like you very much too, and I'd love to step out with you. But you should know," I winced, "if people see you with me, there'll be talk."

"What kind of talk?"

"Well, it's kind of obvious to people from the way I look ... I'm what you call a tom, Annie, a sexual invert: I'm attracted to women rather than men. If people see you with me, they'll think ... you fancy me."

"They'll be right then, won't they," she smiled, and sashayed out of the room, which just a bit more sway to her big hips than was necessary. 

I let Jimmy handle my jobs for Thursday afternoon, and closed up the shop. I washed extra-carefully, dressed in a freshly laundered shirt, with my tweed trousers and jacket, and set off to Annie's. At last, after twenty-two years, I was stepping out with a girl, a real flesh-and-blood girl who wanted to be with me and didn't care if we were seen together. A girl who might even let me kiss her, if I could arrange the circumstances right. 

But when I arrived at the tradesman's entrance to the house and asked for her, the housekeeper came out instead, eyed me up as though I were a contagious disease, and told me Annie was not at liberty to see any visitors.

"But, ain't this her free afternoon, Mrs Crimmons?" 

"That is no Concern of yours. She's in quite serious Trouble as it is, without ... Characters like you entering the picture."

Annie in trouble?! Was it about that lunch she'd given me? I had to get in there and see what was going on. But I wasn't going to get past this pompous bulldog of a housekeeper by begging; I needed to switch tactics fast.

"Well, you see, ma'am," I said, putting on the manner of an impatient tradesman, "I come back to check on the locks, for them new doors I put in for the Prince's rooms, this Tuesday last. There's a further adjustment that's needed, and ... Annie told me I might come back today and take care of it."

She eyed me suspiciously. "Ruby," she called to a passing kitchen maid, "do you Recognise this ... person."

"Yes, Mrs Crimmons, that's the locksmith gal what was here the other day. Annie pointed her out to me."

"Hmm." 

"I know my way, ma'am, no need to trouble yourself," I muttered as I darted past her.

When I reached the main floor, I was frightened to see coppers in the sitting room (this couldn't be about the ham-and-veal pie then, could it?), but I continued up the stairs as though I belonged there, till I could hear my Annie's voice, arguing sharply with several men. 

"It'll go much harder for you, my gel, if you don't tell us where they are straightaway. We're not playing games here."

"I told you: I never even seen 'em! I didn't even know he had any bleeding emeralds." I sidled up to the doorway. There were several constables standing about, whilst a ferret-faced detective questioned her. A tall, richly dressed gentleman with a pencil moustache hovered in the background. 

"It's no good, ducky. His Excellency," he nodded to the Prince, "says you did see them. Now, am I to believe the Prince, or am I to take the word of a parlour-maid, daughter of a convicted forger?"

Her face went stony. "You can believe as you please. You can send me to prison if you choose. I'll be in better company there than I am at present."

I noticed that the Prince's eyes kept travelling, furtively, to a small, elaborately carved writing desk in the corner. It was my only hope. "Were those emeralds insured, Inspector?" I asked brightly, stepping into the room. "I assume you searched that escritoire? The, er, the writing desk?" Annie started when she saw me, but kept mum.

"And who the bloody hell are you? *What* the hell are you? -- begging your Excellency's pardon."

"I'm just the locksmith, Inspector. Security expert, you might call me, sir."

"Security expert," he sneered. "She looks more like an 'unnatural practices' charge to me." The constables chuckled at his wit. "Of course we searched the -- now see here, you --"

"If I might just have a closer look ..." I pushed past him and began examining the desk. Now, being a locksmith, I know a hinge when I see one, thank God, even when it's carved to look like part of an oak-leaf design. "Did you find this hidden compartment, Inspector?" I knocked on it, and it gave a distinctly hollow ring. Or maybe it was just my heart pounding.

"Hidden compartment?"

The Prince stepped forward. "There eez no heeden compartment. Why do you not take her away? Take both away," he gestured dismissively at Annie and me. 

"Inspector, if you'll look closely here, you can see the hinge, and this must be the lock. It's very well-joined, but you can just make out the edges of the panel here, following the swirl of this vine."

"TAKE BOTH AWAY!" the Prince bellowed. Oh yes, I'd dealt with bullies like him before. He was just at that panicky point of realising his intimidation game wasn't working anymore, that the victims were calling his bluff. 

"Just a moment," the inspector turned to the prince, "your Excellency." This time, the title had a sarcastic twist. "Constable Reed, would you please pry this panel open with your penknife?" 

"No! I forbeed. Eet eez a very costly escritoire, Louis Quinze. Wait." He crumbled, "Very well, I weel open." The Prince fished a tiny key from his pocket, inserted it in the eye of a carved bird, and the little door swung open. "Ah. The emeralds are here, after all. All eez well. You may go," he gestured towards all of us, as though we were crumbs on his tablecloth.

Annie stood up, quaking. "You bastard. You fucking BASTARD! You were going to claim the insurance money, and pin it on me. You didn't give a fuck if you put an innocent girl in prison for twenty years, did you?"

"Now, my gel," the detective stepped in, "mind your tongue. The Prince has admitted his mistake, and it's best we let the matter drop," he turned again to the prince, "suspicious though the circumstances may be. Come along now."

Annie was still trembling; I took her by the arm and helped her out the door. On our way back down to the servants' hall, Mrs Crimmons swept up and briskly informed Annie that she was dismissed. "Your Language, Annie, was inexcusable under any Circumstance, let alone when shouted for all the House to hear, let alone when addressed to His Lordship's Esteemed Guest, the Prince. I will not have a gel in my House who is acquainted with such Language." She glared at me, "Not to mention the Moral Turpitude of the ... persons you associate with." 

Annie and I looked at each other, our faces bright red, both of us about to explode in rage at our "betters." But instead we both burst out laughing, holding each other tightly, cackling and hooting till our ribs ached and tears streamed down our faces. "Moral turpitude!" Annie howled, as Mrs Crimmons flounced off.

"Come on Annie, let's pack up your things. You're coming home with me."

It took Annie but a few minutes to say her quick goodbyes to a couple of friends, pack her few belongings into a small trunk, and change into civilian clothes. Her frock was plain, and a bit too tight, but compared to that parlour-maid uniform, it looked divine on her -- so soft and inviting, with her thick, wavy auburn hair down to her shoulders. 

We took a cab back to my flat. She held my hands tightly during the short ride. Annie gushed a lot, about how brave I was to stand up to that Prince, and clever to find the emeralds. I just shrugged and told her I can't abide bullies; and it was a lucky guess as to the compartment in the desk. Besides, she had been pretty brave herself.

Once we were arrived at my flat, I sat her down on the settee and put the kettle on. "Annie, you've had a nasty shock today, and we both need a nice cup of strong tea, before we ... er ... talk about anything serious." 

But when we'd both taken a few sips of our tea, Annie looked me levelly in the eye, and said, "Jo, I want you to hold me, please." How could I say no to that? I moved in beside her on the settee, taking her in my arms, feeling the soft warmth of her big breasts against my own. She nestled her head against my neck, and began kissing me there. My heart was pounding, electrifying sensations were racing through my body, delighting and terrifying me. 

"Annie, you know you can stop here as long as you want, without us ... doing anything, don't you? That's not why I brought you back here."

`She pulled away from me. "Oh." She paused. "You fancy women ... you just don't fancy me, is that it?" She looked down. "Is it because I'm so fat?"

"No, Annie, you're not understanding me. I do fancy you, ever so much: I haven't been able to get you out of my mind since I met you. I just didn't want you to feel forced into anything with me."

Her posture softened. "You really are too sweet and gentle to believe, Jo," she laughed. "I've never met any girl like you before; but I know I want to be with you."

"Annie, I've never ... made love ... to a woman before. I'm not sure I know what to do."

"I've never either. For starters, let's take your jacket off and you just hold me some more." We sat together like that, without talking, just snuggling together, for several lovely minutes. "I can feel your heart," she smiled. "Can you feel mine?" Coyly, she took my hand and guided it up to her left breast. When I began touching her breast, cupping and fondling it, that opened up our lust throttle several ticks, and soon I was kissing her on the lips, and her soft mouth opened to me, full-out snogging, as she ran her fingers through my short hair. (So this is kissing, I thought; so this is being in love: no wonder people write songs about it.) Then I felt her hand boldly travelling up the inside of my trouser-covered thigh. 

"I think," she panted, "we're meant to take our clothes off at this point." 





London, 1953



I led her to my ramshackle bedroom, and, with trembling fingers, unbuttoned her frock. I fumbled with her bra, eventually unclasping it and sliding it from her shoulders, as she pulled down her suspenders, stockings, and knickers. And then, cor blimey! standing right in front of me was one fat, excited, naked, lovable, nineteen-year-old woman -- with big, bouncing, pink-tipped breasts that made my jaw drop; and between her chubby thighs and roly-poly tummy, a veritable jungle of curly auburn hair. I guess I kept staring at it as she climbed into bed -- at that auburn thicket, that is -- with a big, stupid, hungry grin on my face, because she had to call my name twice to snap me out of the spell. 

"Right, you, get that shirt and trousers off, before I rip 'em off," she commanded. When I had pulled off my shirt and singlet -- I didn't wear bras or girlie underthings -- I was pleased to see that Annie was staring at my perky little tits with some hunger as well. And when I dropped my trousers and pants, she growled, "Now get that gorgeous tom arse of yours in bed with me."

As excited as I was, nothing prepared me for the glorious shock of her naked skin against mine. We had hugged and kissed on the settee already, but hugging and kissing like THIS -- feeling the direct warmth and softness of her flesh, feeling her big, hard nipples on my ribs, running my hands over her vast, warm, quivering arse, brushing my hand over that silky auburn jungle, feeling her hands kneading my arse cheeks, fondling my excited breasts, squeezing my nipples, all the while moaning into each others' mouths -- it was almost enough to make me climax, right then and there (we called it "spending," back then).

And then, Annie drew me on top of her. My legs found their way between her soft thighs, and she grabbed my bum, squeezing me tightly against her, till ... cor blimey! ... I could feel her sweet wet cunt rubbing against mine, and, lifting my shoulders up, gazing straight into her beautiful brown eyes, I could thrust and mash my slick nubbin against her own, and the wetness, and the pleasure -- the unbelievable pleasure -- welled up in my cunt, and spread like an earthquake through my body, in wave after wave, as I cried out her name, whilst Annie moved her big, wet arse beneath me like a cement mixer, till at last, squealing with pleasure and joy, she spent as well.

"Well, we achieved it, love," I said, a few minutes later, in between kisses.

"What's that?" she smiled dreamily.

"Moral turpitude." That was the start of my coming-of-age, as a lesbian, with Annie. We lived together from that day on. She muttered guiltily at first about how she really ought to find a position in a shop, or take in some kind of work, but I persuaded her that I was earning plenty to support both of us. So, she settled happily into the role of my wife. My bare flat was soon transformed into a comfortable home. (In the 1970's, the feminist lesbians would shake their heads sadly at our benighted butch-femme ways; but we weren't thinking about overcoming gender stereotypes; we just wanted to build a life together.) My dad was, if possible, as delighted with Annie and her effect on me as I was. He came over often. It helped that Annie turned out to be an excellent cook. Annie's mum visited us regularly as well, or we went to visit her in Stepney. A few of Annie's old friends form Lord Haggis' household maintained contact with us. Shopkeepers and neighbours started greeting us in the street. I began to feel less like an outcast and more like a part of the neighbourhood. 

A few weeks after that first night, the woman who worked in a grocery near us, Jane, saw Annie and me together, and she whispered to us that we must meet her friend Sally. Well, soon we were spending evenings at Jane and Sally's, or (more often) Jane and Sally came to our place for Annie's good cooking, and all of a sudden we became the heart of a little lesbian community in the City. I don't know what it was about that year, 1953, but after twenty-two years of thinking I was the only out-of-the-closet lesbian in London, I seemed to be meeting new ones, butch, femme, and kiki, singles and couples, every week. 

Annie and I gradually discovered other ways of making love. Well, fingers obviously: that was immediate. Breast-sucking, likewise (my goodness, did Annie have some fantastic breasts to suck!). And sometimes, when I was kissing her about her body, I would stop and plant some kisses on her pubic mound, rubbing my nose in her silky curls. But cunnilingus -- for those first few months, it never entered my blooming mind. Till one evening, I was resting my head on her thigh, gazing happily at her cunt as I stroked the lips lightly with my finger, watching them moisten and open like a flower. And the earthy, fresh cunt smell of her was going to my brain. Her sweet, fat nubbin came poking its nose out, wanting to play. And I just had to kiss it. Annie shuddered. I kissed it again. Her hands held my head in place as I continued kissing, and Annie began making noises -- well, I knew what those noises meant -- and my lips were getting wet from her juice, and I licked them off, and then my tongue just couldn't stay out of it, and Annie was pressing my face into her cunt, and I had to have more of her taste, so my tongue slurped into her honeypot, and then she was spending -- spending right into my mouth. We were a little embarrassed about it afterwards. But the next night, as I was kissing about her body, the urge came over me again. It came over her too, so it seemed, for as soon as I was in the vicinity, her thighs opened wide and her hands guided my head, urgently, to her cunt. This time, I dove right in with my tongue, and she kept me at it, climaxing three or four times before she was done. 

When I blushingly confessed to Sally I had developed an unhealthy habit of licking Annie "down there," she guffawed. "Unhealthy? Cunnilingus? Janey and I couldn't live without it." Then the book by that American doctor, Kinsey, came out, about women's sex lives, and it suddenly seemed that being a lesbian, and licking another woman's cunt, was no rarer, nor more unnatural, than having green eyes.

Finally, we found Arthur, and fucking. Sally's cousin Doris, who worked in a leather-goods factory, ran a small side-line supplying her friends with leather-encased "godemiche's", as she called them, complete with a set of little belts and buckles for keeping the device in place, hands-free. Annie presented it to me as a surprise, for our first anniversary. She christened it "Arthur": the head reminded her of the face of Mr Arthur, Lord Haggis' butler. 

The first time with Arthur was frustrating: it took us a good half-hour, adjusting the belts and buckles, and constantly repositioning the damned thing on me. I was worried the whole endeavour would be a big disappointment to Annie, and put a damper on our bedroom activities. But when Annie wants something, she is a determined woman. At last Arthur was finally in place, and properly lubricated (we used cooking lard!) bobbing out in front of me at the right angle. Annie welcomed me between her thighs, and as I slowly fed the big thing into her, she gasped with pleasure at the sensation of fullness it gave her. I began humping against her, much as I did when we rubbed cunts, but the in-and-out movement of Arthur ("fucking," in the vernacular) definitely added something to Annie's pleasure. I soon learned to get Arthur on more quickly. Annie loved how the little belts framed and set off my bare arse. She loved for me to stay deep inside her, long after she had come, kissing her and whispering endearments, or sucking at her big breasts; and often she would begin moving her lovely, fat arse beneath me again, like an underground tremor, and we would slowly resume fucking. On one of these second rounds, as I pumped into her, the sensation from Arthur's base bumping against my nubbin, together with my enjoyment of Annie's building orgasm, pushed me over the edge, and I climaxed with her. That night, Annie was, I think, the happiest femme wife in the world. And we were both pleased to find it was a trick I could repeat.

So, pretty good for a single year -- eh, Jenny? I rescued Annie from a prison sentence, and whisked her out from under the thumb of the ruling class. She rescued me from isolation and despair. And we made grown-up women of each other. 

The rest of the story you know already: how in 1962, we took in a four-year-old boy, Paul, when his mother disappeared; how Annie and I raised that boy as our own, on the strength of our love for him and for each other, till he grew up into a fine young man, your dad; how he married your mum, Alice, in 1980, and they moved to Edinburgh; how your brother Keith was born in 1983, and you were born in 1988. And now, here you are, on the threshold of young womanhood, writing to your old butch grandmum, telling me you're gay, trying to figure out how to live your life. 

My advice to you, Jenny, is to get yourself a modern silicone dildo, and a harness with adjustable D-ring fasteners. (That's what Annie and I use nowadays: Arthur XXIII.) Those leather buckle contraptions we had in the 1950's were a royal nuisance.

And come visit us, we'll pay the rail fare. We haven't seen you in two years! Give your mum a little time away from you to cool down: your dad will talk to her. Bring your girlfriend Pippa along, of course. We'd be thrilled to meet her. 



London



One year ago to this very day we met for the first time in the bar at the Hotel Intercontinental in London, and now we're back, in a suite on the ninth floor. The décor is quintessentially English: flocked wallpaper and oils of hunting scenes on the walls, over-stuffed wing chairs, a quilted loveseat on either side of a tall oak armoire, and a king-sized, canopied four-poster against the far wall. The velvet curtains around the bed are a deep red, sharply contrasting the soft white of the cotton duvet covering the bed. A half-dozen candles throw a soft, rosy glow around the room.

As I enter I see that you're wearing one of my work shirts – a white button-down Oxford cloth. It looks quite appealing on you; certainly better on you than it does on me. I like the look, though. There's something very sensual about a woman in a man's shirt; something about the allure of white cloth against bare skin, the accessibility of buttons going down the front, or maybe it's just that fantasy of you grabbing the first thing you could find in my closet. Whichever it is, it's a great look on you.


Erik Satie's "Gymnopedies" is playing on the CD, a light piano backdrop wafting through the air. I lead you to a wing chair and beckon you to sit, to relax, to enjoy. Standing behind you, I run my hands through your hair, fingers spread, smoothing your thick blonde tresses as I caress your scalp. I massage your temples, gently play with your earlobes, and lightly run my fingertip over your lips. My fingers memorize each line I trace so that I can play it back in my thoughts later on. Reaching your shoulders, I firmly knead and press the strong muscles around the base of your neck and shoulders. I love that you work to keep yourself in shape; the feeling of your physical strength has always been a poignant counterpoint to your more submissive nature. I slide my hand under your chin and gently lift it, bringing your face to mine. I lightly brush my lips against yours as I hold your face to mine.

We kiss – gently, at first, then with growing intensity – lips parted, tongues dancing across teeth, mouths in perfect synchronization. My right hand slides down your neck, reaches the first fastened button on the shirt, and slowly undoes the button. I kiss you more deeply, biting at your lower lip and sucking it into my mouth. My hand moves down the shirt to the next button. My fingers brush through your cleavage as they find the closure; I feel a strong stirring of arousal deep within my groin. Your skin is so soft and I can feel your breathing lifting and expanding your ribcage under the shirt. I kiss your chin, your cheek and even the tip of your nose as I undo the next button down. My lips never leave your skin as I bring them down to your neck. I unbutton the next button, and then the next. As I kiss my way along the top of your shoulder I can see your firm breasts moving up and down under the soft white oxford cloth. With the shirt open nearly all the way, I can even see your stomach and diaphragm lifting and falling further down. As I reach the penultimate button I stop, come back around in front of you, and offer my hand. I escort you up and take you to the bed.

The Eroica Trio begin to play the opening movement of Beethoven's Sixth Symphony. You lay back on the duvet, the shirt open to your navel, and I tell you once again to relax. This is all about you, I whisper. This is my turn to play and your turn to enjoy. I position a soft goose-down pillow under your head, move your arms out to the sides, and slowly brush stray strands of your hair from your face. I open the penultimate button. Your taut stomach is as smooth as the skin on your cheek. It slowly moves up and down in time to your breathing. I run my fingertips lightly up your torso – as lightly as I possibly can, just barely grazing your skin – from your navel up through your cleavage to the nape of your neck. My own breathing picks up. My eyes are locked on yours, unable to stray or leave your gaze. I slowly push one side of the shirt to the side so that it rests directly over your nipple. The result is almost coy, yet powerfully arousing. I open the other side in the same manner and then trail my finger back down to that final button still clinging to respectability. I delicately unbutton the button and draw the shirttail to the side. My gaze shifts to your scrupulously trimmed triangle of dark hair at the very delta of your mound. I want so very much to touch, but hold myself back. Patience, I tell myself, patience. Your body shifts slightly, revealing full lips between strong, supple thighs. Patience will be difficult.

I slide the palm of my hand back up your body and push the lapels of the shirt to either side. Your nipples are already hard, standing out nearly half an inch from your breasts like two erections. I move my hand over your entire breast, to the side and underneath, feeling the contrast in texture as my hand passes from your smooth skin to your hard nipple and then past. I note the subtle change in your expression as I slide over your nipple, so I retrace my path and smile at your show of pleasure. I take the very tip of my forefinger and lightly brush the tip of your nipple. I flick it gently back and forth, taking my own delight in the way it springs back. I press gently on it and hear a soft murmur escape your lips. Your pleasure is giving me pleasure as well; my cock grows hard as I continue to tease your nipple. Using two fingers, I roll your nipple around and gently pull on it, letting it snap back. I squeeze, and hearing you moan softly, squeeze harder. Your thighs press together, and I squeeze again, delighting in your response. I drag my fingers down the slope, between your breasts and up to the other nipple, where I repeat the same process. Each time I touch you and see your response I'm compelled to continue. I love your reaction, I love your pleasure, and I love arousing you.

The music changes again: "Adagio for Strings" by Samuel Barber comes on. The music is hauntingly harmonic, then discordant. My left hand continues to stimulate and arouse your nipple while my right hand starts slow, lazy circles down the center of your torso. When I reach your navel, I stop to trace concentric circles around and around, each getting larger then the previous one. My finger brushes through your short pubic hairs and I smile when I see your stomach contract slightly. I draw a very light line from the top edge of your hair up to your navel, and then re-trace it back down. This draws a low murmur from you. My left hand circles your nipple, pulls it up, and then releases it. I trace the line again, up and back, noting your same response. The next time I draw the line back down over your mound I don't stop when I reach your hair; my finger continues down between your thighs. Your lips are full, swollen, and slightly wet. I trace an exquisitely delicate line down over the top of your labia, down one side and back up the other, smiling as you spread your thighs apart a little more. I gently caress each side, touching the base, near your thigh, and then the tip. When I draw my finger directly up the center, I notice how your lips flare apart, as though asking for deeper penetration. When I reach the apex I see how your clitoris has grown erect and protrudes shyly from beneath its hood. I gently flick across the sensitive bud, increasing pressure minutely each time I go back and forth. Soft whispers escape your lips, urging me on. Patience, I remind myself. Using two fingers, I slide my fingertips back down the tops of your lips. On the way back up, I spread them wide apart, exposing your pink slit and erect clit. I reach the top again and press your lips together directly over your clit. Your response is immediate and satisfying: a moan that starts from deep within your body reaches the surface. I repeat the movement, spreading your lips wider and pressing harder at the top. On the next pass down between your thighs I spread your lips and then drag my middle finger directly down the middle.

When I reach your vaginal opening I stop to press my finger against the hole, pressing enough to fill the opening but not enough to penetrate. I release the pressure and hear a delicious sucking sound, feeling your muscles close around my finger. I press again and release with the same effect. I begin to methodically press and release, press and release, never penetrating inside but noticing how aroused it makes you. My finger is soon wet with your juices. I place my thumb down on your clit and apply pressure as I continue to press and release against your hole. My left hand never stops; I squeeze your nipple, pull it, extend it to its limit and then release it. It stays hard – harder than I can believe possible – and I ache to take it into my mouth, to suckle it, bite it, flick it with my tongue and hear your responses. My right hand moves faster against you, increasing in rhythm and pressure. My finger becomes soaked to the point of spilling over your lips and dribbling down the inside of your thigh. I hear your breathing quicken, feel your kegel muscles contract, and feel you press against my finger as I continue to rim you. You whisper for more, urge me to give you more of my finger. This, however, is merely the beginning; I am just getting started.

As the first strains of Bach's famous "Air on a G-String" begin, I slip my entire finger inside you. I can hear your breathing increase as I begin to slide my finger in and out. My own breathing quickens just watching my finger disappear and then re-appear, wet, warm, and sticky. My cock is hard and throbbing. My left hand massages your entire breast and flicks your nipple back and forth. Your thighs are beginning to tremble. I hear you urge me on, asking me to go faster and harder. My eyes are riveted to your sex. I finger fuck you harder, faster, deeper. Your lips – swollen, wet and flared wide open – drip with your juices. I want so badly to have you in every way. I want so much to replace my finger with my cock and feel your muscles grip my shaft. My finger pounds even harder, my palm slapping your lips each time I thrust in, my hand dripping each time my finger comes out. I ache to have you. I can feel your pussy closing around me.

I insert a second finger, then a third. Fucking you faster and faster, your hoarse breathing getting more and more ragged, the sucking, slurping sound of your cunt getting louder and louder as you get wetter and wetter... I'm having trouble staying focused here. This is all about your pleasure, yet I'm feeling my balls tighten with each thrust. I urge you to let go. I want you to cum all over my hand. I whisper how much I want to fuck you until you orgasm, tell you how much I plan to fuck your cunt with my fingers, my mouth, my cock – whatever you want, wherever you want. I beg you to cum for me. I pump, I thrust, I pound my hand against your sex almost savagely, physically urging you to climax. My left hand tightens around your nipple and extends it to its maximum as my finger pistons in and out of you. I watch, I pump, and I see you reach the top – and then over. I thrill when you climax. I nearly climax myself as I watch you contort, twitch, squirm and jolt. You moan, low and guttural at first, then louder and more frenzied as you let it take you. I hold my fingers deep inside you as you climax again. My hand drips with your cum and your pussy glistens. You jolt again, freeze, and jolt a final time. And then you sink back on the bed, spent – for the moment.

Your climax – and reactions – has only whetted my appetite. I ask you quietly to roll over on your stomach, and then I strip off first the work shirt you wear, and then my own clothing. My cock stands at full attention as I straddle your thighs. Your back glistens with a light sheen of sweat and your chest still rises and falls in a steady rhythm. I slowly massage your shoulders, your back and your waist, letting your breath return.

Sting starts into "Fragile" as I begin to massage your ass. All of that jogging has kept it firm and tight. I move my thighs between yours, spreading you wide apart. Your sex is still swollen and deeply pink, and it gleams with a mixture of your sweat and cum. When I lightly touch your lips you breathe in sharply – you're still ultra-sensitive there, I see. However, as I place my finger against your vaginal opening you relax and murmur a satisfied moan. Quickly, your juices begin to flow again. I bring my finger to my mouth to taste your honey, savoring the slightly salty-sweet, sticky cum that nearly drips from my fingertip. As before, I press against your opening with a regular rhythm, not enough to penetrate but enough to engorge your sex further and increase your wetness. Your pussy is quickly drenched with your liquids, and I take more on my finger to slide up between your cheeks and around your anus. I notice your pleased response when I tease your back door; you press against my finger and slightly lift your hips as though to invite me in there.

I slide my finger back down to continue the pressure against your cunt and slowly begin to increase the speed. My left hand massages your left cheek, rubbing and kneading the hard muscles. As your breathing quickens I press faster and slightly harder. You start to moan in a low tone, giving in to the next climax that is building inside. As I press faster and harder, my other hand massaging your cheek in continual circles around and around the hemisphere. Just as you start to tighten your thighs against mine and your breath begins to get hoarse, I bring my left hand down on your ass with a sharp CRACK! and I plunge two fingers hard into your cunt. Your response is immediate and wonderful. You yelp, then press back against my hand. I slide my fingers out, massage your cheek a bit more, and then bring my hand down hard on your ass again as I ream your cunt again with two fingers. Your cheek has a lovely pink tone to it where I spanked you, matching the color of your pussy where my fingers are thrusting in and out. I massage your other cheek, bring my hand up and then down sharply on the other cheek, ramming my fingers to the hilt into your dripping wet cunt. I hold my fingers there for a moment, and then slowly slide them out.

A flamenco tune, played by Julian Bream, starts up on the CD. I'm so turned on that I can hardly contain myself, but I remember that this is all for you. I slip my thumb into your drenched cunt and slowly move it in and out. Then, sliding it slowly up between your ass cheeks, I press on your anus as I slip my forefinger and middle finger back into your vagina. I press my thumb harder, letting the liquid from your pussy act as a lubricant, and my thumb slips into your ass. A wonderful groan greets my actions and you move slightly back against my hand. I press my fingers harder into both your holes and you press even harder against them. When my fingers are inside you as far as they will go, I begin to slowly fuck you from both ends, concurrently sliding in and out. Visions of us fucking in every possible way, in every possible position, swim in my head. I see my cock replacing my thumb in your ass, see me fucking that tight orifice savagely and hear you crying out for more. I see us wrapped in carnal ecstasy and surrendering every taboo thought to our lovemaking. I suddenly realize how hard my fingers are banging into you, but your rapid breathing and low keening moan make me realize you're rapidly moving towards another climax. In low, raspy tones, I urge you on, tell you to cum again for me, plead with you and command you to let go and cum all over my hand. Almost on cue, your body contorts and I feel the iron grip of your kegel muscles around my fingers. Your ass tightens, you thrust your hips backward and I feel the warm gush of liquid over my palm. I continue to thrust and ream your openings, pumping even faster and harder until I feel you tighten again. Your breathing is ragged, your body tense with fantastic desire for more. I piston my fingers in and out, over and over again until you climax once more.

Natalie MacMaster starts up a lively Celtic fiddle tune as I roll you over to your back. Your breasts heave up and down – your nipples still taut – and I long to place my erect cock between those lovely breasts and fuck them until ropes of sticky, stringy cum jettison up over your neck and face. My patience is waning, but I continue my mantra: this is all about you. I slowly massage your thighs, your hips and your stomach until your breathing slows down. I bend over and kiss your mouth gently, just touching my lips to yours. I kiss my way around your chin to one earlobe, suckle it gently, and then back around to the other. My tongue traces a line all around your ear, flicking and licking its way to your cheek. I kiss your cheek, your nose, your other cheek, and then your lips. I kiss my way down the nape of your neck, nibbling here and there as though to taste you. You are salty and sweet; you taste of exertion and pleasure. I kiss your collarbones and shoulders, then your upper arms down to your elbows. I gently extend your arms above your head and kiss your smooth armpits, licking and kissing my way back around to your side. Then, slowly, I kiss my way up the side of your breast, underneath and through your cleavage, and under the other breast. I flatten my tongue against your globe and lick tenderly up to your nipple, taking it into my mouth and gently sucking it. It is so very rigid in my mouth. I flick it back and forth with my tongue, delighting in the way it snaps back, and gently pull it with my teeth.

I let my tongue trail down the inside curve of your breast and across to your other nipple, where I gently suck and nibble it to full erection. I suck it – as you would suck my cock – going down completely to your full breast and sliding back up to the very tip, fellating your nipple and urging it to a climax. Your hips rise and fall under me, in unison with both the music and my mouth. I suck harder, teeth now scraping along the erect sides of your nipple. When I suddenly bite down – albeit gently – your body shivers and shudders in the beginnings of yet another climax. I pull on your nipple harder with my teeth and you spasm once again, deliciously moaning a desperate plea for more. I suck your entire nipple into my mouth and reach over to pinch the other, pressing my thumb and forefinger together until I fear they will meet in the middle; and you beg for more. I bite down again and twist your other nipple nearly completely around and your hips jerk, your stomach contorts and I realize that you need to cum. Straddling your torso now, I reach down to take both nipples in between my fingers and I twist, pinch, pull and torture your tender points until I hear you cry out – not in pain, but in the pleasure of your climax.

Beethoven's Ninth – the final movement, masterfully depicted by the Orchestre des Champs Elysees – begins to play, the sweet low strains building note upon note as they weave and merge. Your breathing is hoarse and ragged, your body still trembling from the multitude of orgasms you've had, your skin wet with perspiration and shining in the dim light. I slip my hand around your wrist and gently bring it up to the headboard where I firmly tie it fast with a silk scarf. You don't resist, partially out of exhaustion and partially, I think, out of erotic curiosity. I tie the other wrist as well, and then proceed to spread your thighs wide apart and fasten your ankles securely in a similar manner with scarves to the baseboard below. Your body now lies before me spread-eagled and exposed completely.

Kneeling next to you, I take my cock into my hand and begin to masturbate over your face. Your eyes are riveted on my strokes, watching every movement of my hand as it slides up my shaft to the very tip and then back down to my groin. Every so often I see you lick your lips as if you taste each measured stroke with your tongue and swallow each motion down. I switch hands and, with my free hand, I reach down between your thighs. Your labia are full, swollen and wet, and your clitoris is hard and distended beyond its hood. When I touch your clit you jerk slightly; you are still ultra-sensitized and I feel that only a few strokes there will bring you to another climax. However, your body accepts my touches and soon your entire crevice is slippery again with your sexual juices. I stroke a little harder, seeing your eyes get wider as my cock grows to fullness before them, and I bring the head down and caress your lips with it, across and around. When you open your mouth to receive the head I slap your clit lightly; the sudden sharpness of my hand on your sensitive knob makes you gasp, makes your mouth open wide, and I slide the head of my cock into your mouth.




London



I must remember to bring a schoolgirl outfit to London...

Hmm.. I could wear it and we could take a walk through the city. Buy ice cream, maybe?

Can you imagine that? Me and you walking... I would make sure to bend over at every opportunity to show u the color of my knickers.

Hm... Maybe I'd wear a buttplug...

And tell you as I eat the ice cream just how good it feels... Sitting on a bench in the park, shifting my hips, making it stroke me.. Moan slightly and describe to you what I'm feeling.

Tell you that the pressure is making me need to pee.

Ask if it would be ok if i let a little go? Because I'm sure no one will notice.

"Would it be ok if i peed, just a little? It will only be a little.. You can feel with your hand if you want..."

As you nod, looking mildly interested, I guide your hand sneakily under my skirt,

"Ooh, that feels good.. can you move your fingers like that again?"

You put my bag over your hand so it's hidden from wiew. I'm relaxing.. It's not very difficult as I'm desperate now, and I let go a little.

First just a few drops, before I stop... Feeling thrilled.

Then some more.. Actually letting out a stream into your hand, but stopping very soon.

"Mmm... that feels a lot better"

I lift my ass a bit, moving it a little on your hand, lean over to kiss you thanks, just as if we were an ordinary pair of lovers in the park, I tell you how good your hand feels as I kiss you on the lips. Suddenly I moan into your mouth, surprised as you touch my clit, stroking it, pressing it.

I shift again, feeling the plug move, you press your thumb on it, then let go... Press again and let go, I gasp and grab hold of the seat, trying to look normal.

"Mark, this may not be a god place... People can see me..."

But you just laugh softly and tell me you're going to teach me a lesson for being such a tease.

Realizing what you have in mind, I panic a bit, but you can tell that it makes me even more aroused. You push a little harder against my clit, I moan, lean forward, hide my face in my hands, but quickly jolt back up as you push against the buttplug very hard several times, fucking my ass with it. Repeating that several times you slowly, systematically drive me mad.

Trying to regain control over my face and vocal chords i try to tell you to stop, but make no real progress.

"Mark, I... Mark... Ah... Mark!!" 

But the fact is, I want you to keep going. And you know it.

You just laugh at me where i sit, trying desperately to look normal... an old couple gives me a strange look as they walk by.

I'm breathing hard now. My face is flushed, trying to move against your hand as little as possible, which is not proving easy, I feel how close I am, try to tell you. But before I can manage to put a together a sentence you suddenly increase the speed, and push harder, both against my clit and ass.

I try not to faint as I come on your hand, in plain sight of everyone in the park. I cant help but moan out loud and you give passers by an apologizing smile as my world explodes.

My whole body goes weak and I keep moving my hips lightly, slowly, on instinct, back and forth as I come down, catching my breath. 

"You bastard, Mark"

You laugh again.

I lean back on the bench and realize my ice cream is melted. Look at you, you're smirking. My eyes travel down and I can see how hard you are. I try to keep my dignity and tease you

"Aw.. Did I get you all hot and bothered? Poor guy..."

You don't really seem to approve of my tone. Scowling you tell me that I clearly haven't learned my lesson, and that we're going back to the hotel where you're going to show me what happens to arrogant girls like me.

Standing up, holding your jacket in front of you as a cover, you grab my arm and pull me up. My knees are still weak so I barely manage to keep up with you as you stride through the park.

Entering the hotel lobby you head straight for the elevator. We both wait patiently for it and get in, but and as soon as the door closes you slam me against the mirror, kissing me hard on the mouth, grabbing my hand, putting on your cock, telling me to look at what I've done to you.

I try to please you, wrap my fingers around you, promise to be good, and the elevator stops and opens.

You open the door with one hand, push me in with the other and it slams shut behind you.. We both drop our things on the floor and you push me down on the bed, climbing on top of me, pinning me down.

Again you kiss me hard on the mouth, I begin to try and loosen your belt, but you push my hand away, unfastening it yourself and freeing your cock in one swift movement. I reach down and curl my fingers around you, wanting you inside me so badly. But again you move my hand away and hold it over my head making me feel completely helpless, which you know makes me even hotter.

Pushing your other hand under my skirt you feel just how wet i am, having both pissed myself and orgasmed, only a few minutes ago.

I lift my ass invitingly and you move my soaked knickers to the side, placing your cock against my pussy and in one stroke push all the way in and feel how tight i am, having my ass filled with the buttplug.

Not prepared for this invasion I give a scream, but that soon turns into a moan as you pull out and push in again. Then you start fucking me hard, pushing me into the mattress.

I'm still so sensitive that your moves make me shiver with pleasure. I moan loudly with each thrust, feeling both your cock inside me and the buttplug in my ass. Together it's almost too much. I grab your shoulders, trying to get you even closer, even deeper, clawing at your back trough your shirt.

Suddenly you reach down with your hand and place a finger on my clit, pushing rhythmically against it, sending jolts of pleasure through my entire body. You feel me tighten around you as i begin to have my second orgasm. Feeling this sends you over the edge as well and you give a few more thrusts before you come, filling my pussy with your thick come.. I arch my back and move my legs even further apart, trying to take even more of you in, not feeling anything but pleasure for a few eternal seconds.

So you see.. I really must remember to bring a schoolgirl outfit to London.