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A Bakery, Ruminations & Fucking...

By: Shadowsucks



This is an autobiographical work of fiction. Characters are not intended to resemble anyone living or dead, fictional or real.

The quotes at section transitions are from songs that played to mind while writing. They enhance the scenes & are intrinsic to the ambiance of the story. Copy/paste & search 'em, & listen. Really. Listen! They'll add seasoning & spice to the narrative experience. (Use Startpage or DuckDuckGo because they don't identify your PC's unique IP address or track your location or collect the content of your searches.)

This story was inspired by "The Last Time We Fucked", a poem by HeartnSole. Words are revolutionary! When soulfully written, they transform to seed riding the winds. It's miraculous, perhaps distressing at times, yet absolutely astonishing what blooms from fertile soils when words fall planted into earth. Thanks J.

Thank you, LesbianChickLit. You sparked my attempt to tell this story. Damn girl, that voodoo that you do so well... You are the wordsmith we all aspire to; that wondrous lover we all desire, too. (Oh, I scream, I need you LCL, please girl, fuck me stupid! Fuck me to the moon... ¡Callate y besame!)

AVixenLiterally helped me fix/edit the first few early drafts; then cut me loose to take wing alone. She challenged me to weave a tapestry that readers might feel & experience. If just a phrase, feeling or image touches your heart, it is because of her generosity, skill & her gentle encouragement. What a gifted storyteller. I am grateful. I am humbled.

Nota bene, I alone am responsible for writing this dreck. This story is work in progress & it's arguably much too early to publish, however, due to the conditions of fate, I don't expect enough time to finish it. Any spelling, grammatical or stylistic faux pas are mine. You have only me to blame if this story sucks.

If graphic sex between two women in love is not your cup of tea, by all means stop drinking it. (I heartily recommend the double-shot Cappuccino.)

No gradual seduction here, shagging starts fast & hard, the tease comes later. Don't complain; you've been apprised.

This is my first submission. (Shut up your domme face!) Being kind is not requested nor required.

All characters were over the age of consent...yada yada yada. If you shouldn't read it, don't!

No teenagers were harmed while writing this story.

 

A Bakery, Ruminations & Fucking...

"The Universe is made of stories, not of atoms."

Muriel Rukeyser



First Part:"God is alive. Magic is afoot."

(In which we meet Erin and, from her perspective, this tale begins...)

It is just dusk when I arrive at the cafe. Opening my car door, the rich aromas of freshly baked breads gently tease my nose. The shop windows are steamy and, as I walk through the front door, rich pungent smells of cinnamon, berries, chocolates, and coffees startle my tongue, assailing my senses; my mouth waters.

I reach behind me and lock the entry. Her back is to me, long lithe legs moving to a tune only heard through her ear buds, that delicious ass seductively swaying to the rhythm. Oh, such a tight and muscled teardrop ass, my breath catches and I am stunned by how pretty she is, how unabashedly spontaneous, how comfortable she is in her own skin.

Not me. I'm more of a self-conscious animal. One of the realities of being a shrink is that I muck about in other people's baggage and emotional garbage, trying to make sense of it, straighten and order it; to engender and nurture some meaning from it and stimulate enlightenment for my patients. (So sue me, I'm into a Jungian gestalt.) It also means I muck about in my own emotional shit too often - it puts a buffer between me and how I experience the world. I am always a bit outside myself, watching, gauging, analyzing –  never like her, just joyfully spontaneous and experiencing.

Jillian is a jock, but she has a dancer's body. Long and sinewy, lean and lithe, her luscious body ripples as she moves. She doesn't walk - she glides and soars. She's an animal, 5 foot 4 inches of raw and untamed, with caramel blonde hair almost reaching the middle of her back, it is wavy and shiny, and sparkles in the light.

I quietly walk up behind her, slip my hands beneath her rainbow LGBT tank-top and wrap my arms around her muscled torso; silken skin and ripe firm breasts fill my hands. "Don't move." I murmur in her ear as she, surprised at first, gasps, turning her cheek into my neck. My left hand leaves her breast, stroking up against her throat, and gently covers her mouth. "Shush." I whisper, my tongue tracing the tender shells of her ear. She shudders, takes a breath, and trembles. Her tongue darts out, shyly licking my palm, stroking out to the junction of my middle fingers and then back, slow warm wet breathe on my palm. I shiver a little, still not used to how deeply I care for her, how much I want her. My pussy clenches and dampens. The bakery smells waken my stomach; it's growling, and I realize I've not eaten since bagels and coffee early this morning. My hunger for her and the tasty smells around me makes me drool.

I stroke her firm breast, pinching a turgid nipple as it hardens and stiffens between my thumb and forefinger, the areola becomes goose bumpy. She gasps. "Please lock the door, baby," she moans, grinding her ass between my hips and pushing onto my cunt. "It's already done, sweetness." I say and turn her slowly around, gently pushing her to her knees, drawing her face towards my thighs. Her fingers deftly unbutton my jeans and peel them from my ass, down my legs, her tongue licking the insides of my thighs, hands grasping my ass cheeks. Desire washes through me and my knees become weak. I actually feel like I might fall, and begin shuffling us backward to the display counter.

Stumbling into it, the coldness of the glass shocks me and trembling, I slide downward, grabbing hold of a shelf behind me to stop from falling. My left hand fists her hair as I pull her further between my thighs. "Lick me." I manage hoarsely and her tongue teases my slit, flattens and draws up between my flooding lips, flutters against my hardening clit for a teasing few moments, and suddenly plunges into my pussy. The muscles in the small of my back clench, tingling boils up the base of my spine, sending shock waves into my pussy.

Her tongue lashes, then flutters my clit and I become dazed, my ears dulled from the pressure of my pleasure, and I begin to swallow hard, repeatedly, as if by so doing I can regain some footing, find some semblance of control – but I am lost as her fingers plunge into me, two, then three, faster, so deep. 

"More," I plead; I think I am screaming. "Jillian, please, oh shit." My head is pounding, throbbing, a roaring overwhelms my hearing, my stomach clenches, my groin spasms repeatedly, I arch upwards, legs shaking over the balls of my feet and the cum crashes through my body. I am screaming, trying to pull away from her nibbling lips, her fluttering stiffened tongue; I am hovering between ecstasy and pain and try to pull away, not able to maintain the contact as I again begin shaking. But she is gripping my ass so fucking tightly. 

"Oh, you devil," I moan, "you wonderful, beautiful bitch."

She giggles into my pussy, her voice thrumming my turgid lips. And then her tongue softens, lips become gentle, nuzzling my labia, nose softly teasing my clit and I feel her chuckling and humming my pussy as she slowly, so tenderly licks and sings me back to earth.

I gaze down at her face between my thighs, and we lock eyes as her tongue gently rouses my desire and her song vibrates through my sopping pussy. I don't know if I can take any more, but she is relentless, and all reason leaves me – I give up and surrender to just "feeling" as another orgasm washes over me. My ears dull, my chest hammers, nipples tighten, and I cum again, but slowly this time, gently, and as I stroke Jillian's cheeks and gaze into those impossibly blue and emerald-flecked eyes, I begin to cry.

How the hell did this happen to me, I wonder?

Second Part:"I was all right, for a while, I could smile for a while..."

(In which Jillian is introduced, and the tale continues from her perspective...)

Erin is crying and I'm shocked. I turned and pulled her close. She's so tall, an easy 5 foot 10, and in those ankle boot heels she dwarfs my 5'4" dancer's frame. I looked into her shining golden amber eyes and gently caressed her face.

"Please, baby," I asked. "What did I do, Erin?"

She sniffled. "Nothing," she soothed me, "you didn't do anything." Erin reached down, cupped my face in her strong, soft hands and I felt warm and tingly, safe, and stroked the soft brown curls that framed her face. Wow! Those golden amber eyes of hers; I get lost in them sometimes. Her legs are long, lithe and shapely, firmly muscled, and her ass is hard yet the skin velvety soft to the touch. I pull her more deeply to me.

"I'm just amazed that it's only been a few weeks," she said. "You are magical."

I giggled and pushed her back a bit, tossed my head to the side and coyly smiled, whispering, "Want to see my next trick?" I pirouette a couple of times, my skirt flaring and billows. Before falling to my knees I slowly dropped backwards, wantonly brazen, presenting my bald pussy to her as I slipped my fingers into my slit and began tweaking my berry red nipple with my left hand.

"Jillian?" she said, surprised. "Baby, you've gone commando. I like."

Her eyes darkened, they actually get kinda smoky. She loves my large breasts and don't I know it. "Show me, sweetness." she pleaded. Erin sat between my legs, watching me rub my red berry nipple, gasping when I dove three fingers into my cunnie. I could hear the sloshing as I plunged my fingers in and out of me, shuddering at how hot it felt to masturbate while she watched me so intensely. She began panting and stroked her mound, teasing her clit and softly licking her lips.

Then she got that look in her eyes, and I knew I was in trouble.

She stood, took powdered sugar and a bowl of chocolate fudge sauce from the warming tray on the counter, and put them both at my feet. "Daddy's hungry," she purred, dipped her fingers in the fudge and plunged them into my glistening pussy. She took the sugar; I felt it dusting my breasts. Reaching behind to the shelf, she found a raspberry scone, took it and began flicking my clit, swirling the pastry in my fudge soaked labia. She brought the scone to her lips, slowly. I was entranced. She licked the glistening chocolate and took a bite, chewing thoughtfully as she again teased my pussy with the damned biscuit before pushing it further into me. For a moment I thought about how difficult it would be to get cleaned up; but only for a moment. Then her mouth was on me, enveloping my labia in her hot lips, sucking my pussy, drawing the chocolate from me, her tongue lapping at my tunnel as her lips closed on my clit. Her teeth nibbled my pearl. I began shuddering, arching my ass towards her face – and – she stopped.

I howled. "Baby, please," I shrieked, and writhed up off the floor, completely lost in my need to cum. But she just sat her ripe ass on the balls of her feet and grinned mischievously at my frustration. 

Hey Jillie," she purred, "Want to see me pull a rabbit outa my hat?"

She fiddled with something behind her back. I heard a bit of a rustle, fabric on fabric maybe, I don't know. Stunned, my eyes shot open as suddenly, something is toying at my pussy. It springs to life. She pushed it pulsing inside me, simultaneously tickling my clit. She watched me wriggling on the floor, thoughtfully munching the last bites of the scone.

"I'll be right back," she said, licking crumbs from her fingers. "You can keep touching yourself, but if you cum, there will be consequences."

"What, where are you going," I asked? But she turned around and again busied herself at the counter.

I grabbed the toy and held it humming my clit, slowly pulsed it in and out of my tight slick pussy.

"This is delicious coffee, sweetie." She turned and sipped the rich roast, relishing its tart bitter sweetness. I kept rubbing myself, desperate to cum for her, to madden her with my desire. I brought fingers to my lips and tasted the warm rich chocolate sauce mixed with my tart musky juices, savoring the tastes and smells. Her eyes darkened as she gazed at me over the steaming rim of her coffee cup. She smirked. "Uhm, uh-uh," she ordered, "no cumming just yet."

She took the toy from my hand as I continued fingering myself, and brought it to her lips, lapping the chocolate from the tip as she began deep throating the shaft. It was odd because I'd never seen her do that, it was always her wearing a toy. God, how I wish she'd just fuck me with it. I love it when she's wearing a strapless, it looks so kinky sexy. The way the cock hangs from her pussy, it's so hot and sensual, I shiver at the thought as I open my eyes and she's gazing intently at me. She knows what I want. She leaned over and put the toy to the side. Her hands went behind her and as she brings them into view, I see the strapless and squeal. God help me, I squealed, as she dipped a bit and ever so slowly plugged the thick shorter end of the strapless into her cunnie. Her eyes fluttered to squinting, her firm breasts jiggled, and she pushed it up inside herself. She shook out her hair, tossed her head to the side, and began stalking towards me. Hot damn! She throws her shoulders back, pert breasts jiggling proud and firm, striding towards me, and I am melting.

When the tip of the strapless stroked my labia I thought I might faint, so deeply felt was my desire.

I've never had sex with a man. I knew from my earliest memories that I had no interest in guys beyond friendship (duh, I'm not a fool, guys can be cool), so I have no way of knowing what a physical penis would feel like inside me, and frankly, the idea is not in the least bit appealing. But the strapless bobbing from my lover's snatch is so fucking beautiful that my heart clutches, it makes me breathless. Her golden amber eyes peering into mine overwhelms me.

I feel the pressure as she slowly thrusts inside me, just the tiniest bit, then a bit more, and more, deeper. I am feeling so full and she fills and stretches me and it spills upwards and throughout my body. My thighs tremble and tingle then become heated and my stomach crawls with desire. Her breasts flush as she hovers above me, panting gently; she is so fucking strong and the muscles in her arms are popping, her neck is rippling as she gazes into my baby blues and then leans in and tenderly kisses the tip of my nose. She has the most amazing six pack (8-pack, actually) and the muscles of her torso are rippling with the energy of sheer physical strength and her incredible hunger. Her eyes are glazed and she looks like she could absolutely devour me, and goddamnit, I'd joyfully let her!

This strapless has a vibrating component and she has turned it on. I feel rather than hear it, and am surprised by a rumbling deep within my cunt. She glides effortlessly, sawing into me, a thrusting that has become more urgent, harder. My ankles are on her shoulders and she moves up my torso, folding my legs, pushing my thighs back towards my breasts. I pull my knees into my breasts as best as I can, rolling my hips up off the floor to meet her thrusting hips. Erin's thighs slap my ass hard with each deep plunge and she grinds her pussy against the rough nub of the strapless rubbing her clit against it. I'm just able to stretch and reach under her and finger the strapless, pushing her end deeper into her pussy. Erin groans, lowers her face to my cheek, nuzzles and bites the side of my throat. Her muscles grow taut and I wrap my arms around my calves, pulling my knees against my breasts.

"Come for me, baby," her voice is smoky, raspy, "Come for me now."

My legs fall collapsing, and my ankles lock around her waist as my head lifts. I'm straining to reach her lips. She arches her head back and begins to groan, plunging to the hilt deeply within me and I scream with wild abandon as my body spins and tumbles, crashes into orgasm, clenching, thrashing my head about, grinding my teeth as my eyes become glazed, then blindingly bright light explodes around me.

When I awaken, it is to the feel of cool water at my lips, gentle soft fingers stroking my face. I gaze into Erin's golden amber eyes. "You fucked me so good I passed out," I hissed, overwhelmed. She smirks looking kinda proud, and nods slowly.

"I love you, sweet Erin," I tell her as tears spill from my eyes.

I suppose, since we've come this far, I ought to tell you. Erin, my Amazonian beauty is 29. She's a psychologist, a proud RPG gamer (role playing video games), a self-proclaimed math savant, a deliciously foxy femme-dyke, addicted to coffee and sex (maybe?), and she is dying. She has ovarian cancer. In remission for three years, it suddenly came back with a vengeance, and it will consume her soon. Not in years but in months. I don't know how I find the strength not to break down sobbing each time I think of her no longer being here. I've suffered heartbreak before, felt deep anguish, the hopelessness of absolute despair, but Erin dying? That is not fair! I rage inside. It cuts me deeply, painfully. We have only known each other for a few weeks, yet it feels like that cliché of 'we've known each other our whole lives'. I don't know how I will go on without her, yet all I dare allow myself is to remain focused in the present as best I can be. 

"What are you mulling, my little Yoda," she coos, and softly flutters her eyelash against my cheek. Butterfly kisses; my heart clutches, I gasp. I am a puddle. She melts me. I throw my arms around her pulling her into me, my chest trembling and heaving, and...

My cunnie farts. 

I am mortified. Erin collapses against me, laughing hysterically.

Third Part:"Drove my Chevy to the levee, But the levee was dry..."

(In which Jillian continues her story, we deepen our acquaintance with the girls, and though it may seem that fucking is all they do, the layers have begun to peel away...)

The wind is howling. It is bitter cold. I locked the bakery door and we ran to Erin's car. My teeth chattering and shivering uncontrollably, I tumbled in when she opened the door. The engine roared to life and Erin threw a fleece blanket over me, rubbing warmth into my bare goose pimply arms. "Heat will be on in a minute, Sweetness." she murmured, stroking my hair, breathing warmly into my ear. She nibbled just above my collar bone, gently suckling and licking my neck, and I began to calm, warmed by her touches. I think I loved her from the moment I first saw her.

I felt Erin shaking and kind of panting. Alarmed, I thought she was crying and clutched her face between my palms. She glanced at me, and burst out laughing.

"What," I asked, confused.

"Pussy farts," she stammered, howling with laughter. Her head collapsed into my lap while I became indignant.

Okay, I was pissed. "It's...it was just fucking biology, and physics...queefing is a goddamn physical reaction." I sputtered. "Shit, you're so un-fucking-couth, you graceless bitch." Incensed, I slapped the back of her head and tried to push her from my lap but she latched onto my thigh and blew a raspberry, loudly.

She lifted her head and looked into my eyes with such glee that I was unable to feel angry any longer. These moments of sheer joy and pleasure were gifts of respite, all too few occasions when she was free of the cancer ravaging her body, for a short while unbound from the cruel, icy clutches of death so immediately dancing ever-present at her side.

"I'm sorry, Jillian." She sighed. Sitting up, she caressed my face, stroked the hair from my eyes and kissed my forehead. Reaching across me, she opened the glove box, pulled out her cigarette case and went to light a joint. I snatched it from her lips. "No way." I hissed. "You're not gonna drive stoned." Grabbing her keys from the ignition I made to leave. I couldn't save her but I damn well would save myself.


A Bakery, Ruminations & Fucking...



As the frigid night air chilled my bones, realization blew in with the biting arctic breeze. She was trying to incite me, purposefully pushing me away, and I sat back down, slammed the car door, cursing the heavens for sending me the girl I'd yearned for all my life but gift-wrapped in a shroud of death.

Erin turned to face me. She sighed. "Insight is a harsh bitch, yeah?" she queried and I nodded, wondering how she could possibly read my thoughts, marveling at her brilliance; her empathy and self-awareness seemed limitless.

She pedaled the clutch, the car leaped forward and we were quickly weaving through traffic at a terribly dangerous pace, so fast that I became frightened and dizzy as the scenery blurred by the windows. My stomach lurched and I was terrified we would spin out of control, yet ecstatic at the thrill as she fluidly shifted through the gears – dancing her feet on the clutch and accelerator, her biceps rippling as she shifted the gearbox and teased the steering wheel was astonishingly erotic. 

The roadster sped along with the grace and power of a sveltely muscled cheetah. Erin's concentration, the graceful intensity as she drove was powerful to watch and I was captivated; feeling my arousal, my pussy dampened. Damn, would I ever stop aching for this woman's touch? I was turning into a freaking lecherous whore of a dyke, and so loving it.

For a moment I wondered how it would feel when she died... and my heart shook, my stomach fell out from under me and I felt stunned and dizzy. I gasped, fear gripped me, and she looked at me, her eyes questioning. I squeezed my eyes tightly shut and trembled into a slow deep breath, trying to shake the anxious thoughts from my mind. Feeling ashamed of my selfishness I reached for her, stroking her thigh and traced a meandering line up towards her cunnie. She drew in her breath sharply, and gently stopped my wandering fingers, trapping my palm flat against her warm, pulsing thigh. "We're almost home, baby," she said. "We can stop and fuck, or we can wait till we get home, but I'm not hugging a tree with my roadster." 

"Pull over," I demanded, growling with lust. I think I love being a brazen hussy.

The notion of fucking in a hot sexy sports car is very different from actually doing it. For one thing, the damn stick shift keeps getting in the way. But Erin did find some interesting uses for the shifter and, I must admit it felt damned good when she jack hammered my pussy on it. The heated friction from the shifter knob stretching and filling me, coupled with the cold shock of the metal stick had me thrashing. She is frightfully strong.

The worst thing about car sex for me is how near impossible it is to get actual intimate contact. Then there's all the interesting ways that clothes turn into bonds. With very little effort, Erin had me trussed like a Thanksgiving turkey and shortly thereafter I was leaking all over her thighs as she plunged her fingers into my greedy cunnie. 

What I love best about surrendering to wanton lust is how outrageously excited it makes her. The times when Erin can abandon all thoughts and just "feel" are few; she is always so focused and aware of her surroundings. She hasn't talked about it, but I think she was beaten and severely abused as a child. When I asked her to tell me about her childhood, to see pictures, her eyes became haunted, pained, and she tensed; then skillfully guided the conversation elsewhere.

She has no family pictures displayed in her apartment; at least none that I can see. She let slip once that her sister died as a teenager. "It was my fault she killed herself," Erin said, and closed her eyes, quietly weeping. I held her sobbing to my breast for a few minutes, and then she drew back, apologized and asked to not talk about it. Maybe she'll tell me when she is ready. But I know this woman has lived hellish horrors and suffered deeply in her life. Yeah, I know, life doesn't come with a fairness warranty, but really, fuck this existential bullshit! Knowing she'll soon be dead makes me livid; I want to break and smash things, embrace my rage, pick childish fights and beat up rude and nasty and intolerant people, throw tantrums and shriek and scream until I am deafened and numb from pounding and kicking the floor.

I wish I could hear her tell me she'll never leave me; and, I wish I could believe her as she said it. I wish we could grow to be horny brazen geriatric dykes together. Maybe have children and watch them grow, love and nurture them...

Shit, I wish we could simply get married and be afforded the same rights, privileges and societal standing that any straight couple enjoys and takes for granted. 

I wish.

Oh, shit! My cunnie betrays me. It hisses and belches; queefing. Embarrassed, I quickly steal a glance at Erin. She is smothering laughter in her hand, but then she blows a raspberry.

Fourth Part:"In restless dreams I walked alone..."

(In which Erin continues her tale, and dares opine of dyke haute cuisine ...)

It is very early in the morning when I jolt awake, shivering. I am gripped with terror, chilled and sweltering under the down comforter; a cold, freezing, shivering sweat. I don't remember the dream, only that I was afraid. Jillian is nestled against my side, her left leg tossed carelessly over my hips, her upper arm cupping my breasts, bicep flexing against them. Her hand strokes my face, absently teasing my ear as she sleeps. My chest floods with warmth, with love. I smile. She is so cute when she sleeps.

I am so hungry it hurts and quietly untangle from her embrace to go forage for food and snacks in the kitchen. My mouth tastes metallic and sour. I ought to brush my teeth and self-consciously try to sniff my breath by exhaling into my palm but that fails. Hell with it, I think to myself. I am so fucking hungry.

I pour a measure of dark Sumatra beans into the grinder and flip it on. The roaring is sudden and shocking and I move to shut it off, then remember that my girl could sleep through an earthquake, so I wait for the rich aroma of freshly ground coffee to tickle me silly. Don't know if there is a god or goddess, but coffee speaks volumes for proof that a deity exists. I pull out the half-&-half and sniff it to be sure it's not spoiled. (Yeah, the purists out there are bitching that I shouldn't ruin a good proper cup of coffee with cream and sugar, but I don't care – this is what's left of my life so you'll gratefully accept whatever the fuck I choose to serve you. And you'll bloody well enjoy it.)

At 2 am it's too late for dinner and too early for breakfast. What to do, what to do? I settle on pasta, just... because.

I put a saucepan to boil, salt the water, and savor the coffee as I pour six or so handfuls of penne into the pot. I'd made a batch of clams and spicy marinara sauce a few weeks earlier and pulled a jar from my freezer. Some spinach and mushrooms with lots of freshly crumbled feta cause me to break into a silly, skipping, happy dance. Shit. Coffee sloshes onto the floor. Shit! I'm such a klutz sometimes.

There's prime top sirloin in the fridge and it's soon chopped and sizzling in a garlic and onion laden skillet. I taste a delicious tart morsel of perfectly rare tender goodness, and smack my lips. While cleaning and slicing the red bell peppers I am seized by the thought of pouring the steaming concoction onto Jillian and eating and licking my way about her, maybe nibbling penne from her saucy kitty. I chuckle and smiling, plate the food, take the fresh bread heating over the steaming saucepan, grab some butter and head for the bedroom loft. 

There's much to be said for eating healthily when you've got cancer, but truthfully? I love the taste of butter melting into hot steaming, crunchy, crusted French bread. I eat meat and love it. The risk of cancer from coffee or fried food seems kinda senseless to me at this point so, let's just let that one run aground, okay? And, yeah, clams & beef with coarse, chopped mushrooms, bright leafy spinach and generous chunks of feta cheese, all peppered with lots and lots of garlic and onions is, perhaps, just my kind of kink, but damn, it is de-fucking-luscious. Some of my best friends are vegetarians, but me? I eat pussies!

She's not in bed. I hear the shower and she's singing. I'm cursed with near-perfect and relative pitch, so Jillian's voice, though sultry and sexy when she speaks, sounds like fingernails screeching the chalkboard when she belts out a song. She is flat and sharp and out of tune; I shudder and gnash my teeth. Oh, the things we do for love.

By the time I've returned to the loft with the wine, she's out of the shower and wrapped in a fluffy terry robe. We eat quietly. She steals glances at me, trying to be discrete, but I sense what's coming. The heat from the shower steams from her skin. "Sweetie?" she asks quietly, shyly, "Tell me about your sister."

Shit! How to do this, I wondered to myself? How do I tell of my sister without talking about the years of sexual assaults, the daily physical and emotional torture we both suffered through? There were daily beatings and brutal rapes, the cruel humiliations and the constant demeaning insults. How do you talk about being the object, not of your parents' unconditional love, but the focus of their unmitigated hatred and derision? How do I explain the stark bitter horrors of misogyny? How to describe being locked in a tiny cramped molding pitch-black shed and left for hours, stomach spasming from hunger, throat raw from tears, chest heaving, gasping, dried parched lips craving even a few drops of water. How do I tell her this without breaking her sweet and generous heart? How can she not hate me when I lay myself so vulnerable before her? I am not only the victim here; I am a perpetrator as well. I have done terrible and dangerous things in my life. I have been heartless and cruel. I've wounded and caused real harm.

It was past noon when I finally stopped talking; wrung out, feeling exhausted. She held my hands in her lap, eyes downcast, slowly shaking her head. "How did you survive?" she gently asked. "After she committed suicide, how did you go on?" 

I shook my head, too far into revelation to hold anything back. "I didn't want to. I ran away. I'd just turned 15 when I left. Ran away and never went back. They're both dead. My mother died of a stroke, and my father died in some fleabag nursing home outside of Phoenix. I never saw either of them after I left." I couldn't help the tears that spilled from my eyes provoked by anguish not fondness. 

"I tried to kill myself. Tried three times and almost succeeded twice. It's kind of perverse but finding the cancer kinda saved me. I'd overdosed on a fistful of pain meds and fallen into a coma for 14 weeks. They used drugs to induce the coma. I was 23 when they'd found and first treated the tumors. And I woke up." I shrugged my shoulders but still couldn't quite meet her eyes.

I felt her looking at me, shaking her head, bewildered. "I'm glad you lived," she said softly. "I'm glad to have met you and to love you." She wrapped her arms around me and drew me close. Her voice was barely a whisper. "Please baby. Let me love you."

I was overcome with such an intense range of emotions. I was sobbing uncontrollably, wailing painfully. My chest heaved and I shuddered and shook as she held me in her strong jock arms. I was just barely conscious as I cried. The dam had broken and 29 tortuous years, 10,000 days of pain and fear and grief burst free. I lost all measure of time. It could have been minutes or even hours. She held me throughout and never let me go. For only the second time in my life since my sister died, I felt cherished. "How can you love me?" I asked. "I've done terrible things. I've lied and stolen just to survive. I've been so careless with other people's feelings, betrayed the trust of friends, and even destroyed a girl who adored and loved me. My sister was the best of us; it should have been me who died." I looked into Jillian's impossibly blue and emerald-flecked eyes and shook my head. "I don't even know what happened to Vera's body, where her grave is. Or if she even has one."

I'm not sure what I expected next, but I was certain she would dress and leave. I'd revolted her. Sure, I've tried to make amends for the horribly cruel, evil I've done in my life, but how could I expect her to stay when I could barely tolerate this part of myself? My head hung in shame and I was terrified to meet her gaze, afraid to even dare touch her. My chest heaved and I was racked with sobs, but I tried desperately to find some calm, to get quiet, so she could at least be free to leave without remorse.

The stillness was so loud around me. Silence thundered in my ears. My head throbbed.

Her tongue tickled my earlobe. Gently, a finger, then two and then three, stroking my face, lips caressing my cheek, thumbs tenderly wiping tears from my eyes, she covered my face in stunning gentle, warm kisses and I wept with a baby's abandon. She enfolded me in those amazing sinewy arms, gently pulled me close and lowered us to lie on the bed, wrapping me up in her lithe legs. Feeling the heat of her pussy against my skin, I shuddered and trembled into a contended peacefulness and slowly, quietly, drifted into a sleep, for once not haunted by nightmares and agonizing death.

Fifth Part:"Time can bring you down, time can bend your knees, Time can break your heart, have you begging please, begging please..."

(In which Erin continues her tale, ponders the ironies of life, and debates equal rights for split infinitives...)

I woke up to the trilling of the television. Oh, shit, Star Trek. "To boldly go where no one has gone before." Jillian was sitting cross-legged on the bed, tearfully slurping a bowl of Cheerios with too much brown sugar and way too many strawberries. A banana wobbled precariously on her thigh. Don't care if a banana is a plantain or a berry - I just envied the lucky fruit's position so close to her tangy snatch. "What's up, my little Vulcan?" I stroked her dimpled knee.

She turned, smiled sorrowfully, "I have been, and always shall be, your friend." she said, wiping a tear from her impossibly blue and emerald-speckled eyes. I shook my head, smiling wistfully. I adore my girl; she's such a geek. She raised her hand and made the Spock sign. Then purses her lips, smiles and wipes more tears from her eyes. "Live long and prosper."

I shall do neither, I think to myself, indulging in a bit of perhaps undeserved self-pity. Shit, she's so cute my heart clutches. "What time is it?" I asked, looking around at the brisk winter sunlight streaming in through the sliding glass doors. I stretched and yawned, "Jillian, I'm sorry...about yesterday..." I stumbled over words, feeling awkward, blindly groping for how to express my confused feelings. Overwhelmed by too many fleeting thoughts to even attempt voicing, I sighed in frustration and shook my head.

"Stop," she demanded, putting her forefinger to touch my lips. "I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have pried."

My mind flooded with anxiety, hundreds of "what if" questions sprang unbidden, so rapidly I wasn't able to focus, finally, exasperated and annoyed I just resigned and sighed, "So, what's next?" I asked. "What do you want to do? About us...this...me..." damn, I'm blubbering blindly. Real eloquent, Erin, I think to myself. I am befuddled. Feeling horny, prickling arousal, flooding with warmth and feeling overwhelming love for this gorgeous woman, and yet so deeply embarrassed and ashamed of myself.

I looked at my reflection in the glass doors to the balcony. Soon, the cancer would wrinkle my skin, strip the flesh and muscle from my body, leaving me a bag of crumpled pale greying skin and bone, sheared of color – I would become gaunt, spoiled, ravaged and rendered ugly by my own body eviscerating itself. I was repulsive. I deserved this. 

Exasperated, I shook my head, annoyed with myself, angry at the irony of life. Here I was – in love and dying, being loved and dying. I felt I had no right to feel any of this. Cognitive dissonance? Yeah, FUCK YOU cognitive dissonance! 

(I don't want to sound insensitive or offend the ignorant or illiterate among us, because they do have the same human rights as I, but sometimes I just wish I was a simple-minded twit happily droid-walking through a morbidly boring life, destined to die free from questioning the ironies and absurdities of existence. Ah, yes, an existential cognitive dissonance flooded her awareness as she stupidly trolled, shallowly through her sodden joyless life. Sorry, I'll go on with the story now.)

I reached for Jillian's cereal bowl, took a few strawberries and dove for her belly. Bowl on the nightstand? Check! Rip off her panties? Check! She squealed, and I giggled. I love making her squeak and squirm. Filling her pussy with berries, I dove in, sucking her pearl, lapping her enflamed labial lips, frenching her pussy deeply with my long writhing tongue. The tastes of tart and sweet and musky heat and a yummy bit of sour overwhelmed me and my mouth flooded. Salivating profusely I joyfully lapped her cunt with a glee I'd not felt for...I dunno...years? Ages? I lost myself in Jillian's delicious kitty and cupped her ass, relishing her muscles rippling in my hands as she arched off the bed, shoulders raised. I followed, firmly sucking her pussy as she lifted up, only her head and toes in contact with the bed. She began a keening, plaintive wailing, clamping her thighs around my head, pulling me into her pussy, her knees splayed and thrashing, thighs clenching and her body began to tremble. I hollowed my cheeks, flattened and gradually withdrew my tongue, then slowly painted up her slit to gently bite the pearl dancing hard and free from her clit hood. I teased to the left of her quivering clit, gently blowing from my nostrils, teasing at her clit with breath and tongue but not...quite...touching...that pearl. Damnit, I wanted my harness, but the notion of leaving her damp hot pussy was abhorrent. I raked her pearl with my teeth and bit down a bit, nuzzled her slit and sucked the berry ripe juices dripping from her as she trembled into a tumultuous shattering cum that made me breathless. I love how she comes for me, falling to the bed, legs splayed, pussy dripping, and labia ruby red and engorged, thighs still quivering and knees dimpling, trembling. She was still panting, and her firm proud breasts were heaving as her breathing slowed. Her berry red nipples were long, tight, and I couldn't help drawing one into my mouth, latching on and stroking her velvety smooth skin as her heart thudded strong and loud in my ears. I was filled with a most contented joy and pride, so thankful to have given her this wonderful ecstasy. 

Even as it occurred to me, I was ashamed by the self-indulgent silliness of it, but if nothing else, at least by giving her this, I might die happy, I could die knowing I mattered to her. In just this orgasmic moment we existed only for one another, orbited only each other. Some tears spilled from my eyes, spontaneous and unbidden. I raised my head, looked at her doe like face gently framed by flowing caramel blonde hair that fanned out haphazardly, shining golden amidst the rumpled silk sheets. Softly stroking down her tummy while my other hand moved up her calves to the backs of her knees, I raised and spread her legs, leaned in and gently kissed her pussy, and taking her pearl in my lips I began to hum. No intentional melody or song, just freeform humming that vibrated her clit and gently teased her, still humming I licked the engorged slit, flattened my tongue and licked up from her perineum to just below her clit, swiped the side of her pearl, teasing it back out of its hood. I was still humming – something Mozart I think, or maybe Brubeck's 'Take Five', or Brandi Carlile singing 'Hallelujah'...




A Bakery, Ruminations & Fucking...



(Seriously, okay? if you've never heard her, just search online "Brandi Carlile Hallelujah", and listen. If you're not made a shivering bawling mess of proud quivering dyke then I don't know how to help you. Torch and twang country-rock may not be your thing, and that's okay, but I unashamedly love it. Of course, k. d. lang's Hallelujah is sexy hot too. Damn, it'd be joyous to see them in concert together. Proud to be butch? You betcha! I'm the femme-butch type, though. One of my favorite fantasies is to be utterly naked writhing seductively and dancing on stage while they are singing to me, going down on me and thrumming my pussy to a shrieking orgasm. It's okay, go do it now "Brandi Carlile Hallelujah"– I'll still be here when you get back, still humming, gently licking, and softly thrumming...) 

I delicately teased her pearly clit free of its hood. She moaned and reached for my face. Her fingers trembling, she shyly stroked my cheek. "Baby, I don't know if I can..." she began, but I stopped her with a finger to those innocent pouty lips, because I know she can. Many times. She's a lucky, lucky girl.

Sixth Part:"They are one person, They are two alone, They are three together, They are for each other..."

(In which life intrudes and things become complicated...)

The piercing scream of the smartphone was more than loud and annoying. It was shrill, shocking, and intruded its way into our blissful boudoir. Sometimes you just know with absolute certainty that the insistent ringtone warns of ominous dreadful news. This was not my weekend to be on-call. If that particular phone was ringing, all hell must have broken loose.

Jillian startled awake, and jerked against me. "What the fuck?" She said, flushed embarrassed and began to apologize, but I shook my head and held her, trying to comfort her. I sighed and reached for the phone barely muffled in the nightstand drawer. 

"Dr. Alexander?" 

"Yeah, speaking, what do you have?" I cleared the gruff from my throat and listened, piecing together the puzzle of the incoming crisis call, grabbed a notepad from the drawer and began scribbling the pertinent details. I glanced at Jillian and she looked frightened, had pulled her knees up to her breasts, was reaching for the sheet, and trembling. 

A few minutes later I knew it was treacherous. A hostage and suicide situation had escalated into bloody violence. Three cops shot, two dead at the scene, one of the victims was the Crisis Negotiator, and 6 shots fired by the assailant, unknown how many civilians wounded. A female victim of domestic violence held hostage at gunpoint on the roof of a 12 story apartment building, clutching an infant in her arms.

I dropped the pad and pen on the floor, reached for Jillian and stroked her soft cheek, comforting her quivering lips with my thumb and pouted what I hoped was a soothing smile. "Okay. Got it. Officer? Send an unmarked, we go low profile, I'll be ready to roll in 15 minutes."

Jillian was sobbing quietly as I clicked off the smartphone, her face pale and shivering with apprehension. 

"I'm sorry, Sweetness. I've got to go. I'm not on call this weekend but...the On-Duty has been injured." I couldn't meet her eyes, didn't dare betray that he was dead. But her eyes darkened. She knitted her brow, saw through my ruse. She knew. 

"You can't go unarmed, Erin. Please, as much as I hate those damned things..." Her voice trailed off. 

I sighed to myself, barely audible, reached for the remote and tuned the Curved LED to the local news channel. Sure enough, the news vultures had descended and the CNN crew was just pulling into the hectic intersection. Fucking awesome, I thought disgustedly. It's going national. Shit!

The situation was chaotic with uniformed cops running about and some in riot gear, emergency fire crews strategically placed, in case someone spontaneously combusted I imagine. Why the fuck is there always fire engines? The news camera panned right as the paramedics wheeled a gurney to a waiting ambulance. I moved to switch it off quickly, hoping Jillian had not seen the sheet covering the victim's face, but I looked at her and, she knew. We heard a shocking gasped shout and the camera panned erratically up the building, zooming in to the woman held teetering on the ledge of the roof. I jumped up and dashed for the walk-in closet, grabbing jeans and a shirt and ran into the bathroom. Five minutes later I was at the curb in front of my condo, Jillian at my side looking disheveled and beautiful, as the unmarked cruiser screeched around the corner and pulled to a sudden stop close by. 

"Please be careful, Erin."

I took Jillian's almost too pretty alluring face in my hands, brushed her lips with my thumbs and tongue, and kissed her hard, as if it was the last time we would. I stroked her cheeks softly with the backs of my fingers. She smiled wistfully. Her impossibly blue and emerald-flecked eyes desperately clung to mine.

The cold wind picked up strength, gusted, and Jillian was shivering. From the winter chill, or fears for my safety? I sighed. I love my work, but it is a home-wrecking vocation. I reluctantly let her hand slip from mine and turned toward the waiting vehicle.

The wailing warble of the siren ringing my ears, the cruiser leapt forward, hurtling me into the foreboding gloom of the foggy San Francisco winter morning. 

-----

I'll continue this story if there is interest. Please, let me know. The next chapter is kinda already sorta in progress. (How do you spell ambivalent? Perhaps, cautiously optimistic?)



A Bakery, Ruminations & Fucking... Ch. 02



This is my Oscar moment, don't worry though, the music will rush me off quite soon. 

This story is continued from the first chapter which you really should read to appreciate the story but what the fuck, it's your life, right? (If you haven't read the first chapter, this'll just be an empty, shallow & meaningless fuck, so turn right around & march your cute perky little ass back to the start & read chapter one.) 

This is a work of autobiographical fiction. Characters are not intended to resemble anyone living or dead, fictional or real. 

The uncited quotes are from songs that add meaning & augment the ambiance of this story. Copy/paste & search 'em if they're unfamiliar; they'll add seasoning, garnish & spice to the narrative experience. This story is written, not sung - read, not heard, but the music does add to it. It's an investment I'm asking of you, I realize that, but I've spent many 100's of hours on these chapters & don't ask this lightly. In truth, it's a slight investment of your time & effort; the rewards well worth it. (In his wildest imaginings, Leonardo da Vinci would've given his life for the tool available to you. Just imagine what he might have accomplished with the Internet so effortlessly at his disposal.) 

By the way, I'm aware I break rules & convention in how I frame my dialogue. I'm an auditory & kinesthetic reader, so hear & feel dialogue rather than visualizing it. Sorry, but that's my particular kind of dyslexia. If it bothers you, try to live dangerously, stretch a little. If it really disturbs you, read something else, like T. S. Eliot or Gertrude Stein, Kurt Vonnegut or E. E. Cummings. (Never claimed I wrote literature.) 

From time to time a muse becomes gale force, battering the padlocks of our most shuttered prudish selves. I am unsettled by this story & the desires made manifest, but sometimes a story is transformative, becomes more than what the writer intended. Life may be a river, where one thing leads & flows into another, but life is also the pebble tossed skimming the surface, perhaps life is the ripples a pebble creates as it skips across parts of creation. Perhaps life isn't the river at all. 

Thank you, HeartnSole, "The Last Time We Fucked" woke me, spoke to me. Your poems conspired to become my muse & left me helpless & gasping at their raw, brutal honesty & stark intensity. Sometimes, the divine chooses to speak through someone's words, & if we're fortunate, we open our arms & let their beauty overwhelm us... 

Colleen Thomas passed away before I ever read her stories on Literotica. She enriched my life with her splendid prose. She helped me more fully embrace my femme-dyke self; helped me know & love the world & myself a little bit more. What generous bounty from a master storyteller! She never knew how deeply she graced my life. If angels exist, she is their soul & their heart's inspiration. 

If you can't legally buy booze or porn then you should probably not read this. If romance between two women in love is not your kink, wow, I guess I feel really sad for you. 

Not as much sex this installment. (Oh, don't pout.) More plot & character development in this chapter. (What? There's no need for plot, this is porn, goddamnit!) Trust me, there's plenty of hot sex, they're just not thumping like rabbits right from the get-go. 

This chapter isn't as polished as I'd like. But enough of you asked for another chapter & touched my heart with your kind words, so enjoy - I mean that with all my heart: Cherish the wonderful life you've been given, because ultimately that is really all that matters - whether you have been loved & cherished even once in your life, & whether you have truly unselfishly loved another. 

No teenagers or strap-ons were harmed while writing this story. 

In defense of equal rights for split infinitives, I offer this from a master wordsmith: 

"I don't care if he is made to go quickly or to quickly go, but go he must." - George Bernard Shaw 

"We can redream this world and make the dream come real. Human beings are gods hidden from themselves." - Ben Okri, "The Famished Road" 

***** 

(Continued from the last paragraphs of Chapter 1) 

"Please be careful, Erin." 

I took Jillian's almost too pretty alluring face in my hands, brushed her lips with my tongue and kissed her hard, as if it was the last time we would. I stroked her cheeks softly with the backs of my fingers. She smiled wistfully. Her impossibly blue and emerald-flecked eyes desperately clung to mine. 

The cold wind picked up strength, gusted, and Jillian shivered. From the winter chill, or fears for my safety? I sighed. I love my work, but it is a home wrecking vocation. I reluctantly let her hand slip from mine and turned toward the waiting vehicle. 

The wailing warble of the siren ringing my ears, the cruiser leapt forward, hurtling me into the foreboding gloom of the foggy San Francisco winter morning. 

***** 

A Bakery, Ruminations & Fucking... Ch. 2 

Seventh Part: "She can take the dark out of the night time and paint the daytime black..." 

(In which Erin goes to work and death doggedly pursues seeking revenge...) 

One of my gigs is working with the police to supervise crisis situations and when things get really crazy I take over. I'm on-call for a straight 72-hour stretch, day and night, which totally sucks when the phone rings while eating pussy. I'm a shrink not a cop, but I can hold my own in a fight pretty damned well and pack a pistol as well as a strap-on. I use 'em both masterfully and have a carry permit for the Glock. 

I'm usually not armed because there'd be too big a trail of bodies in my wake; at my worst I'm a control freak: selfish, aggressive, ruthless, impulsive, judgmental and mercurial, but I embrace those parts of myself and when tempered a bit (okay, tempered a lot), they complement me. I'm an adrenaline junkie. I'm pretty relentless, especially when stalking pussy. I'm trained to empathize and understand human nature at its most vile, repugnant and violent, but I'm not obligated to like it. My faith challenges me to love those who are most disgusting and to embrace those who are most morally distasteful, but it doesn't require me to make Sarah Palin, or Adolf Hitler, or Mike Huckabee my BFFs. 

I love San Francisco. I'd barely escaped the violence and degradation of my youth, and found comfort here. The City sheltered me, lovingly adopted me, and I was caressed by her serenity and felt at home. 

San Francisco's Chinatown is deservedly renowned; beautiful, glamorous and glitzy. Well hidden from sightseers are the SRO's that house the impoverished citizens of this beautiful golden city by the sparkling bay. The seamy ugliness is destructive to tourism which funds the economy of this complex part of The City. 

The crime scene was a frenzied partially contained chaos when we arrived at the intersection. I waded towards the crowd, into a gaggle of microphone-laden journalists and their camera-bedecked cronies. They shouted their rote queries and danced their reporter-asses into a tizzy, demanding their pieces of silver. Screw the Fourth and Fifth Estates, they could wait - lives were at stake. I pushed my way through, none too gently, and spotting a familiar face, make my way to Chief Inspector Grasse-Tyson. 

"Nell, what's the situation?" (What can I say, her parents are both astrophysicists.) 

"It's bad, Doc. Really bad. He knifed her baby, then threw the kid off the roof." 

"I need to get up there fast, Nell. But it's got to be discreet. Can't freak him out and start a bloody rampage." 

I looked around. "I need coffee, like now." Please, let it be strong and hot. "Who's your second in command?" 

"Lt. John Monroe. Up on the roof." 

"I need him to pull everybody back. He can stay, with six that he hand picks. If any sniper takes a shot against my order I'll kill 'em myself." I gulped the steamy coffee she handed me. Damn, it was good! 

"How the fuck do you get Starbucks at a crime scene?" 

Nell smirked. "It's San Francisco, Doc. They're everywhere!" 

The hook and ladder deposited me on the far side of the roof in a matter of seconds. (Aha! That's the other reason for the fire engines being here.) I hate heights. The thought of my body splattering from 12 stories up made me nauseous, so I didn't dwell, consciously uncoupling from vertigo. I cautiously wound my way towards the ledge, taking cover behind HVAC fixtures, assorted plumbing pipes and utilities panels as I made my approach. When I reached the outer ring of police officers I spotted the only one not in Kevlar and gestured for his attention. 

"You the shrink?" 

"Wow, you're a clever bastard, Monroe. Are you invincible too? Where's your fucking body armor?" 

"Probably keeping yours company down on the street." He smiled a beguiling grin. I like this guy. 

"Keep back unless I signal you. I may call a risky strategic maneuver, but if I can use it to my advantage, we do it, okay? Don't challenge my audible." 

He looked wary but voiced no objection. "It's your ball game, Doc. Call the plays and we'll back you up." 

Good. Didn't need to get sidetracked by jockeying for power right now. 

"I'm wired, Monroe. Switch to my channel but keep the chatter to essentials, and only you. Grasse-Tyson is online. Say hello, Nell." 

"Hello Nell." Her voice laughed softly in my ear. Humor, beauty, sex and danger all around me. My life rocks! 

When I got within range of the ledge I spotted the Unsub. Looked Hispanic, young, maybe mid-twenties, crude amateur ink, and sweating, twitchy and wild eyed, widely dilated pupils, probably a druggie. That was going to complicate things, but if he was a tweaker I could use that to my advantage. (Difference between a crackhead and a tweaker? A crackhead will steal your shit and bounce - a tweaker will steal your shit and then help you look for it.) 

I quietly made my presence known. 

In my friendliest voice, I ventured, "Hey, Asshole. You want some coffee?" He jerked his head my way as I offered him my Starbucks. 

"Get away, Puta! I'll kill her." 

Not unkindly, I said, "Go ahead, dude. Don't care about her and I care less for you." Charm him with nonchalance, I hoped. 

He looked confused. Good, not dealing with an Einstein. "What did she do that pissed you off?" I needed to buy into his delusion that she was the cause of his pain, then use it to defuse this before they all ended up dead. 

"She's a slut man, fucked my best friend." 

"Not much of a friend. Must have hurt. I'd have killed the prick." He dropped his eyes and looked away. I quietly moved closer. About 15 feet from them. And the ledge. 

"I know, right?" 

I didn't respond, just offered the coffee. "What's your name?" I shuffled a few feet closer and put the coffee down nearer to him. 

"Don't need no friend, Puta, not a pig anyways." 

"Yeah. A pig for a friend would seriously fuck your street creds, I imagine." I edged a bit closer. About 10 feet separated us now. 

Regardless of the circumstances, working my therapeutic toolset is a conscious effort and takes more time than I had. In flicks and television, meaningful resolution is accomplished with a few timely, clever and insightful lines; in real life, if it happens at all, it takes months, years, of grueling work. 

"Drop your piece, Puta!" 

Wow! He's observant, too. I released the mag and unshelled the Glock's chamber. "Here, take it." I offered it, handing it closer, tempting him with a real gun. That piece of shit pea-shooter he had was an embarrassment. 

He released his hold on the woman and moved in to take it. I took the opportunity. Planting my left foot, I leaped up, tackled him, and launched us over the edge of the roof. He was screaming as we plummeted towards the ground. "You crazy Puta...I kill you...I kill you..." 

He sounded like Achmed the Dead Terrorist. I wrenched the revolver from his hand and trapped him below me as we fell; knew he could kill me if I didn't restrain him. I only had eyes for the air bag on the ground. If we missed it, hopefully he would break my fall. 

The impact hurt like you'd imagine a 120 foot dead-drop fall to hurt. My body was horribly shocked. I felt ribs crunch, muscles tear and bones grind. It stunned me, knocked me unconscious. 

At least I was spared the press conference. 

Eighth Part: "And I find it kinda funny, I find it kinda sad, The dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had..." 

(In which Jillian frets and ponders Erin's questions from last night, and we learn a bit more about them...) 

"Damnit! She's such a fucking bitch, thinks she's the goddamned Lone-fucking-Ranger!" 

No one was there. I was nervously pacing the floor and talking out loud. I do that sometimes, it helps me focus, especially when I am really, really pissed, or distraught. It's been over 18 hours and Erin is still unconscious. The doctors say it's not unusual considering the severity of the concussion. They want to operate, cut open her skull to remove the pressure. The bastard she took down in the fall was still alive, barely. I hoped he was awake and in excruciating pain, the fucking prick! I want him writhing in sheer agony, right before I claw his fucking eyes out and rip out his still beating heart! Then I feel ashamed for hating him and wanting vengeance. 

I walk to the bedside and look at Erin's beautiful sexy face. She's got naturally tanned skin but lightly so, and a sculpted face with Slavic features, and her eyebrows arch up fixed in a coy teasing manner that kinda promises something really delicious and decadent is about to be revealed. Oh, okay, that's possibly a bit of a stretch. She looks a lot like Euphrat Mai, the Czechoslovakian porn star, although Erin is much more cut and muscled, but she's so feminine too. They both know how to wield a strap on. Erin is a harness sensei. 

But right now she looks pretty god-awful, pale and drawn. The bruising is mostly on her torso. It's going to be ugly and hurt much worse than it looks, and it'll take weeks to heal. Thank God there's no internal injuries other than a few bruised and cracked ribs. On top of the cancer, the last thing she needs is a complicated recovery from the lunacy she calls a career. I'm proud of her, admire her dedication and devotion but she dances at the precipice of life, right to edge of what's safe, always courting disaster; one day she's gonna crash and burn. Ironic, huh? I wonder if cancer will kill her before her goddamned career does. 

I start pacing again, restlessly prowling the perimeter of the room. 

When she told me about her sister, I was too flummoxed to answer her when she asked what I wanted to do, what I wanted from her, what I wanted to do next. It wasn't until my friend Jasmin knocked some sense into me that I realized I'd dropped the ball and failed to respond when Erin had been most emotionally vulnerable. Shit, I'm such an idiot! I should have taken her in my arms and held her, tightly, so very tightly. I should have told her how deeply I loved her, how proud I was of her. 

I desperately want her to forgive herself. 

I should've told her I wanted to spend the rest of our lives together. How much I admired her for daring to live a life of purpose and meaning. I should have told her. 

I wish I could have told her. 

Before starting grad school for her doctorate, Erin worked for Child Protective Services. She was a mixed bag type, a psychologist in social-worker/cop garb, called in by the police to mitigate volatile situations. They'd call Erin when situations had escalated to a critical point and required skilled and delicate crisis intervention. She's been shot several times, twice critically, and stabbed a number of times. 

Those people that whip kids, abuse, neglect, exploit, molest, rape or sodomize them? Erin got those cases. She investigated, collected the evidence, and removed the kids when necessary to protect life. Domestic violence calls escalate rapidly. They're dangerous, explosive and responsible for most emergency responder deaths. 

Erin was responsible for presenting child abuse cases to the Court, and for making recommendations about treatment, custody and disposition; she drafted the conditions that became the Court's Orders. She had no training as a litigator and faced experienced defense attorneys, but out of many hundreds of cases, she never lost a single damned one. She saw too much death through her work and the images of those bruised, broken and bloodied little bodies haunted her. 

After suffering so much harrowing abuse in her own childhood, her work was a way to get some sense of payback, not revenge so much as a sense of justice, and of healing herself by proxy, I think. What I do know is that Erin saved hundreds of lives. She told me that specializing in domestic violence intervention was penance for her sister's death. I don't know the circumstances leading to it but Erin feels culpable in the death of her sister. 

Her clinical specialty is family therapy. Erin's training was anchored in Strategic and Structural theory and treatment, but she's a Jungian at heart. She works magic as a therapist and a teacher. She teaches graduate school classes in clinical techniques. I've watched some recordings of her lectures and in-service trainings and she is remarkable, dynamic, and simply an awesome presence. Erin changes lives for the better. She is a healer. The world is a bit better because she lives in it. 

The rustling of starched hospital bedding crept into my restless reverie, then I heard coughing. 

"Jillian? You look exhausted, Sweetness. When did you last eat?" 

I thought I would burst with joy. My heart began beating again and I dashed to her bedside. My head was a puddle of words and feelings but my mind drew a blank. I fell into her arms and cried. I felt like Scrooge on Christmas morning: Giddy as a schoolboy! 

Erin winced and squirmed a bit and I realized I was hurting her bruised ribs. "I'm sorry. Oh, I'm so sorry." I cradled her cheeks and tenderly stroked her eyebrows with the pads of my thumbs. 

What's troubling you, little Yoda? You look a bit pensive." 

Shit! She's suffering a concussion, battered, barely conscious, and she can still read my mind. 

"I don't want to burden you with my shit, Erin. You've been unconscious for nearly 20 hours, and you're in pain." 

She snorted a muffled laugh and coughed. "Did you get the license plate of the truck that hit me?" 

"You tackled the truck, honey, and then it fumbled just shy of the end zone." 

She smiled seductively, winked and giggled. 

Yay! I have my Erin back. 

"Erin?" 

"What is it, Sweetness?" 

"Remember last night? When you asked me how I could possibly love you?" 

She cocked her eye expectantly and sighed. "I remember..." 

"I was feeling so much, so many thoughts. I couldn't find the words. And I was kind of embarrassed, because what I wanted would have sounded silly..." I trailed off, still pensive, considering my words. 

"Erin, why can't you forgive yourself?" 

Erin looked deep in my eyes, thoughtfully expectant. An apprehensive smile twitched at the corners of her mouth. 

She shook her head. "I'm trying, Jillian. I've been trying every day for almost 15 years..." She looked at me helplessly. 

"Erin Alexander, I think I loved you from the moment I first saw you. I can't imagine my life without you and I don't want to." I took her hand in mine, couldn't help the tears springing from my eyes. My voice trembled, hoarse and smoky from heartfelt emotion. "My love for you grows deeper each moment we're together. Please let me take care of you. Marry me, Erin. Please let me be your wife." 




A Bakery, Ruminations & Fucking... Ch. 02



Tears sprung from her bright amber brown eyes. She was a bit breathless. "I'll only say yes if Pachelbel and his fucking Canon are forbidden; it's hackneyed and heinous!" 

The well drilling into my heart struck its mark, and black gold gushed forth. (I know, too mawkish, even for me.) 

"You're totally a fickle bitch. Kiss me and shut the fuck up." 

I was gonna say something about how our tongues met and danced in the depths of each other's mouths, souls, but, decided not... (It was a tango.) 

"Jillian?" 

"MmHmm?" 

"Not Wagner's Wedding March either, it's vapid, and no fucking Nazis invited to my wedding!" 

"Erin?" 

"MmHmm?" 

"Wagner died 6 years before Hitler was born." 

"Shut the fuck up, girl. I'm Driving Miss Daisy tonight. Hard and fast!" 

"Nope, you're not. I've got your harness, bitch. Your twat is mine to do with as I please." 

Erin grinned and leaned up to kiss me, and I slipped my hand under the sheet. I sang and spider walked my way up her leg. 

She giggled. "Don't get too frisky. There's only glass separating us from the medical staff outside." 

I pouted, smirked and sang. "The itsy bitsy spider climbed up the water spout..." Stroked her thigh and slipped my hand under the hospital gown. 

"Down came the rain, and washed the spider out..." 

I skipped my hand to her inner thigh and teased my way to her flooding pussy. 

I trilled her clit with my fingers and she shuddered, moaned softly, groaning anxiously, "Damnit, Jillian, my vitals will skyrocket. They'll think I'm having a fucking heart attack and come running. My fingers slid away and down her thigh. The monitors were sounding rather loud and excited. 

I could smell her musky arousal. "Out came the sun and dried up all the rain..." 

I barely heard the nurse come into the room but, she put a forefinger to her lips, smiled and reassured me. She drew closed the shades across the glass wall of the open ICU and reached over to the stand of monitoring equipment, a key in her hand. Moments later the monitors were silent. 

She leaned in and whispered in my ear. "I'll be back in 20 minutes or so, Sweetie." The nurse grinned at me. "Take care of our patient, okay?" 

Erin raised an enquiring skeptical eyebrow. "Had a little fun while I was out saving lives?" She grinned at me. "You're a bit of a minx, Pooh Bear. Sashay that honeypot over here." 

I giggled. "That's Carla, the charge nurse of the ICU. She helped me stay calm while I waited for you." 

"Oh, I bet she helped you real well, Pooh Bear. So what did you do to return the favor, Hmm? Maybe shared your honeypot with her? Hmm?" 

I grinned and poked her shoulder. 

I could fabricate a glorious sexual encounter and make it so hot you'd probably believe it. But I knew Erin was hurting badly and still emotionally spent from the events that put her in the hospital. 

She tossed open the sheet and moved IV's out of the way, patted the bed and raised her eyebrow. 

I was careful, and laid down beside her, cuddled close and tenderly stroked her cheeks and face. 

"Out came the sun and, dried up all the rain..." 

She tried to hide it but she grimaced. Oh, I know how she wishes I could carry a tune. But my voice was such bittersweet torture. 

"And the itsy bitsy spider climbed up the pipes again..." 

I raised my head from her breast and leaned in to kiss her, teasing her rosy pink lips with my tongue as she pouted and smiled and nibbled at mine. She murmured. "I love you little one." And she stroked my cheek so sweetly and gently. 

My heart leapt in my chest, she'd never told me that before and I wept as we kissed, her lips murmuring her love for me over and over. 

I trilled her clit with my thumb and slipped two fingers inside her pussy. I found the coarser pad of her spot, and gently carried her away into heavenly goodness. She cried quietly as her first cum began to wash through her. Not a crashing, stunning orgasm, this was of the gentle sort, but felt more intimate somehow. I could hear her heart beating as l lay on her breast, soundly beating as my fingers moved inside her pussy, curling and scissoring my fingers, then lengthening again as I slid in and out, finger fucking her gently. She raised her right leg and opened her thighs and stroked my back and shoulders with the heel of her foot, moaning softly and smiling sweetly, murmuring, "Jillian, my Sweetheart, you fuck me so good..." 

She began to tremble and the tempo of her heartbeat increased, she tossed her head about as she moaned and groaned louder now, panting and bucking with urgency as I sawed into her pussy and trilled her clit. I rose to my knees and slid down to her hips, peppering kisses on my way down her flushed satin skin, licking her salty tastes and gently humming. Her pussy was moist, drenched and heated, the musky bittersweet scent of her filled my nostrils and I stroked her labia with my nose, inhaling her spicy musk as she shuddered and gently bucked. I pressed my nose deeply into her pussy and shook my head back and forth, vibrating her pussy and snorted short breaths as I slowly fucked her, alternating nose with tongue and fingers as she trembled and sobbed and held my head. 

I felt a sound, heard a rustle and was surprised, about to raise my head when a hand stopped me. Carla, had quietly returned but she gently stroked the back of my head and I felt her lips on my ear. "Don't stop, Jillian, not now. Love your lady, give her what she needs, it is okay." She leaned in and peered into Erin's eyes and whispered to her, "It's all okay, Erin, we're here and it is good. Let your lady love and adore you, baby. Come for her only. Come for her when you're ready, sweet baby." 

Erin's eyes startled, but then she relaxed as Carla smiled and soothed her cheeks. I lapped at her clit, stroking down her perineum then up to her clit with broadened tongue, and firmly stroked and circled her pearl, licked and kissed in, hollowed my cheeks and suckled it gently, hungrily into my lips, enveloping her clit with my lips, then opening wide and taking her pussy with my mouth, sucking and frenching her with my tongue as she groaned and shuddered into another gentle yet tumultuous orgasm, trembling, quietly sobbing. "Sweet Jesus, I love you Jillian, I can't believe it..." 

After some minutes had passed, Carla spoke. "Come on Erin, I've brought you your dinner. It's time to eat now, you need your strength." 

Erin smiled at her. "So do you offer special care to all your patients?" 

Carla broke into a dazzling smile, her creamy ebony skin warm and shining, and winked. "Only those that deserve it. Come, eat now, Missy. That's an order." She was both coquettish and stern, and Erin laughed. 

"Oh, yeah. I bet my little Pooh Bear had fun with your Honeypot." 

I pouted and punched her shoulder, feeling embarrassed. I knew she was teasing and it was all good natured but still, it sort of hurt my feelings. 

"What do you think, Little Bear?" She teased. "Should we invite Nurse Carla over for a play date?" 

I blushed and peeked at Carla, and she chuckled. Damn if she wasn't a sexy woman. I might not mind a play date, or two. Nope, wouldn't turn down a play date with her at all. Then I caught myself and blushed some more and looked between their faces. Erin and Carla grinning like cats that ate the canary, and me feeling really quite aroused, curiously so, and more than a tad confused. I'd just become a fiancé and lusted after another woman. I peeked a glance at Erin, wondering if she was seriously suggesting it and wondering just when I'd turned into a whore. 

Erin awaited my eyes, winked and smiled a lazy sensuous smile. "It's okay, Pooh Bear. She's a foxy woman. It's okay to be attracted and to want her. Guilt and dishonesty destroys you, but lust and desire are normal feelings, they're okay to feel." She smiled at Carla and then at me. "Hell, Pooh Bear, she makes me all pitter patter. Nursie Carla is a fox!" 

Carla wheeled a bedside table over, lifted the covers off the plates of hospital food and smiled, winked and headed for the door. "Eat hearty girls." She called over her shoulder. "And, eat some food in between, too, okay?" And with a throaty chuckle, she was gone. 

"Erin, I'm confused. We just got engaged. Are you actually suggesting we make love to Carla together?" 

She looked at the food and wrinkled her nose. "Yuck! Meatloaf and green beans. The potatoes look like pasty white shit. How fucking hospitallish!" She looked up and grinned. "I'll probably want seconds, maybe thirds." And began wolfing the food. Between bites, she took my hand. 

"Look, Jillian. This is all new to me. I told you, relationships and me, I don't do relationships...they are...this is kind of very new. Wasn't looking for one at all. Certainly never planned on having a wife." She winked. "But there are only the rules we make and agree on, and only the promises and vows we intend. You're new to the lesbian club. It's going to be awkward at times as you feel your way through. Just don't get trapped in the patriarchal archetypes, okay? Love is not a prison; it's joyous and wondrous and free, not constraining. As long as we're honest and true to each other, we'll be okay." 

I looked at her earnest loving face and smiled. Feeling amazed and confused and quite aroused, I leaned in to kiss the woman I loved, my fiancé. My Erin. I sighed. I was content. 

"Jillian?" Her voice was muffled by a mouthful of food. 

"MmHmm?" 

"What we have...it'll be over for me pretty soon, you know?" 

Shit! For a while I'd not thought, forgotten she was dying. 

Intermission: "Why do you have to go, and make things so complicated? I see the way you're..." 

(In which we shall resume after these words from our storyteller...) 

In the following parts, the focus switches between Erin & Jillian. I struggled for a delicate & natural segue between their voices but none of my attempts flowed, they didn't feel or sound right. I didn't want to plunge you into a befuddling, frustrating reading experience. Confounded, I chose finally to just announce who is telling their part. I strived for elegance, only to find that simplicity was more honestly authentic. I'm sorry if it's awkward & distracting, but I'm not a trained writer. I'm just traveling the telling of this story with you, dear reader, & doing my best to let Erin & Jillian share their stories, hoping you might find something in here that stirs you to resonate with your own true self. 

(We now return to our regularly scheduled erotica already in progress...) 

"You see things as they are; and you say, 'Why?' But I dream things that never were; and I say, "Why not?"" - George Bernard Shaw, from "Back to Methuselah" 

Ninth Part: "People can be so cold, They'll hurt you, and desert you, And take your soul if you let them, Don't you let them..." 

(In which our girls both speak but not simultaneously, we time travel slightly into the past, friends come to dinner, Jillian waxes nostalgic, and Erin ponders rimming, classic films, and the meaning of rosebud...) 

Erin speaks: 

Is it just me or is there way too much focus on ass play in erotica these days? A while back, the big hoopla was bald pussies and the great debates were whether to shave or depilatory or electrocute the pesky little sprouts. But a bald mons is totally the new normal these days, so let's move on to the important shit (sorry) & take a long overdue look at ass play from, yes: the lesbian point of view. Actually, from my point of view since I can't really speak for whomever the fuck "lesbian" is. (Hey, we are a varied bunch - some dykes are even conservative republicans. Yep, dykes are in the GOP! Je suis Charlie.) 

So listen up, am I the only one having visions of Orson Wells grieving his burning sled every time anilingus pops up? She gently teases her lover's perineum, generously coating a finger with saliva (or love juices or wine or oil or whipped cream or hot fudge...) and gently sinks a finger into her rosebud, gently teasing it wider as it relaxes, sinking in to the first digit... (Who the fuck is "digit" anyway and how did "digit" get into the damned sex scene?) And, if you hated "Citizen Kane", couldn't wait for the end of the movie and ditched it before finding out rosebud was the sled, you're an ignorant troll and I've no sympathy for you. 

I've talked to my gay guy friends and have tried to grok the feeling of a penis being fulfilled by a slick tight undulating ass hole. And my straight friends have delighted in trying to explain the feelings of cunt and cock and anal fucking, and all the permutations and feelings thereof. Some queer women friends into anal have tried to get me on board with the idea and, some even offered private lessons, but when it comes right down to it, the thought of actually sticking my tongue into a lover's ass and rimming her rosebud for real? It kinda grosses me out. Who'd a thunk it? I'm a damned ass prude. 

So when Jillian wanted me to fuck her ass with my strap-on, I was not immediately enthusiastic. Hey, I get it! She loved it every time her little pucker would kiss a finger or bump against the strap-on. She loved rubbing her ass up and down my thigh, rosebud all slick and spasming from her arousal. I went with it, relishing giving the anal pleasure she so eagerly enjoyed. She has this incredible teardrop ass. It's firmly muscled and well defined, she's a dancer and her firm strong ass ripples when she moves and I am left a puddle of drooling, overeager and panting puppy by her luscious ass. And that pucker winking at me between her splayed flexing moons is so endearing and cute. So, yeah, I love her tush! 

But, for me, there's just nothing sexy about a finger caked and stained...and the scent? Well, let's just not go there. (I haven't just dropped in from the dark ages, I have heard of latex gloves and enemas.) I suppose it's due to a childhood warped by Jewish guilt, and maybe compounded by being an incest and abuse survivor. 

Look, I've already admitted to being anal-challenged, so bear with me a moment. (This is my problem and if it turns you off, I'm very sorry, because really, I envy you if you get a thrill from ass-play. I wish it were so for me.) But, having a woman fuck my ass was never my kink or fantasy. I like getting teased around my ass, the pressure and fondling and sometimes slight very shallow penetration feels really nice, and when I'm aroused it intensifies the entire experience of lovemaking, but I've always been a bit troubled and ambivalent about anal play. Actually doing anilingus is a bit too weird to wrap my ass-prude brain around. So I did what I always do when stumped by a sex question. I did research, and watched a lot of lesbian porn, read a variety of lesbian sex stories. Mostly, I needed to talk to my closest friends. That they were coming to dinner tonight was icing on the proverbial cake. 

Jillian speaks: 

Erin is in the kitchen cooking something with a lot of shrimp and lobster. She deveined and shucked a bunch of jumbo prawns earlier and promised to stuff my pussy. Her eyes twinkled and got kind of dreamy when she threatened that, but so far I've not been packed; although, I do know where she keeps her toys. 

She's having a dinner party tonight, just a small one she promised, and invited only her closest friends. 

I dread Anna being here. I don't like her. She has an overwhelming personality, gregarious, the kind of boisterous, beguiling and seductive presence that just overtakes wherever she is. You know the type that charms the world into eating out of the palm of her hand? That's Anna. In college, she and Erin had a brief fling. I hate her. Not because I'm jealous, but because of what most people miss. She always wears loose clothes that drape her body anonymously, her arms are always covered to her wrists, tops are always buttoned to her neck, and she never shows even a hint of her generous cleavage. She always wears long pants or loose dresses down to her shapely calves. Never wears heels. She is frightfully skinny yet moves in a calculated sensual and seductive manner. Her eyes are grey steel, sharp as chef's knives and she draws people in, trancelike, as she spins her webs. She is a cutter. She is anorexic. She blows chunks. I don't trust her. She's not even here yet and already I can hardly wait for her to leave. 

I wonder what to wear tonight. Erin is singing to k.d. lang playing on the Bose Wave. I don't understand how such astonishing sound can come from that small device, and join in singing when k.d. begins belting out "Constant Craving". 

"Get the hook!" shouts Erin from the kitchen. I pout, flip her off and head for the shower. 

Erin speaks: 

I skip the mix to k.d. lang and Roy Orbison singing "Crying". Their voices are totally erotic electric silk. The song makes my pussy clench and flood. I swig a Guinness and munch a golden prawn still sizzling from the wok, ouch, hot! - toss in a pinch more fresh ginger and smash another clove of garlic, just because there's never enough garlic. This is the first Guinness Blonde I've had and it goes down wonderfully with the stir-fry, kind of a buttery Pilsner taste, a bit nutty with a hint of citrus, but I much prefer mixing my own Guinness black and tans. 

Usually, searing prawns and lobster together ends up being a disastrous kind of seafood porridge mush, but prepping the lobster separate from the prawns and also apart from the veggie mixture preserves the unique tastes and sensations of each. When plated, they marry together in the most exquisite bursts of flavors. (Sorry. Come for the sex, stay for the cuisine...) 

Erotic qualities of seafood are obvious. If you've never gone down on an oyster, licking the folds and tasting the musky juices dribbling from the soft and firm of the flesh teasing tongue and lips and palette, the rich briny scent tickling your nose, well, need I say more? If food and sex is one of your kinks, and haven't tried it yet, just eat and savor an oyster from your lover's trembling pussy. 

Morgan is bringing dessert so it will be loud, extravagant, utterly pornographic, sinfully decadent, and made of different varieties of chocolate - totally because we are both Evangelical Chocoholics. 

I met Morgan in middle school when she swaggered up to me one day and introduced herself. "Hey. I'm Morgan and I'm a Lesbian!" She announced. 

I looked at her strutting cocky butch self and burst out laughing. "I'm very pleased to meet you, Morgan." I said and smiled, curtsied a bit and demurely asked "What's a Lesbian?" 

"I eat pussies." She said, not missing a beat. 

"That's nice." I said. "I'm a vegetarian." 

She paused for a moment, a puzzled expression clouding her face, opened her mouth, and shook her head. "So, it's peanut butter then?" She asked, smirking quite provocatively. 

We've been fast friends ever since and occasional fuck-buddies between romances. Though Morgan was seldom between romances, she drew women like moths to a flame. She's totally butch in a most sensual way. There's something other-worldly about her. She is both classically beautiful and handsomely chiseled, with broad strong shoulders and sinewy arms that ripple and define her muscles and veins in a most alluring way. 

Her partner, Kirstie is a gorgeous blonde with legs that never seem to end or touch the floor and her breasts above a slim toned waist are firm and pert with nipples seemingly always stiffened and erect, large pronounced areolae pull your drooling eyes like magnets. My god, Kirstie is simply a stunning woman. When she enters a room, silence falls and you really could hear a pin drop, all eyes drawn to her. Kirstie's beauty is breathtaking. Angelina would leave Brad in a snap for Kirstie. So would Brad. Doesn't matter, man or woman, gay or straight, the Pope, everybody wants to fuck Kirstie. She only has eyes for Morgan. The world is in mourning. 




A Bakery, Ruminations & Fucking... Ch. 02



"Yo, Erin, earth to Erin." A deep pleasant voice shook me from my musing. So deep in thoughts I'd not heard Tyler come in. She popped her head into the kitchen and kissed my cheek. Ty towers over me and I'm well over six foot in my heels. "Can I use your rig?" She asked. "Need to pull emails from work." She heads for the living room not even stopping for an answer before making a beeline to boot my laptop in the bureau. "I can't believe you're still using fucking Windows." She sneered. "When are you gonna grow up and use Linux like a freaking adult?" Tyler is a total geek, nerd, or whatever is au currant for computer scientists to be called. 

Ty is absolutely the scientist. Seduced and lured into the Air Force straight out of high school, she'd been offered ridiculous amounts of money by the military; many elite colleges and private companies also came a courting. She works independently doing classified software development for the government. She's a software architect and analyst, which I have no way of comprehending so I really don't know what the hell she does for a living, but she makes oodles of cash. She doesn't talk about her work and her friends damn well know better than to ask. People too curious about just what Tyler does, seem to have a way of disappearing. 

She's scary smart and more than a bit smug about it. She's not offensive really, just knows she's smarter than 99% of everybody else (which she is), and is totally confident that she is correct; about anything. She has an opinion about everything, be it politics, sports, economics, whether life exists on other planets, is American football better than European soccer, the number of angels that could dance on the head of a pin... And she will argue her position until all opposition is exhausted and surrenders. She is comfortable arguing any side of an issue. Tyler is not invested in being right or even politically correct, she just likes to win, at anything. 

"Shut up." I snorted, chuckling. "You bloody well know that Linux distros and Apple's OS's are just as vulnerable as Windows. You're such a conceited self-righteous bitch." 

"At least I know better than leaving my Wi-Fi on 24/7. You could at least switch off the router when you're not online. It makes you too vulnerable to being hacked." She is chuckling and I know she's just baiting me and winding up for the next volley. I concentrate on prepping dinner. I'm pretty certain Tyler could boil water; she just doesn't see the need to when a good restaurant is always a hop skip and a jump away. I've eaten her cooking before and it is atrocious; if nuking Lean Cuisines can be considered cooking. She blows up at least one microwave oven a month. I'm better at cooking and sex than she, and I've earned a doctorate, so I figure I'm not a total tool. 

Tyler joins me in the kitchen, sneaks a morsel of lobster from the skillet and cools it with her breath before popping it in her mouth. "Damn, girl, this is succulent." She exclaims, drooling, wiping her lips and pulling me in for an embrace and a friendly passionate kiss. "Please, Erin. Say you'll be mine and cook for me and fuck me silly." She pinches my ass, giggles, and strokes my cheek. "I'm sorry. I'm not a total bitch you know, just oblivious. I'm not good with feelings. I'll nolo contendere on the self-righteous assessment, though." 

I smile at her and kiss her open palm. She is one of the most generous and kind-hearted people I know. I have seen her give the coats off her shoulders to needy strangers on the street. If it weren't for credit cards she'd have given all her money away years ago. 

"Who else is coming?" She asks. 

"Morgan's coming. And Anna. So are Rayne, Sally and Elizabeth. Jennie's a maybe. Oh, and Jillian's in the shower." I tell her. 

Tyler makes her eyebrows wiggle, does her Groucho impression and we laugh. "So, is that an invitation to join her?" She asks. "Because (her eyes wiggle up and down) that reminds me of a joke I heard that's so naughty I'm ashamed to even think of it myself." 

I rolled my eyes, snorted a smiling laugh and shook my head. She'd never act on it, but Tyler has the hots for Jillian - of course, who wouldn't? Jillian is completely foxy. Unlike my more malleable moral compass, Tyler is fiercely honorable and utterly loyal. We've made love in the past but chose to value our friendship more; we cherish our casual intimacy but it's not been physical since our early 20's. 

"Why'd you invite Anna?" Tyler asked. "You know she'll only scarf the food so she can go and heave. She's doing the bulimia gig full-time now." Her words are harsh, but she's so wistful and sad. Tyler shrugs and sighs with frustration. "I could fall in love with that girl, y'know. If only she wasn't so completely damaged." 

Sighing, shaking my head sadly, I looked at her. "She's started shoplifting again. I'm dreadfully frightened for her." 

Tyler was shocked. "We've got to do something, Erin. Anna's spiraling down. Again." 

I took her hand and we walked to the living room, I stopped and looked at her cute full moon face. "We can't do anything, sweetie." I said. "Anna needs to be open to changing. Sure, we can put a stop to the stealing, easy-peasy, just have her busted, but she'll just start up again when she's released. Anna's got a ways to go before she hits bottom. I just hope she doesn't kill herself before she finds it." 

She's shocked, and glares at me as anger only briefly flashes across her face before turning to sorrow. She steps forward, our hands still entwined, her head falls to my shoulder and Tyler quietly begins weeping. 

I'd thought about doing a 5150 on Anna, but there's a line you can't cross with friends and loved ones. Wielding the weapon of involuntary psychiatric commitment gives me more power than most people could ever have, and should never be done without very careful deliberation. Professional ethics notwithstanding, the power to imprison someone against their will should never be undertaken lightly. 

Jillian speaks: 

I'm wondering what to wear this evening. Tonight is important for Erin. She's not told her friends about the cancer relapsing, and planned to do so this night. I want to look good for my Honey. I want her to feel aroused and proud. I want her to feel something other than scared and anxious and worried. She cares more for her friends' comfort than for her own. It kinda pisses me off; I wish she took better care of herself sometimes. 

I decide to go with a 50-50 ensemble, you know, sexy, sultry and alluring with a bit of the brazen whore thrown in; so obviously, no panties. I own one pair of killer Jimmy Choo's, a perk from a modelling gig. They're black sling backs with silver accents, total comfort to wear and they make all the muscles in my legs look cut and ripped. No stockings, I want to flaunt my legs, and also because that'll draw eyes up my thighs and it'll soon be apparent I'm bare and...well, bare. 

Erin bought me a black silk mini. It's a high waisted skirt that hits mid-thigh and is cut in a way that makes it lift and flair up and out when I walk and appears in constant motion even when I am still. It is sensuous and sexy, so terribly expensive I was embarrassed but Erin insisted on buying it. She's only briefly seen me in it so this will be a wonderful surprise. I choose a seamless cropped chemise from Erin's collection, its fishnet patterned, perfect for the look I'm after, and she loves it when I wear her lingerie. I look rather hot. Okay, I admit, I'm way overdressed, probably inappropriately so, and look quite the elegant slut. Mission accomplished. Grinning happily, I throw my hair into a loose braid, buff my face with just a tad of minerals foundation, paint on some berry pink kiss-proof lip stick and I'm good to go. 

Erin speaks: 

Sally, Rayne and Elizabeth, arrived together as always. Rayne is a physician, specializing in AIDS treatment and research. She's in high demand on the lecture and training circuits, often asked to testify at international government hearings. She blows off all but the most important requests; her priority is always on treating patients. 

She's actually the last one to be taken as a lesbian, no matter how good the gaydar might be. There's just something about Rayne that wards her from anybody even wondering. She takes excellent care of herself, and runs ridiculous amounts of miles each day. She's into strength training and lifts weights, but isn't bulky muscled, probably due to yoga and Pilates. She works like a fiend, so I don't know where she finds time to do that workout regimen. She only sleeps a few hours at a time. She's a catnapper, claims sleeping is highly over rated. 

Sally is her lover, as is Elizabeth. I don't understand the ménage-a-trois concept from an emotional level. Jealousy is a tough beast to grapple with, but they've made it work for over ten years now. I envy their devotion and commitment to one another. Sally and Elizabeth are sisters. Don't even ask, okay? Both Irish, and yeah, they live up to the fantasy red-headed, green-eyed beauties that seem to fill the writings of most erotic fiction these days. 

Rayne is from South Africa, and has an incredibly sexy voice and accent. Her rich creamy cocoa skin makes us mere mortals drop our tongues and drool. She is a knockout, a smoking hot vixen of latte cocoa-skinned woman. Considering her intelligence and her dynamic presence, if she had the desire, she could conquer the world, and accomplish it so fast that Alexander's eyes would spin. (What's purple and conquered the world? Alexander the Grape.) 

Jennifer? I met Jen in college. My cherry 78 Spider 124 (Oh, no you don't! Don't slam my Fix-It-Again-Tony red FIAT roadster; I miss my baby.) 

It broke down on a state highway I'd taken a hankering to explore and Jennifer rumbled up on her Harley. Within minutes she'd discovered my clutch plate was no longer of this earth, and we fell into a genuine and comfortable banter, a camaraderie and friendship that's grown profoundly deeper over the years. If it's a riding machine, she can fix it, and make it better than new. Yeah, she looks just like you'd expect a butch dyke on wheels to look like: sexy, strong, confident, brash, and vulnerable enough to make your heart gasp. James Dean with vulva! 

"Morgan!" I call from the kitchen "Come here, I need you." 

"Be right there, Watson." 

I laugh. Her mind works in mysterious ways. "So listen." I began as she strolled in. "I've got a question about anal." 

"Thought you shrinks were the sexperts." She smirked. "What do you need? I can either do the explanation or give you the experience. But Jillian's here, so how do you wanna do this?" 

I scoffed and punched her arm. "I'm hung on a phobic response to fucking her ass." 

"That is not accepted as a phobia." Rayne said, squeezing into the kitchen from the living room. 

"I know, Rayne. It's not really a phobic reaction. I just can't wrap my head around sticking my tongue up her ass. It kinda makes me gag." 

"Use enemas together, Sweetie." She said, laughing gently. 

A thumping staccato knocking sounded at the door. 

"Erin, should I get that?" 

"Yeah, please do, Jillian." 

"Uhm, Erin...it's the police. You'd better get out here, quick." Jillian's voice trembled a bit, hesitant, unsure. 

"Guys, come set out the food, okay? This'll just take a few minutes." I walked towards the front door, hoping this wouldn't ruin the evening. 

The cop at the door was huge. "Yes, can I help you?" He stood aside and there was Anna, cowering behind him. She was hand-cuffed and trembling. 

"I understand that you own the Aston Martin out front?" 

"Uhm, it's been sold, and it's supposed to be garaged until the owner comes for it." I began to piece together where these questions were heading. I looked at Anna squirming, trying to hide behind him again. I raised my eyes quizzically, looked from her to the cop, and waited. I squelched my irritation. 

"This woman claims to be the owner. Said she recently purchased it." 

I couldn't help it, I laughed. Hell, this was brazen, even for Anna. 

"Tyler?" I called. Hell, she'd begged me to sell her the Aston Martin, and given her feelings for Anna, it only seemed right to include her. Damnit, what a complicated tangled mess of lies and emotions! 

Tenth part: "Six foot Oni cat, I like the way you lick your fur Evil kitty cat, What's it take to hear you purr..." 

(In which we find an unexpected party...) 

Tyler was angry, frustrated and distraught. "Damnit, Erin. Why did you have to press charges? You know she'll decompensate in jail." 

"Really, Ty?" I looked at her, surprised at the chutzpa. "You're suggesting this is my fault?" 

She sighed and turned from the doorway. "No it isn't. Not your fault at all." She looked at me sadly. "It's more my fault than anything. I saw what she was doing, the stealing and the lies. Just didn't want to believe it. Come on." She nodded towards the living room and beckoned. "Might as well tell 'em what they haven't figured out..." 

Even lukewarm and amidst the dampened mood, the lazy-man's Cioppino was incredible. Hell, might as well ruin the night completely. 

Rayne, Sally and Elizabeth were cuddled around the coffee table, dipping bits of French bread in the fragrant broth and feeding each other with morsels of shellfish and lobster, and cooing endearments. 

Tyler grinned wickedly. "Shit you guys. Get a room!" 

I cleared my throat and glanced at Jillian in the kitchen. My heart leaped. She was stunning in that black silk miniskirt. A purely sexual animal. Just a look and I was dizzy with lusting desire. She met my eyes, smiled, picked up a silver tray service and came into the living room. 

Coffee, Irish whiskey and a magnum of champagne. Excellent - the night was redeemable. I looked at Morgan and smiling, wondered where she'd hidden dessert. 

"I wanted to do an intervention on Anna, you guys. It was part of the reason for this party." 

Jennifer nodded her elegant butch head. Her short manlike razor cut hair shone in the flickering light of the gas logs. "I don't know her well, Erin, and you know I don't much care for her..." She mused. "Always knew she was a little too crazy. Being around her was trouble I don't need." She smiled sadly. "But, she's a friend of yours. For some twisted reason you guys like her...care about her..." 

"What's done is done, Jen. People change, sometimes for the worst..." I sighed and stretched my leg, perched my heel on the edge of the coffee table and struggled up towards the tray service. 

"What do you want to drink, Sweetheart?" Jillian asked. 

"Coffee and Concannon, please." I grinned at her, winked and licked my lips. "There's whipped cream in the fridge ya know..." 

She returned from the kitchen and spooned a dollop of stiff sweet cream onto my coffee. I stroked her bent leg and peeked a look at her bare glistening snatch. Yum. 

"The cancer is back." I announced quietly, seriously, meeting their eyes one by one. "It's metastasized." 

I peeped at Rayne and smiled meekly. Sally and Elizabeth moved up to comfort me but Rayne held them back and I smiled wistfully, fixed the floor with an intense gaze and sighed. Tyler moved her sexy geek body closer, and touched her chest, hand to her heart, a forlorn smile touching her lips. 

They were my best friends. Each one dearest to me in the entire world. I'm still not sure why I have them in my life because I've not done anything to deserve such loving and caring friends. 

We were scattered about the living room in various states of disheveled; all lost in our private musings. 

I grinned at Morgan. "It's time for dessert, Bull Durham." Morgan flashed a brilliant grin. 

I looked at my friends and smiled impishly. "And y'all need to seriously enlighten me about anilingus. 

Jillian's face blushed a deep pink and I stroked her thigh, spider-walking my fingers towards her pussy. She tried to push me away. "Erin. Stop it! You're embarrassing me." 

She's cute when she whines. I smiled and kissed her dimpled knee. Her glistening cunt pulsed and I shivered. "Get the mat, little Yoda. We're all playing Twister this evening." 

Jillian looked slightly shocked, more frozen than afraid, like a deer in the headlights of a speeding car. I stroked her cheek gently and smiled, trying to reassure her, wondering if she understands the comfortable intimacy I share with these few closest friends. 

"Jillie, we've all slept together in the past. Not often. It was rare, actually. Sometimes it was all of us, sometimes just a few of us. But when it happened it was special." I stroke her shocked face as she blushes. She moves her thighs and flexes them, trying to draw her knees closer together, and I smell her musk. She is wetting, and aroused. "We don't have sex with each other now, and never did when one of us was committed to a relationship. 

"I want to give you what you want little Dyke, but I'm scared. I need to be coached and I want to learn." I am pleading as I look into her baby blues. Damn, how do her eyes sparkle with flecks of emeralds? I pet her face and nuzzle her lips. 

"I only want to please you, Jillie. But my friends know me. They can teach me, explain it to me. I want to love you like you crave..." 

Eleventh part: "Girl, I get up in that ass like K.Y Gel..." 

(In which, with heartfelt apologies to J. R. R. Tolkien, we are 'Out of the frying-pan into the fire', or perhaps 'Queer Lodging'...) 

Jillian speaks: 

One week after the infamous roof dive, Erin had grudgingly accepted medical leave, refused all the invites to talk shows (even turned down Jimmy Fallon, twice) and has healed quickly so far. "Sorry, Erin." Chief Inspector Grasse-Tyson had told her that night in the ICU. "You know its standard procedure. Take a few weeks off, girl. Heal and enjoy yourself for a while. That's an order." 

Unsurprising, the Police and the Civilian Review Boards found no issues of improper conduct or negligence; Erin was even commended and awarded the Medal of Valor which she tossed in a drawer with her other citations and never thought about again.  

In the kitchen, Erin is humming and piddling about, doing food prep and looking sexy, her olive naturally bronzed skin glistens from the heat of the stovetop. She's nude with a kitchen towel lazily tied around her hips as an apron. Her firm buttocks flex and tease out from under the towel as she moves and her abs ripple and pert breasts jiggle as she moves efficiently amongst the tasks of cookery. Carla is coming to dinner and I am kind of nervous. I haven't seen her since that hot night in the ICU, but have fantasized about her often, and felt guilty afterwards. Even though I've confessed my attraction and lust to Erin, I can't help feeling guilty. I can't stop thinking about her either. I'm nervous and curious and very horny and feeling extremely awkward. 

The buzzer signals Carla is at the door (I hate the damned buzzer, it's too loud and intrusive) and Erin smiles and glances over her shoulder from the butcher block counter. "Invite her in, Jillian. I need to finish the second marinade." She arches her eyebrows, motioning me to the door with a coquettish grin. I'm feeling kind of sullen as I mope my way to the door, dreading seeing Carla, excited to see her, wishing she'd just go away, hoping she throws me to the floor and fucks the daylights out of me. I guess I'm feeling muddled and ambivalent. 

Carla is wearing fitted cotton scrubs and smiles warmly as she breezes in and hugs me. "Hello Jillian." She holds my shoulders while stepping back and slowly, carefully, scrutinizes my face. "Gosh, you look marvelous." 

Her eyes lasciviously taking me in, from my feet, up my legs, my thighs. I can almost feel her stroking up my thighs to my hips; it's eerie and sultry and I prickle with heat and lust as her eyes tickle my tummy and stroke my breasts. I gasp and fall back but she holds me, keeps me from falling. Her ebony skin glows and her breasts are sharp against her scrubs. They drape her firm full ass and her shapely strong thighs, and she smiles as I breathe in her musk and vanilla scents and slightly pant. I tremble with lust and shiver with guilt and it is overwhelming me and I feel dizzy and light headed and gasp as I step back from the door and fall against the wall. 




A Bakery, Ruminations & Fucking... Ch. 02



Carla furrows her brow and looks at me, concerned. "Jillian. Are you all right?" 

I am breathless, confused and don't know what to say. I'm just staring at her dumbfounded, speechless and unable to move. No, I am afraid to move, and I sigh a deeply husky trembling sigh. 

Erin appears at my side and rescues me from making an utter fool of myself. She strokes my cheek and kisses me, reassuring me and murmuring endearments as she takes Carla's hand and elegantly turns it, gently kissing her palm. 

"Carla, I've been looking forward to this all day." She smiles brilliantly. "It's a pleasure to have you join us this evening. Please come in." She is so graceful and poised and I feel like a troll. She leans in and whispers. "Sweetheart, it's okay. Take a deep breath. This is for pleasure, not torture, relax." And leads us both down the hallway and into the living room. 

"I came right here from work, didn't think to bring a change of clothes with me." She looked at Erin, naked except for the kitchen towel and smiled a bit lecherously. "Of course, I seem to be the one overdressed." 

Erin laughed. "I don't think you're the slightest bit uncomfortable." She winked and headed for the walk-in closet. "Let me grab a drape or something." She paused and glanced over her shoulder. "Carla, do you want to shower, or perhaps change into a wrap?" 

Erin pulled on Alexander McQueen crocodile print leggings that hung low from her hips and stretched along her ass and legs like skin. She shrugged into a loose poplin halter, and looked in the mirror, ruffled her hair, picked up a scrunchie, put her sparkling auburn curls into a high loose ponytail and grinned at Carla through the mirror. "So, how about now? Am I overdressed yet?" Carla laughed and snorted. "Those aren't his McQ off-the-racks are they? I'd have to work half a week to afford those leggings. They fit you fine, Girl." 

Erin smiled. "I've been using the moisturizers you recommended, as well as the herbs and medicinals. The bruising is healing quickly and well, don't you think? Really, Carla, thank you for everything." 

Carla grinned. "Can I help in the kitchen? I'm famished. I'm sorry Erin, but if you don't feed me soon I'll faint from hunger." 

They continued their light banter into the kitchen but I kept back a bit, still feeling awkward and unsettled. 

I fiddled absent-mindedly in the living room, near the Bose Acoustic Wave, idly flipping through CD's before carefully studying Erin's jazz collection. I put on Bill Evans, the third disc of the re-mastered Riverside Collection. "Spring Is Here" burst dancing from the speakers. I closed my eyes and let his miraculous piano jazz carry me, soothe me, and slowly gave in to the teasing tempos, let myself dance along as the sultry tones romanced and freed me, comforted and calmed me, and I found excited tranquility as the confusion and awkwardness slowly began melting away. 

I felt fingers gently stroking my shoulders and opened my eyes to Erin's smile dazzling me. She handed me a goblet of wine and kissed me gently. "I always thought Bill Evans was perfect but to see you dance his music is extraordinary." She kissed me and my heart shuddered and skipped a beat, maybe two, and my face fell to her breasts as I pulled her to me and slowly folded into the dancing beats and tinkling sultry rhythms. 

As we moved effortlessly about the room, Carla's eye caught mine and she smiled. Gosh, she is so beautiful. My heart perked and hammered and I know Erin could feel it because she smiled and nibbled my ear and stroked the shells of my ear with her tongue and hot breath and, once again, I was a puddle. She melts me. I stopped dancing and sipped the wine. Dry, full bodied, fruity, heavy tannins, a hint of sweetness, rich and earthy, it was delicious, definitely a Cabernet Sauvignon. The musty sourness was incredible bursting on my tongue and I savored it slowly trickling down my throat. 

"Thank you, Erin. This wine is fabulous." 

She smiled and nodded towards the dining room. "Come on, sexy Poppet. Dinner is ready." 

The food, though seemingly simple fare, was beautifully prepared. A Caesar Salad with fresh pan-seared toasted croutons, and a basket of steaming crunchy-crusted baguettes and rich cool butter. The entrée was fresh catfish fillets and belied the amount of prep time required. Erin put the fillets to marinate for 5 hours in freshly made grapefruit zest, lime zest, grapefruit juice, and lime juice. The catfish required careful and constant attention to marinade properly. 

Slightly before Carla was due to arrive, Erin drained the liquid, and added fresh chopped seeded tomatoes, crisp onions, olive oil, garlic, minced jalapenos, cilantro, oregano, salt, turbinado sugar, cumin, and diced avocados. After a half hour, the catfish fillets were removed from the marinade and quickly seared and blackened, then plated and served with the marinade as a garnish sauce. A generous side of buttery hot brown rice accompanied, with lots of fresh steamed asparagus. 

A spicy and fruity light red Zinfandel perfectly accented the fleshy rich catfish. The meal was amazing and we all had seconds. Carla and I even had third helpings of catfish. My God, we ate like gluttons and enthusiastically relished each delicious lovely bite. 

Carla, her plate empty, sat back from the table, patted her tummy and tried to stifle a belch and giggled. "Damn, that was so good. Do you always eat this well?" 

Erin looked at me and we grinned at each other, nodding our heads sheepishly confessing our guilt. "Food and sex are the necessities of life, right?" 

Carla smiled. "Not exactly the textbook hierarchy of needs." She said mischievously. "So, what's for dessert?" 

Erin beamed. "I thought you were bringing dessert." 

Carla wrinkled her brow. "Nope. Sorry. I'm actually ashamed I didn't think to ask what I might bring." 

Erin smiled and stood. "Come on. Help me clear the table and we can have coffee and figure out who to eat for dessert." 

Carla startled into snorting laughter as she and Erin watched my face flush red into bright deep embarrassment. 

I burst into tears, covered my face and howled, sobbing my confusion and awkwardness. I think I surprised myself most of all. The lust, guilt, arousal and teasing fantasies, all the emotions just percolating in me the entire week, finally exploded like a failed pressure cooker, and I blew. I wailed and cried my awkward frustration and dared not peek between my fingers. I was too ashamed and embarrassed. 

Her fingers stroked my cheek, and her fingers stroked my thigh. She kissed my flushed cheeks and licked at my fingers and teased me to peek between them. I knew it was Carla and Erin too. I could smell their musky robust scents and my stomach fell, I was so embarrassed, knowing I had shamed Erin with my lust, and had humiliated myself with adulterous fantasies. 

"It's okay little Yoda." Erin assured me, stroking my hair and kissing my neck. "Don't be sad, Sweetness. It's okay to lust for Carla. You know I feel it too, right? You know how horny she makes me." 

I trembled and nodded meekly. 

"I'm sorry, Jillian." Carla crooned. "I've played with your feelings and hurt you with my teasing. I truly am sorry." She stroked my arms and brought my hands to her lips, kissing my fingers and warming my trembling chilly fingers with her moist breath and kind mouth. 

Finally I dared to open my eyes but couldn't face either of them. I am ashamed and embarrassed and feel sick to my stomach because of it. "Please you guys, I don't know what to do. I want this, but I can't do this. It hurts too much to feel this. I don't know how to do this." I wailed and sobbed and trembled. 

Erin speaks: 

I am brokenhearted and feel evil for enjoying teasing Jillian but she's so cute when I mock her, I just can't seem to stop myself. No matter how playful my intent though, I have been cruel and she is wounded by my actions and I am ashamed, speechless at what a mean bitch I can be. 

"I'm sorry Baby." Trembling fingers reach for her pretty damp cheek. "I'm scared, and teasing you helped me avoid feeling that." 

Jillian looked up from her lap and her eyes met mine. She sobbed and raised a perplexed eyebrow. Her voice shuddered as she attempted to speak, then shook her head, frustrated and looked down, nervously fiddling with her hands in her lap. "Why?" She whispered. "Why do you have to be so mean?" 

"I know it's unfair, but you've no idea how cute you are when I tease you, how endearing it is to see you squirm. But you're right, it's unfair, and more than mean, it's cruel." 

She tried to raise her eyes to mine as her voice shook and panted, taking in short breaths. She mumbled, but I couldn't hear her words. 

Carla sighed and reached out, taking Jillian's hand as she slipped apart her jersey. The scrubs fell open revealing rich chocolate skin and firm full breasts. Her aureoles were large, dark and wrinkled, nipples hard, prominent and rubbery. "Look at me Jillian." She ordered firmly, gently, and Jillian's eyes reluctantly met mine before gaping at Carla's nude torso before her. 

Carla reached out and stopped Jillian from turning away. "Erin planned this, Jillian. She asked me here to do this. She asked for my help, and I came." Carla smiled and petted Jillian's cheeks, stroked down her throat and cupped her chin. "Your fiancé is scared, Jillian. She needs us both right now. She needs me to show her, to help her." 

I steel myself, gather up enough courage to reveal what a shallow ridiculous twit I am, and look into her sparkling blue and emerald-flecked eyes. (Yeah, I say it a lot but really, Jillian's eyes are astonishing.) 

"I don't want to lose you because I fail you as a lover." I struggle to meet her eyes. 

Shocked and bewildered, she gasps. "What?" And fixes me with a look of dumbfounded confusion. 

I can't help myself. I am an inopportune idiot. "Hi. My name is Erin, and I'm an ass-prude." 

Carla collapses onto the floor, laughing hysterically. 

Twelfth part: "Fall on your knees! Oh, hear the angel voices! O night divine..." 

(In which Erin experiences epiphany and Jillian experiences revelation...) 

I don't know how anal sex is for others, hell its sex, so it's a completely individual experience, universally celebrated and singularly diverse in feeling and expression. For me it became an issue of emotional vulnerability but defined and felt on a physical plane as well. It was the ingrained revulsion I'd learned concomitant with the incredibly personal penetration of my most private physical parts. The astonishing mix of taboo and sensuality, revulsion and shame painted erotic - it all simmered into lust and boiled within me and all the contrary feelings crashed through me at once. 

Jillian kissed my lips and petted my face, salting my cheeks with her tears. "I don't know if I can do this, Erin." 

I gazed into her eyes and began to tell her, but stopped myself, not wanting to ruin the moment, but I desperately wanted to understand this; to feel this and rise above my lifelong obstacles. Just once, before I died, I wanted to feel being loved take over the most privately personal parts of me, and to express my love in the way my partner most desired it - to do it joyfully, freely, without judgments or constraints, especially restraints of my own making. 

Before I met Jillian, the idea of monogamy was foreign to me. I didn't understand it and didn't care about it, but that was my personal choice, part of my fluid moral fabric, and I did not force my personal beliefs or experiences on others, not my friends or my patients. Nor did I color their experiences and behaviors through my arguably myopic somewhat supple morality. 

I'm not sure I fully understand what monogamy is all about yet, because it seems too confining, especially to women because in our patriarchal society, what's good for the gander still ain't good for the goose. It's socially acceptable for a dude to be promiscuous and sexual, but if a chick does it, she is branded a "slut" and condemned as a "whore" replete with all the pejorative associations. Slut-shaming is second to football (okay, maybe baseball and the NBA ranks up there as well) but slut-bashing and slut-shaming is the real American pastime. 

Try to prove me wrong, because there's hundreds of thousands of examples to back me up to the few isolated ones you might cite. Despite all the dudes that troll online porn for girl-on-girl fantasies, Lesbians are still detested and hated for being Dykes. Some men appreciate Lesbians, but overwhelmingly, most men still hate us, loathe us, still mock us, still assault and injure us. 

The LGBT world is reviled and it is socially acceptable to do so, just look at how Bruce Jenner is ridiculed, scorned and reviled, how he is treated in the media and online. There are some vocal crony female cohorts as well. There are plenty of women who can't stand to say "Lesbian", even when their mouths are full of one. Ellen and Rosie may be beacons of Lesbian power but they are still ridiculed and denigrated every single day in the media. Rap and Hip-Hop thrive through slut-bashing and slut-shaming. 

When I'm in-session with a straight couple in crisis because of infidelity, we explore the meaning and significance of their bonds and vows as they apply to each of them. It isn't my job to change their minds or question their world view, it's my job as a therapist to help them listen to each other's feelings and help them each understand the other - and maybe they'll come to find their love for each other reborn and they can learn to cherish each other again. Such insight does happen sometimes and it's awesome to watch it unfold, an honor to witness. But sometimes a relationship can't be salvaged or healed because feelings are too raw and bitterness has come to overwhelm what was once loved, but even then there is the possibility of finding the capacity to forgive, to let go of the hatred so that each might move on and become more fully human, able to struggle and risk to love freshly once more. 

Jillian gazes deeply into my eyes, and I remember that night at the bakery. What I find so stunning about her is how unabashedly spontaneous she is and how comfortable she is in her own skin. Because I'm not. I muck about in the emotional world, challenging archetypes like some idiot of a psychological Don Quixote, ruminating and brooding and trying to find meaning, too analytical, struggling too hard to understand, when the real challenge of life is to actually experience it first hand, unfiltered and viable and bursting upon all the senses. 

She brings me to tears. And I marvel at what is happening to me. 

Thirteenth part: "I feel wonderful because I see, The love light in your eyes..." 

(In which we dance, not yet "The Last Waltz"...) 

I've lost track of time and wake up. Erin and Carla are cuddled around me. Somehow we've made it up to the loft, but I can't recall leaving the living room. It is twilight outside. I have no idea what time it is and I don't really care. The mix skips to Eric Clapton's "Wonderful Tonight". It's the 8 minute slow blues version, the one where you are enchanted and become the guitar that he seduces and fingers and loves so tenderly. I love Clapton's virtuosity even though he's kind of a crazed racist. I want to believe that his heart is pure; I won't believe such beauty is created by evil. God mocks us - he creates genius and paints them unabashed idiots and laughs as we whine and squirm with the grating incongruity. 

("And the wonder of it all, Is that you just don't realize how much I love you...") 

I let Clapton carry me away, imagine the fingers fretting and stroking along the guitar fingerboard are my lover's thrumming my pussy, slide my hands to the junction of her thighs, slip my tongue to Erin's puckering rosebud and gently lick it into quivering. 

She gasps, flinching away at first, but then her buttocks soften and hips fall gently to the floor, unfurling, rolling right, her knees fall open as she bares her soul, presenting her pussy, and tears flow quietly from her eyes. Carla cups her buttocks, lightly tanned firm globes rippling in her ebony hands, stroking fingers as she dips her head and begins circling the petals of Erin's rosebud, her tongue softly, ever so slowly and gently teasing her pucker as Erin shudders and trembles her breath. 

She grasps Carla's head and pulls her more deeply between her legs and reaches for me, gripping the back of my neck and drawing me in for a shaking shy kiss. "I'm scared Jillian. You have to be gentle." Her voice trembled, low and throaty as she gasped suddenly and screwed her eyes tightly shut. She never admits fear, never lets herself be taken, at least not like this. She is completely vulnerable, has put her faith in us, trusting us, and I look at Carla as her eyes meet mine and know that Erin need not fear. She has placed her emotions in our hands and neither of us will betray this trust. 

Carla slowly licks up to Erin's perineum, stroking up through her labia slowly, flattening her tongue as she paints her pussy and envelops her clit, nibbling and sucking it between her humming lips. Erin moans and scrunches her abs, rolling and arching her hips. She spreads her thighs, her legs splayed almost horizontal to the floor. I reach for the low nightstand and fumble for the Strapon. I know the one I want by touch, and hand it to Carla as dawn begins dancing though the glass walls of the bedroom loft. 

Erin watches hungrily as Carla tucks on the harness, stroking her cock and slicking it with lube. The neoprene perks up, springing erect and Carla thumbs on the vibe. Her cock begins pulsing. Erin is panting, eyes locked with Carla's, grasping my hands and shivering with want. 

"Watch me." Carla murmurs. "Hold me and watch." She orders to Erin, and kneels, slowly inching behind me. 

Erin sits up and crawls in closer and gingerly places her hands on Carla's plump cocoa ass, stroking her firm globes and watching her cock bounce and tease it's way towards me. 

Carla moves me forward and turns me to my hands and knees, and I drop my forehead to the bed. With a few slight squirms I can see her stiff cock bobbing and teasing near my mound. Erin edges in closer and grasp the cock, fingers Carla's pussy and nuzzles down her neck. Carla gasps as Erin finds a spot by her clavicle and latches on suckling as Carla trembles and pleads. 

"That's right my Sweet Baby." She coos. 

"Show me Carla." She pleads. Her voice trembling, more insistent, hoarse and throaty. "My God, you're a Viper, so sexy, so hot." She reaches for Carla's hips. Pushing her closer to my ass and I arch up to meet her thrusting hips. Erin rushes to grasp Carla's Cock and push it into my ass, but Carla touches her hands, firmly stopping her urgent motions. "Slowly, Sweet Baby, slowly now. We have all the time in the world, you know?" 

Erin blushes and starts to apologize and pull away but I reach back and stroke her squatting thighs, stroking up to her breasts and fondling her ribs underneath her firm tits. They're only slightly discolored now and barely hurt, but I know she's still tender around her ribs, even more so because of this emotional vulnerability. "It's okay, my lover." I reassure her. "You are my Amazon, my Mistress and Master, my Erin." I peer into her flashing amber eyes. They glisten with tears and lightning strikes within them. She growls, and Carla chuckles. 

"Watch me, Erin." She murmurs, and dips her ebony head down, takes hold of my buttocks and slowly begins kneading each globe. I gasp at the slight static charges that courses across my skin. Erin rests her check on one globe of my ass and Carla entwines her chocolate fingers with Erin's paler ones, moving their hands together and massaging my firm flexing butt. Erin gasps and leans in, timidly licking my ass closer to my rosebud. I can feel her breath on my skin, her nostrils flare and breaths in, a slight sniff and pauses considering the scent of my pucker, then burrows onto my rosebud, teasing with her nose. I feel her nostrils flare as she inhales the earthy musks and sighs contentedly, burrowing in with slightly more pressure as my sphincter quivers, just beginning to soften but still resisting, quivering ambivalence but yearning to be penetrated I arch my ass towards her face and groan. 




A Bakery, Ruminations & Fucking... Ch. 02



Erin's hand grasping Carla's begins to tremble sporadically, and she gasps again. Her chest constricts and her breasts jiggle as her pectorals clench and unclench. She is breathing in puffs and slowly shaking her head in wonder, or is it confusion? She struggles to speak but only manages hoarse trembles, and glances hopelessly at Carla, and whimpers. 

Carla leans up and kisses Erin's rose pink lips and slowly unclasps their fingers. She reaches for the carafe on the nightstand, pours a tumbler of cool water, and offers it to Erin. "Drink, sweet girl, moisten your dry parched lips, wet your tongue, mouth and throat." Carla's voice is husky and trancelike, and Erin nods compliantly, drinks deeply with relish, and smiles. 

I am of two selves, one a bit removed and watching, astonished at how freely I move between Carla and Erin. How can I be so comfortable I wonder, then am back again, arching my ass up towards Erin and peek at them kissing, amazed that I am so close to the woman I love and so near the woman I've lusted for since we met in the hospital ICU, was it only a week ago, I wonder? 

I suppose I should be confused and troubled by how freely I moved into a relaxed sexuality with Carla and Erin. After all, I am a one woman girl. I've never even been in a threesome before, couldn't imagine how I could ever participate in one. It seemed weird to me, odd and surreal. How is it possible to share a lover with a stranger and not feel betrayed or guilty for being unfaithful? It didn't matter if the woman I was cheating on was fully participating; it felt so convoluted and emotionally twisted, but I confess that I just didn't care, didn't feel troubled, all I felt was a wonderful fullness, and wholly content. 

You may object and want to argue, want to show how wrong I am, but this is my life and furthermore it isn't even your story - if you don't want to hear it that's fine, I'm not forcing you to stay; but don't you dare tell me I am wrong, because my life and my feelings are mine, they're honest and authentic and I'm sharing with you, not for prurient reasons but because it is my gift to you. I'm kind of bent that way, you know? I still get choked up watching episodes of "Charmed". 

("And then I tell her, as I turn out the light, I say, "My darling, you were wonderful tonight...") 

Carla takes Erin's hand and brings it to the Strapon, laces her fingers around it and they begin stroking the hard flexible shaft, Carla brings her cock closer to my cunnie and teases my labia, stroking between and teasing her way further, deeper and millimeter by millimeter I feel myself stretched as she begins to thrust in and out, her vibrating cock circled by my labia minora almost hugging and kissing her cock as she slips into me slowly and draws back out teasingly, thrusting a bit deeper with each humming movement. 

I arch up towards the harness and groan, reveling in the sensation of this slow gradual penetration as she takes her time slowly fucking into me, no urgency for deeper penetration, and no impatience, just the slowest of slightly deeper penetration as she pushes and expands into me. I shiver and shudder and feel heat coarse through me, my thighs begin clenching, and trembling as a wave of almost prickly hotness begins deep in my core and expands out, filling my pussy with a crawling hot desire that ripples through me, expanding my cunt, enveloping my ass and through my groin as it ripples, whirl-pooling through me like endless waves and I tremble and gasp and heat rushes my head. 

I feel my breasts and neck flush and collapse, my forehead hitting the floor, shoulders following, dropping to the floor as Erin grasps my ass cheeks and spreads them, slipping a finger towards my pucker and I arch and moan towards her begging. "Touch me, please Erin, I need you in my ass, please. Can you feel how much I need you?" I groan, frustrated because I haven't the words to describe the might of my desire, and gasp and choke tears of need, of want and frustration. 

Carla reaches to the nightstand and choses a bottle of lube, drips the oil between my globes and takes Erin's hands and begins massaging the oil in, massaging closer to my rosebud with Erin's fingers. "Taste her Erin. Taste her desire." And Erin moves in and tentatively licks at my pucker, gasping and looking up at Carla with wonder. 

"It tastes like sweetness and avocadoes and berries." She smiles as Carla chuckles. 

"Sex and food Erin." Carla sings and laughs and strokes Erin's auburn soft curls. "Tastefully fucking her harlequin lover nearby..." 

Her tongue teases my pucker and trills a bit deeper, pressing into my rosebud and I am quivering, just barely resisting the force of her tongue as she spears into me and penetrates and is finally through and I scream from the fullness of Carla's cock thrusting into my pussy while Erin's tongue thrusts into my undulating ass and that wonderful fullness and motion overwhelms me and I begin bucking - slowly at first, involuntarily, but then gaining momentum as I arch and bucking, give myself up to thoughtlessness, only feeling now, not thinking as I am filled so deeply in quavering cunt and throbbing asshole, stretched with an unimaginable fullness, I arch and buck and scream again and again. 

As my head thrashes, I catch Carla's eyes and she holds mine with a look of wonder. "Jillian, you're so goddamned beautiful, baby girl. So fucking gorgeous!" She has tears in her eyes and looks at Erin, almost perpendicular to my body, stroking her sweating brow and smoothing her cheeks as Erin plunges her tongue deeper into my ass, her nostrils flared and snorting against the flesh of my left buttocks as I tremble and clench into an orgasm that starts somewhere, in my soul I think. 

My cunnie starts clenching as my sphincter undulates and grips Erin's elongated flexed tongue plunging deeply into me and I feel her breasts heaving against my right ass cheek as she sobs and her tears wet my backside. Carla thrust so deeply I feel her slapping against me, she arches back and thrusts once, then again as her cock slams grinding into me. I begin a trembling rippling cum that washes over me with a howling ferocity that grips me and won't let go as I tremble and shake and lose myself in the clamping clenching intensity that holds me captive as the orgasm quakes through me, washing through and over me. 

I don't know how long I am cumming, perhaps minutes or hours or even days, but slowly I am aware of becoming a trembling rubbery mess and collapse onto the floor still shuddering with the intensity of the orgasm that grips and ripples through me. I can only feel and have no words. I am becoming numb and sigh as warmth envelopes me and carries me away as Carla grinds into me, her thighs slapping my ass as she slowly pounds into me again and again, over and over, and another cumming washes over me. I think I am going to die well fucked. Well and truly fucked to death, and I don't care, I am willing, I am content and happy as she saws into me, unceasing and humming my pussy before finally thrusting once more and collapsing and rolling away. 

Erin pulls in and tongues my ass deeply. I scream at this unexpected sensation and buck into her face keening and wailing as the orgasm finally ripples through me and slowly fades away. 

Fourteenth part: "Oh my darling, you were wonderful tonight..." 

(In which Erin continues the dance, not yet The Last Waltz...) 

I try to stay with Jillian as she collapses on the floor but I can't. Her shuddering is so violent that my tongue is forced out of her with a slick audible whooshing pop and as she falls prone on the floor I wiggle my jaw a bit to work some feeling back into my overworked mouth and tongue. Carla's head rests on Jillian's left thigh, her right leg splayed out and under Carla's hips. My head adjacent to them, I shake it wondering, truly awed at what I have experienced. 

For the first time in my life I have made love to a woman's ass. For the first time, I've given somebody else my harness while doing so. The harness is mine, my sexual liberation and identity, with it I am free to fuck as I want, with whom I want, how I want; it is my gestalt, allows me a uniquely feminine identity, not contingent on a homoerotic fantasy, completely devoid of binary gender roles. The Strapon is part of me and I feel and experience through it, give and take with it, am fulfilled through it. 

I am stunned speechless and shake my head, dazed as Carla catches my eye and smiles. Damn, she's so beautiful. I take in the moist dark chocolate skin and the fullness of her breasts. Her ripe ass is thick and strong and still ripples and flexes, her thighs are firm and trembling, slicked with sweat and flexing involuntarily and I reach out and stroke the backs of her knees, trailing fingers down her taught calves to her ankles and slowly make my way back up her thighs to the junction of her V and slowly caress her labia, gently trilling her pussy. 

She hasn't cum yet and I want her to, want to thank her, and lean in to kiss her pussy as I reach up to find Jillian and make contact with my lover's flesh once more. As I lick and kiss Carla's moist folds, Jillian's fingers find me and we slide into holding each other's hands and she gently fingers the palm of my hand. 

"Erin, thank you Baby. You were so wonderful tonight." She smiles and blushes sweetly and murmurs. "But you haven't cum Sweetheart." 

"I've gotten more than I could have hoped for, Jillian. Much more than that. I'm happy and content, believe me." 

She looks at me with a dubious glint to her eyes as I glance at Carla. "But there's somebody who has earned our attention I think, who deserves the best we can offer." I smile rather wolfishly at my fiancé. "What do you say Lover? Shall we fuck the bejesus out of Nursie Carla?" 

Jillian grins and blushes a bit. "I suppose I do owe her something after all. " Her smile broadens as she thrusts her sexy ass up in the air and jiggles it. "And she did forget to bring dessert." 

Carla chuckles, deep and throaty as my hands move up her thighs. "I think, Nurse Carla, that you're wearing my penis." As she snorts and laughs I unbuckle the harness and turn her onto her back. Her ebony skin glistens in the midmorning light as Jillian rolls to her knees and crawls towards her chest, teasing a stiff nipple and engulfing as much of Carla's firm left breast as she is able to draw into her hot moist mouth, stroking her ribs and teasing the underside of the right breast as she pinches and tweaks the aroused nipple to an outrageous hardness. 

I am amazed at the wonder of her hard rubbery nipple and latch on, suckling deeply as Carla moans and grasps my head, pulling me firmly to her breast and I fondle the firm plump underside of her breast and stroke up to her neck and over to Jillian's mouth still firmly anchored on Carla's left breast. I lean in and tease Jillian's face loose and kiss her deeply, then move her face up, urging her towards Carla's mouth. "Go on Jillie, fuck her stupid." And, Jillian blushes a shade, smiles hesitantly at me, and pulls in to thrust her tongue deep, frenching Carla with a sudden ferocity that has both of them groaning and arching towards each other, grinding for more. 

I reach for the harness and move to buckle it on but Jillian stops me, pulls from Carla's lips momentarily. "Can I, Erin? Please?" She asks, almost a little girl plea to her voice. How can I resist anything my fiancé lover desires? I adjust the straps and begin to buckle Jillian in and reach for the nightstand to select a fresh dildo. From Carla's size, physical strength and the feel of her pussy I'm pretty sure she wants an XL but then stop, wondering if she wants an anal one instead. 

"What?" Jillian asks, and then stops as I lean in and whisper in Carla's ear. She grins, murmurs a few words to me that Jillian struggles to hear but can't, and we laugh gently at her discomfort. 

"Damnit!" Jillian slaps Carla's firm plump ass, then slaps it again as Carla rolls her hips and arches up towards Jillian. I grin at her. "I think Nursie Carla wants to be taught a lesson. Isn't that right Nurse Carla?" I tease as she giggles and her firm ass rolls up towards our smirking faces. I snap the dildo Carla requested into place. Against Jillian's shorter height, despite her phenomenally toned dancer's physique, the size of the Cock is huge, almost pornographic. Jillian looks down at it and giggles. "Damn Nurse Carla, you ready for my Black Mamba?" She slaps Carla's buttocks again sharply and chuckles. 

"Shut up your racist mouth and fuck me you bitch!" She moans as Jillian smacks her ass again, then spreads Carla's globes and dives in furiously frenching her pussy, enveloping her vulva in her hot drooling mouth as Carla grinds against her face and pants. "Please, goddamnit Jillian, please stop teasing, just fuck me!" 

I grip Carla's ankles, turn and lift her, elevating her ass off the bed and slowly spread her legs apart, pushing her ankles towards her breasts as Jillian sucks, thrumming loudly and thrashing her face in Carla's pussy. She groans, or Carla does, or they both do, and I move to Carla's side and kiss her deeply, murmuring her lips and we dance our tongues into each other's mouths and moan with lust and pleasure. Carla grasps the backs of her knees and frees me from holding her ankles, I draw her tongue more deeply and grip her breasts, move down, fondling tight rubbery nipples, teasing those huge areolae into goose-bumpy hardness, nibbling her hard nipples and suckling. Carla groans and her breasts flex against my insistent mouth. 

"Oh, sweet Erin, I could cum from just your mouth on my tits. More, please more." 

I joyfully oblige. I could worship her breasts for hours and will do so, gladly, as Jillian moans and plants herself more fully in Carla's folds. Carla's legs splay, she is trembling and can't hold onto them. Jillian catches her ankles with her shoulders, remaining firmly planted at Carla's pussy as she moans and thrashes. "Oh, sweet babies, sweet babies." She groans and sputters. "How you love me, Sweet Babies..." 

I reach for the lube and drench Jillian's Cock, reach for Carla's hand and pull it to Jillian's harness. Carla grasps the shaft firmly and groans. "Come on Jillian, no more teasing, Baby, no more teasing, just fuck me, please fuck me..." Her voice is husky and plaintively pleading and it arouses me so much I can barely tolerate it but I remain at her magnificent breasts, worshiping each one slowly and thoroughly as she thrashes and moans and abandons herself to our loving attention. I feel, then hear her heartbeat strengthen and know she is close and reach for Jillian's Cock and try to pull her closer to Carla's trembling pussy but they are both on their own rhythm and I loosen my hold of the harness and let Jillian lead our wild dance. Carla's legs stiffen and begin trembling ferociously, muscles flexing and ass rippling as she bucks fiercely against Jillian's mouth. 

I felt the groan deep within her chest as her heart beats syncopated with her moans and grew loader and stronger as Jillian thrummed her pussy deeply, then flattened and elongated her tongue and plunged deeply into Carla's sodden pussy. I could hear the squelching as she fucked her deep and their intensity and heat increased my own as we drove and plunged Carla to the brink and held her there as she begged and pleaded. Jillian grasped my hand. "Now baby, now!" She shouted and plunged back into Carla's pussy, hollowing her cheeks and sucking brutally as Carla shrieked and pulled her head more deeply into her pussy. She trembled and shook and her ass lifted off the bed as she tensed and hovered and shouted her glee. 

Carla wept as she came, slowly thrashing her head from side to side, eyes wide and glazed and unfocused. She gripped my head to her breast and arched up towards Jillian and moaned and pleaded as the cum quaked through her and slowly rippled out and washed through her. 

Her ass fell to the bed as she lay helpless and splayed before us, still trembling with aftershocks of her orgasm and softly laughing as she stroked my head still locked to her breast and suckling her stiff nipple. She giggled. "You can let go now, sweet Erin." She chuckled, but I shook my head, refusing to unlatch as she fondled my damp hair and stroked my cheek. 

Jillian thumbed the switch on the harness and her Cock began vibrating. She crawled her way to Carla's junction and leaned in, licking and murmuring against her jiggling breasts, up her throat, nibbling her chin, licking towards her pouting drooling lips. 

Carla gripped Jillian's hips, pulling her in and with one rippling thrust, Jillian plunged into Carla, sawing her pussy with enormous thrusts as she drove in, ass dimpling and thighs flexing as she pounded Carla's bucking hips. Her alabaster thighs, flushed a deep pink against Carla's ebony outstretched legs, both of them taught and pounding against each other as Jillian ploughed deeply in, teased out and plunged back in again and again as Carla rolled and arched up off the bed, moaning and screaming and panting. They fucked and fucked, lost in each other, thighs slapping ass as one pounded and thrust and the other splayed and screamed and drew her vibrating Cock more deeply into her. 

I gripped Jillian's trembling ass and pushed her into Carla's pussy as she screamed. "Fuck me Damnit. Fuck just fuck me...Fuck Me!" She thrashed her head about, screaming hoarsely and grabbed her breasts, pulling her nipples, stretching them tight and pinching hard as she bucked and then hovered for a few soundless moments. 

I thrust Jillian's ass once more, deeply pounding into Carla as she shrieked her orgasm, falling to the bed, spread and quavering, moaning and squawking, panting into breathlessness. 

Jillian collapsed against her, flushed pink and wheezing and her eyes sought mine as she stroked Carla's dazed thrashing face. 

Carla's glazed eyes blinked slowly as she arched off the bed, grinding towards Jillian's pussy, their clits rubbing hard against each other. Carla reached for Jillian's Cock and grasped it as they crushed against each other. "More, please Jillian, more..." She panted and groaned. "Just...just...please, more..." Her feet planted firmly into the mattress, lifting her ass off the bed with trembling thighs and taught calves, she pleaded and huskily groaned her need. 

Jillian's eyes flashed lightning bolts as our eyes met. My God, I couldn't believe what I was seeing. Jillian was transforming, becoming a wholly different being, a side of her I'd never known or imagined overtook her and she gripped my chin and pulled me to her mouth. "Kiss me, Damnit! Kiss me hard, Erin." 

Her tongue ploughed my mouth that craved hers and we hungrily tasted each other's moist hot lips, cheeks and gums, nibbling and thrusting and fucking our mouths with our tongues as Carla moaned and pleaded below us. 

Breathless, Jillian pulled away, gripped her Cock and bucked into Carla's engorged vulva, sliding in and slapping against her as they pounded and ground against each other. There were no endearments, no cooing words of love as they slammed against each other, wild eyed and rasping voices panting. This was absolute visceral carnal rutting. I fell to my haunches astounded and amazed as they abandoned themselves to pure sexual excitement and flailed away at each other like wild animals lost in the heat of their arousal and need. I grabbed for a hand and brought it to my pussy, thrusting against it as my mind hovered and trembled at the periphery of awareness. I grasped the wrist and screamed as the thumb flattened against palm and the hand slid into me fucking and plunging, stretching me by inches, forcing and pounding in deeply. 

Not even conscious of whose hand it was, we fucked and screamed and pounded into one another. I gripped my hard nipples and pinched and screamed as her hand fisted and pounded my pussy. I felt her at my cervix and screamed my delight as my sweating legs, shaking and trembling, began to flex and tense. I was filled and forced wide open. The din in my ears became a distant roar, then a shrieking as Carla's voice joined mine. Jillian's panting hoarse yelps became louder and I slowly became aware of my thoughts and surroundings. Our eyes locked on each other's, we thrust and pounded and finally erupted, screaming, exploding into orgasm that rumbled and ripped through me, through them, through one another. 




A Bakery, Ruminations & Fucking... Ch. 02



The day turned to sunset as we lay spent on the bed, wrapped around each other. Drenched in the sweat and the scents of our sex. 

Jillian closed in and whispered in my ear, and I laughed, drawing her and Carla into my arms and tightly hugged these two extraordinary women to me. 

"What is it?" Jillian and I giggled at each other as Carla asked. 

"We're both a bit hungry, Carla. Would you care for Belgian Double Chocolate Waffles? I make them with berries, you know?" 

Fifteenth part: "Picture yourself in a boat on a river, With tangerine trees and marmalade skies..." 

(In which Erin answers quite slowly, "A girl with kaleidoscope eyes...") 

"You're an idiot, Erin! Shrooms?" Carla was incensed. "You're still on watch for TBI and you're fucking around with hallucinogens! Are you insane?" 

"My body, my risk to take." Erin reached for the French Press and poured another cup of coffee. "Besides, I'm tossing back wine and coffee and nobody questions how alcohol and caffeine affect TBI." She challenged Carla, fixing her with a glare, daring her to bite. 

Carla sighed and shook her head. "Are you high now? Were you tripping on psilocybin while we made love?" 

Erin grinned and sipped her coffee, cut off a corner of dark chocolate waffle, dipped it in the warm berries syrup and teased it towards her lips. She arched an eyebrow before fixing Carla with a smirk and tongued the steaming morsel into her mouth. "Nope, only did psilocybin once while watching Jillian do herself the other night." 

Jillian gasped and covered her blushing face with her hands. "Damnit, Erin, you creepy bitch." She giggled as Erin moved in and tickled her tummy. "I can't believe you watched me jilling my ass and cunnie. Jesus, that's so fucked up..." She looked up. "Actually, it is kinda hot. I never thought about you getting off watching me..." 

I grinned and petted her cheeks, leaned over and kissed her sweet pouty lips. "You have no idea how hot and bothered you make me, do you?" Jillian flushed a deeper shade and I enjoyed the delicious evil of making her squirm. 

"I didn't do a boatload, Carla, just a few. Just enough to take the edge off my anxiety." 

"Yeah. Well you could have taken Xanax or Klonopin. Shit, you've got scrip for both of them. You don't need to fuck around with hallucinogens on top of a concussion." 

"Come on, you know my drug tolerances are off the charts. Look how much morphine y'all pumped into me in the ICU and it barely numbed the pain." 

"Okay, I concede that point. You've got the constitution of a fucking T-Rex. Still doesn't give you the right to risk your life." 

"Like doing a swan dive off the roof with that "shit-for-brains" wasn't risking my life?" 

"Damnit, that's not the point and you know it, Erin. Stop playing mind games with me. I'm worried about you." 

"I appreciate that, Carla. Really, I do. Just cut me some slack, okay?" I reached for her hand and stroked her fingers. "You helped me get through this. Please, try to understand how grateful I am." 

Carla shook her head, and we all fell into eating. Erin made two kinds of waffles, hot and rich chocolate waffles peppered with white chocolate chips and bits of caramel, and thick toasty cinnamon glazed waffles with sweet raisins and sticky sugar. The mix of rich chocolate and spicy cinnamon was truly decadent. 

The sauce, a mix of blackberries and raspberries was delicious as well as colorful and we were quickly lost in the sensual meal that teased and sated us. Bowls of hot chocolate sauce and freshly whipped cream were a wonderful addition but the waffles didn't need help to be amazing. The coffee was a piping hot strong dark roast whose bitter sweetness gave a perfect accompaniment to the intense chocolate and cinnamon waffles. 

Carla grinned. "So, what bothered you the most? What was the real obstacle?" She wiped some chocolate and cinnamon drizzling from her lips, licked it into her mouth and smiled. "Oh, damn, this is so tasty." 

I shook my head. "Honestly, I don't know. It was the thoughts that were my biggest obstacle I think. Once I was able to block the thoughts and preconceptions and just allowed myself to go with it...it stopped mattering what the tastes might be or what the smells might be. Actually, if you take the time to bathe and prepare yourself, the tastes are fresh and musky and smell natural and earthy. Rich, like fresh sweet compost, kinda like coffee grounds. Delicious, actually." I shook my head, at a loss for words to explain the turnabout in myself. 

I looked at them both and smiled. "You know this was incredibly special, but we can't do this again." 

Carla looked at Jillian and smiled, then stroked my cheek. "This was amazing and I'm grateful to have been part of it." She shook her head a bit wistfully. "But it stays a fond memory now. It is just for us." 

Jillian smiled and kissed her gently. "Not even one more play date, Nurse Carla?" Sighing, she looked at me and stroked the hair from my eyes. "I don't know what to think, what to say to you, Erin. But I don't regret what we did." 

I smiled. "Maybe it's better to say nothing right now. Maybe we should just savor this for as long as we each need to. We can struggle with processing it all later. Right now, I think it's best to just...let it be." 

"Dealing with cancer is toxic enough. I won't let this special moment be sullied or polluted." 

I looked at Jillian and sensed she was wrestling with her own inner turmoil, but I couldn't help feeling that something else was gnawing just below the surface of her awareness. Something weird, almost sinister, and I shivered, wondering what I'd unwittingly summoned into our lives.