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And She Cried, "Oh!" Ch. 01

By: Obzezzion



It was another cold, windy night in Boston. Fortunately, there was no snow tonight; there was only the harsh wind, half-frozen sidewalks, and icy streets. Just as fortunately, Brigitte Spencer's 2003 Oldsmobile Aurora had brand-new winter studs and the heat still worked. Walking into the darkened condo after a long day of typing up reports from half-finished notes, the twenty-eight-year-old romantic advice columnist for the Boston Globe sighed. Closing the door, she locked and dead-bolted it before walking down the hall into the living room and flipping the lights on. She shrugged her dark-blue fleece overcoat onto the easy chair in the corner and pulled the scrunchie from her fire-red hair. Shaking it out, the beautiful mop of loose curls signifying a recent perm fell to the middle of her back and hung there elegantly.

Pulling the blinds to reveal a wall-to-wall window of inch-thick glass was hardly a romantic event, but the view from that window was. Brigitte lived alone on the twelfth floor and her only real comfort was that she could see a substantial portion of the city from her home. She kicked her Reeboks off as she looked out of the window. The sun had already set despite it being only five-thirty, but that was normal for mid-December and she wasn't complaining; she'd always liked her view of the city better at night than she did during the day. The nocturnal hours were, after all, dark and mysterious; there was much to be imagined about something one could not see -- a strange shadow cast by a yellow streetlight or a gray cat hiding atop a dumpster, for example -- that couldn't have been less interesting in the daytime. She smiled at the thought.

That smile faded quickly, however, for working for one of the largest newspapers in the state (not to mention one of the most famous in the country, right alongside the New York Times and similar papers) had given her deep insight into what else prowled the night. Being faced with almost constant news of potential rapists, murderers, serial killers, violent thieves, and vandals had completely disillusioned the rich little princess as soon as she'd graduated from Bunker Hill Community College. Her father was a hard-nosed reporter himself and had pulled strings to get his charming daughter into the business despite her mother's protests; her mother was an accountant and felt that working for the newspaper (or doing anything else outside the home, for that matter) was far too dangerous for Brigitte.

But she'd been working for the Globe since she was eighteen as a copy girl; the only difference now was that she'd added her own column to the work load. On the plus side, she'd hired Stacie Ritter a year previous and the attractive twenty-five-year-old blonde had worked out quite well; she was good at staying on top of the ball and getting things done quickly. She was bold, too; she'd make a fine reporter someday.

Thoughts of this nature, however, were quickly swept from Brigitte's mind as she walked into the large bathroom and stripped off her nylon stockings. Her pink silk blouse followed them into the hamper seconds later, followed in turn by her short blue miniskirt. Kyle Johnson, her editor, had a habit of stating on a regular basis that he could care less what his employees wore as long as they did their jobs well enough to suit him; what he failed to mention, naturally, was that he -- like all men -- seemed to give her and the other women in the building far better reviews when they dressed like sluts. The man was a pig, but he was a controllable pig.

The long, slender legs unveiled by removal of her miniskirt were athletic in build; she loved to run early in the mornings and she often showed up to work around ten as a result. In truth, it gave her a thrill to feel the cold air brushing her body through the thin fabric of her t-shirt; the fact that her c-cups had never really felt comfortable in a bra made it all the better. That was why she kept her lovely pussy, now revealed as she slipped off her hot-pink thong underwear, shaved: she had only one thing on her mind when she returned to her condo after a morning jog; it involved deft fingers and a smooth entry. Overall, the whole experience gave her the energy and good mood she needed to deal with the cretins that seemed to dominate the Globe.

She filled the massive circular tub with steaming-hot water and dumped in some strongly blueberry-scented bubble bath. From the bathroom, she had an excellent view of the parking lot and the park across the street; she didn't care who saw her naked, so she never bothered to close any windows when she was home. She stood there stark naked as she waited for the bath to get full enough. A number of cars were pulling in below her, most of them people just getting off of work; there were a couple of cars that she didn't recognize -- including a brown Lincoln Continental that seemed to sit in the parking lot with the engine running and cigarette smoke pouring out of the driver's side window forever -- but that was hardly surprising. Boston was a big city.

When the bath was full, she stopped the water and slid in slowly. She didn't wince as she slipped into the water, her pussy and red-nippled tits lapped pleasantly by the bubbles, for she liked her water the way she liked everything else: hotter than the devil's own hooves. Her mother had always called her a freak because of it, to which she had often replied with a brief description of what to do with herself. As she napped in the tub, she didn't hear the dead-bolt being cut from the outside with a hack saw; she didn't hear the lock being picked or the door sliding slowly open. Brigitte was completely oblivious to the B&E occurring in her very own home that evening. What she was fully aware of was the soaped-up pink pouf she slowly slid down her body. She scrubbed herself well enough, but she was a little gentler on her tits -- especially her nipples, which were rather sensitive. 

Of course, as the soap slid down her tender flesh and the hot water burned away all the flecks of dirt and exhaustion from her athletic body, she couldn't help but play with her nipples a little more. She squeezed them and pinched them and twisted them, all the while starting to rub her red lower lips. After a few moments, her stroking started to make her breathe a bit heavier. She squeezed and pinched and twisted her nipples harder as time went on, and even stuck two fingers inside herself after a few minutes' play. She started slowly at first, just soothing the inner walls of her pussy with her gentle touch, but her finger quickly grew more swift. It wasn't long at all before she was moaning and gasping, coming ever closer to climax. And, after nearly ten minutes, her pussy exploded under water. Moans of pleasure erupted from beyond the open bathroom door, and when they were done, there was a different kind of smile on the reporter's face.

After she toweled off over an hour-and-a-half later, she hung the towel over the rack and walked naked into her living room. Her condo retained heat very well and she turned it all the way up now; it was getting very cold in there even with the heat rising from the condos below her and coming from the condos around her. As she stepped into the kitchen, she noticed that the light was on. She figured she must have forgotten to turn it off last night or something; she rarely paid attention to such things as she usually grabbed a quick bite to eat on the way to work, which was why she didn't have very much in the fridge other than a few apples and a case of Budweiser. She cracked a beer open now and downed a long guzzle of it, ending the drink with a contented sigh.

She walked into the living room and set the beer down on a coaster resting on the coffee table in front of her black leather couch. She picked up the remote and flipped it to MSNBC, where someone was going on about Obama's recent election to the position of the most powerful man in the world. She put the remote down and was just turning to go back into the kitchen when a rag was shoved over her mouth from behind. The smell was not a good one, but she hardly noticed; she struggled futilely for only a few seconds before her vision blurred and she blacked out...

The next thing Brigitte was aware of was the feel of her own silk sheets beneath her naked body. Her hair was tied into pig tails that trailed down the front of her body and her hands were bound behind her by a t-shirt from her dresser. Her ankles were similarly bound and there was a pair of her own panties wrapped around her head much in the same manner that dentists used to treat toothaches; they were tight enough that she couldn't open her mouth to speak, let alone scream. Across the darkened bedroom from her was a man hidden in shadow; his clothes were in a pile atop his shoes next to her dresser and a bottle of Brigitte's best scotch was dangling from the man's hand. The bottle was half-empty.

There was something else dangling in the light from the lamp in the corner of the room that was far more enticing than the bottle of scotch. That long, slender muscle was dark and strong; it must have been a full ten or twelve inches when soft, but it definitely wasn't soft now. The man's legs were muscular and tanned; clearly, he was an athlete of some kind. For some reason, just the thought of that large cock inside her -- a thought that appeared suddenly and from which she couldn't escape no matter how much she struggled against it -- hardened her apparently already-perky nipples.

Brigitte's body felt tense and relaxed at the same time; her pussy, tits, and ass all ached. It was immediately clear what had happened, but she didn't dare think of it. Instead, she tried to struggle again; it was futile. She couldn't free herself. The bottle in the man's hand lifted. A few seconds later, the man stood. When the bottle rested upon the dresser, its clunk resounding in the silent room like a shot ringing out in the still night air, she knew she was doomed. She was about to be raped again -- and this time, she would be conscious.

Perhaps it was the adrenaline. Perhaps it was the excitement that dangling cock gave her. Whatever the cause, she was both scared and lustful as the man approached her. He rolled her over onto her stomach roughly. His hands were large and rough; he was a man of hard labor, Brigitte knew -- a tough man forged like iron out of the kind of sweat only a physical job could produce. 

Brigitte's nipples got even harder (or so it seemed) as she felt his knees push the mattress down on either side of her pale body; he was straddling her and it was clear what he intended to do. She didn't have long to wait before she felt his hands grasping her ass cheeks firmly and moved them apart with a practiced touch. His long dick slid deep inside her pussy then as he pushed his hands forward, moving her ass up to better accommodate his length. Brigitte screamed as best she could with the panties wrapped around her head, but that scream turned into a moan all too quickly. She could hardly believe she was actually enjoying this, but oh! The pleasure was indescribable as her rapist thrust himself deep inside her pussy and worked her like a piston. Her moaning continued as he pumped her hard, fucking her like the whore he probably thought she was; she felt like a whore, too, as she was enjoying every minute of it. By the time he was about ready to cum inside her, she had completely forgotten that he was raping her; all she knew was the sweet, hot pleasure flowing through every part of her body as she came at the same time as her rapist. Her juices flowed as freely as water from a spring while her pussy was filled with the man's hot junk.

When at last he pulled out of Brigitte's pussy, she moaned and sighed involuntarily. Her chest heaved as she drew in air after her hard fuck. Then she was rolled over onto her back once more as she drew in air desperately. Though closed during her orgasm, Brigitte's eyes now popped open as she felt an entirely new sensation; just a few seconds later, her eyes were rolling back in her head. Her rapist's tongue started in on her pussy lips slowly, delicately, but it didn't stay there. Deeper and deeper his tongue went, prompting moans from Brigitte as her back arched. She bucked gently against his tongue as it pierced her flesh. Her breathing got heavier and her moans got louder as he played with her. When his tongue briefly touched her g-spot, Brigitte's eyes widened dramatically and she screamed in pleasure. Her eyes rolled back into her head again as the man's tongue touched her g-spot a second time. He touched her there with his tongue again and again, just briefly enough each time to torture her until she was on the verge of a massive orgasm. When he pulled away, she painfully squirmed about. He vanished from sight, slipping into the shadows as she succumbed to the agony of having come to the edge before being dragged roughly back.

When he appeared again, she was halfway back from that orgasm. This time, there was the smell of a cigar in the air. She saw the smoke flow from his mouth, but there was no sign of the source; most likely, he'd found some small dish of Brigitte's to use as an ash tray. Damn him! Now she'd have to...

That thought was gone in an instant as his fingers tore into her pussy roughly. What he had previously attempted with his tongue he now accomplished with three fingers. She squirmed fiercely as he fucked her, her moans and half-screams evident of the pleasure that was being invoked by her rapist. Finally, she reached the edge -- and sailed over it boldly. Her body tensed so much during her second orgasm of the evening that her panties ripped; they didn't come completely undone, but they came undone enough for her soft, pale pink lips to part slightly. Her moans and screams were of pure ecstasy as her entire body was racked by an Earth-shattering, mind-numbing, unbelievably powerful orgasm that would've made a nun convert to Satanism in a heartbeat. For a full minute or better, she shook and convulsed; she screamed and moaned; toward the end, she even laughed. This man had come here for one purpose and one purpose alone: to rape her. He had accomplished his task in full, but he had done so much more: he had made Brigitte love it. She didn't just like what he'd done to her; she loved it. It was the greatest joy she'd ever felt during sex.

When her orgasm was done, the man kissed her over and over again; he was making out with her and she didn't have the energy to resist. Instinctively, she responded in kind. Then he pulled away and started in on her again; this time, his mouth encompassed one of her nipples and his tongue went to work. All she could do was enjoy it.

(To be continued...)

And She Cried, "Oh!" Ch. 02



It was three years later that she recounted these events to a therapist. It had taken six months for Brigitte to bring herself to have sex again. When she did, it wasn't with a boyfriend: it was at a club where people paid women for sex in back rooms. She'd been terrified at first, but she'd quickly gotten into it. She'd been doing that regularly ever since. She didn't know why she did it; she'd never been a slut before her rape. She'd had three boyfriends in her twenty-eight years and had slept with every one of them on numerous occasions, but she'd been faithful to every one of them during her relationships with them. Yet she'd enjoyed what had been done to her so much that she seemed to have become addicted to the same feelings she'd experienced during her rape. Because of this, she'd decided to see the aforementioned therapist.

The therapist – Dr. Jamie Ellsworth – had her own odd reaction to Brigitte's account of her various sexual encounters. That reaction was rather potent in its own right: arousal. While it was true that she was technically a 'sex therapist' – someone who helped people feel comfortable in social and sexual situations – she'd never dealt with a woman before. She'd also never been one to fall prey to such things as homosexuality or bisexuality. Yet the stories that Brigitte told were of the most arousing kind that she couldn't help but feel attracted to this romantically decrepit harlot. Something about the way she described her encounters made Dr. Ellsworth want to see what the woman had to offer under that blouse of hers that men found so agreeable.

At first, her curiosity was only partially unprofessional. According to Brigitte, she had trouble walking around her condo naked anymore because she suffered from periodic 'episodes' of heightened sexual tension. During these episodes, she was both terrified and anticipatorily excited about someone breaking in and raping her. She'd even begun fantasizing about it to the point that she was unconsciously leaving her door unlocked at night and masturbating at least a couple of times an hour. When she was at work, she had difficulty focusing because she was constantly aroused by the feel of her underwear rubbing against her pussy and the memory of a man's sexual scent. She masturbated on every one of her breaks and was even spending her lunch time fingering her pussy instead of eating. No one knew, but people realized that something was up; no one had ever said anything to her, though. They all just figured it was the pressure of the job.

Dr. Ellsworth's approach was a bit different than it was for the people who usually came to her; in a sense, she was reversing the treatment she usually gave in favor of Brigitte's unique position. She had told Brigitte that she should try to lie in bed for a while without touching herself each time she was in the house. Unfortunately, that treatment failed miserably – which led to the present situation.

Dr. Ellsworth was used to taking off her clothes in front of her patients, but not for sex. It was no different in this case. She now sat naked before a nervous Brigitte, who was lying on the couch as nude as her therapist. Ellsworth was the perfect picture of calm, the exact opposite of Brigitte. It had been almost an hour since the therapist had removed her clothes, after which Brigitte had slowly done the same. Jamie was now reading a book about howler monkeys with one leg crossed over the other; she was as comfortable as though she were wearing her favorite jeans and t-shirt. Brigitte, on the other hand, was squirming more than a snake in the grass as she tried not to move.

Her hands twitched at her sides and she shifted her position constantly, first raising one knee in a futile attempt to relax and then raising another. After about twenty minutes of this, she'd started to reach for her pussy; she'd imagined her strong fingers nimbly delving between the folds of her pink paradise and fucking herself over and over again as she drove her body to a powerful orgasm – but Jamie had stopped her. While not quite as nervous as Brigitte during their two-hour sessions together, Jamie couldn't help but study her patient. She couldn't focus on her book because her eyes kept drifting unwaveringly to the supple mounts of flesh that were slowly rising and falling before her. She couldn't help but let her eyes rove over the clean-shaven cunt that seemed to be calling out to her. Why was she so intent on this woman? She had seen women naked in locker rooms back in college, yet she had never wondered until now what it would like to kiss a woman. Was it better than a man's kiss? Would it be better than her husband's? And if Frank found out, how would he react? Would he be turned on or would he be appalled?

Jamie turned her attention back to her book. She had to stop thinking that way. She was no lesbian; she loved men. She had sex with her husband regularly – and she enjoyed it. Just last night, she had given him a blowjob. At this point, she couldn't help but think back to the previous evening. She remembered her soft lips caressing that long pink muscle, taking in all its glorious length as she tasted the flesh of her man. She remembered his moans, how he whispered her name while in the throes of pure ecstasy as she worked his hard cock with her mouth. She reveled in the memory of her sucking her husband's large cock with reckless abandon, the wonderful taste of his hot white cum flooding her mouth and running smoothly down her waiting throat.

As she came back to reality, though, she realized two things. First, she realized that her nipples were stiff and she was rubbing her legs together; she stopped. The next thing she noticed was that Brigitte's hand was between her legs and she was halfway to orgasm.

"Shit," she muttered, getting up and setting her book down on the coffee table. She tried to pull the young woman's hand away, but her patient would have none of that. "Come on, Brigitte; it's time to stop."

"Then stop me," she moaned as she quickly and firmly replaced her own hand with Jamie's.

Jamie was shocked at first; by the time she was able to recover, though, she realized that she didn't mind what she was doing. Even so, she stopped herself – or tried to, anyway. Brigitte took matters into her own hands and forcefully fucked herself using Jamie's hand as a dildo. Jamie felt her fingers slide deeply into Brigitte's pussy and tried to pull back, but she couldn't; it was half because of Brigitte's surprising strength and half because Jamie didn't really want to. It was the latter that shocked her even more, but she was getting used to it. Finally, she gave up and started fucking Brigitte on her own. In moments, Brigitte was crying out and convulsing pleasantly to the tune of a gigantic orgasm. When the good doctor was finally able to remove her hand from the woman's tight folds, she had girl cream all over her fingers and hand; Brigitte quickly pulled it to her and cleaned it with her mouth and tongue. Jamie, still half in shock at what she'd just done – what she'd been drawn into doing, both by her own deeply hidden desire and by the girl she was supposed to be treating – let Brigitte suck and lick her fingers and hand clean.

When it was done, Brigitte grabbed Jamie and pulled her in for a kiss. Jamie kissed back. It was deep, long, and fulfilling. For several minutes, Jamie made out with her patient; she couldn't help it and didn't want to. She just couldn't bring herself to let go. When at last she was able to pull away for breath, she instinctively started kissing her way down Brigitte's neck and chest. Lowering herself to her knees on the floor beside the couch, Jamie let her lips and tongue carry her to the nipple of Brigitte's left breast. She licked and suckled the nipple, making Brigitte arch her back and half-smile in delight. Jamie pleasured Brigitte like this for a full minute or more before finally moving further down. She kissed her way down Brigitte's stomach, her kisses soft and slow, until she finally reached Brigitte's waist.

Without hesitation, Brigitte opened her legs wider; she knew what she wanted – what she needed – and she wasn't about to say no. Maybe a woman could do to her what no man could seem to: give her the orgasm to end all orgasms. If she had that, maybe – just maybe – she'd be cured. Whatever happened, she was hardly in her right mind as Jamie's tongue unflinchingly moved to stroke the tender pussy that was waiting for her. Her lips clamped down on the exposed clitoris and suckled it gently, drawing moans that grew steadily louder from her patient. She let her tongue slip into the pussy and licked its fleshy walls tenderly, almost lovingly, but there was no mistaking lust for love here. This wasn't about love; this was about sex.

Jamie delved deeply into Brigitte's pussy and Brigitte thanked her with moans of pure pleasure as she reached down and grasped the firm right breast of her therapist. She didn't think of Jamie as her doctor, for that would've made it seem as though she was sick. She wasn't sick. She just needed a woman in her life, that's all – a woman who could tongue-fuck her like no man ever could. Fortunately, Jamie was doing exactly that. Her tongue was indescribable as wave after wave of pleasure from the tonguing she was receiving from her therapist made her squeeze the woman's right titty harder and harder. Now she was pinching the nipple in what was probably a painful fashion, but she didn't care right at that moment. She was a split second from orgasm and she wasn't going to let anything get in her way.

As Brigitte pinched Jamie's nipple harder and harder, Jamie's started moaning as well. Her tongue raced in and out of the girl she had at her mercy as their moans began to rise to a crescendo. Just as Brigitte was about to come, her fingers squeezed Jamie's right nipple harder than ever – making Jamie squeal and wince – and her other hand slapped the back of Jamie's head. She pushed Jamie's face into her pussy, shoving the wriggling tongue deep inside herself, and screamed. Her entire body tensed up, sweat seeming to pop out of everywhere all of a sudden as she had the most fantastic orgasm of her life. It was a fortunate thing that she was Jamie's late patient and there was no one else about at seven in the evening; otherwise, it might well have meant the end of Brigitte's therapy and Jamie's career. Even so, both women were breathing heavily when it was all over.

Of course, that was hardly the end of the session. There were still forty-five minutes left, after all. The fun was only just getting started.

Jamie's tongue came down upon her patient's left breast, circling the nipple pleasurably. Closing her eyes, Brigitte sighed and moaned Jamie's tongue came ever-closer to the red nipple that so desperately wanted to be sucked on. Her moans grew more impassioned as a solitary finger slid slowly between her legs, into her wet and waiting pussy. Slowly, Jamie slid her finger in and out of the younger woman's tasty cunt. After a few minutes of this, she slid a second finger in – and then a third. Her moans growing slightly louder with every passing second, Brigitte was completely at the mercy of her shrink's tongue and fingers. Jamie's tongue, however, wasn't getting anywhere near the nipple; that would've been too easy.

Lifting her mouth from the moaning girl's inviting bosom, but leaving her fingers where they were and continuing to fuck Brigitte's pussy, Jamie brought her dark-red lips to the younger girl's hot-pink ones. The kiss was soft at first, merely teasing, merely tasting...and then slowly became harder and more passionate. Jamie's fingers kept up their slow, steady pace as her mouth made love to Brigitte's, their lips locked in a delicious grip. Jamie's tongue started to slip between her own lips and touched on Brigitte's own after a few minutes of kissing, and Brigitte's tongue responded in kind. Theirs was a battle for supremacy, tongue versus tongue, feeling each other and teasing one another's oral sensitivity. Soon, Jamie was sucking on Brigitte's tongue much in the same manner that she now finger-fucked her cunt.

Brigitte moaned lightly at first, but her moans were growing louder and longer the closer she came to the cliff. Any faster and Jamie's fingers would give her a quick thrill without the anticipatory build-up of sexual tension; any slower and they would prompt Brigitte to take matters into her own hands. But that slow, steady pace was torture for Brigitte. Her left hand grasped the right breast of Jamie's sexy body and massaged it firmly as she pleasured Brigitte, her forefinger and thumb making sure the nipple was well-pinched. Her right hand, meanwhile, was reaching around to take hold of Jamie's left butt cheek. She massaged that as Jamie fucked her and sucked on her tongue, making her moan more and more. Her body cried out for orgasm, begged for it, but Jamie would have none of that; she took her time with Brigitte, not letting her come too close to climaxing but keeping her from completely relaxing.

With one particularly sensitive brush against her g-spot, Brigitte made Jamie squeal again. Her hands squeezed the tit and buttock harder than ever before all of a sudden and her finger and thumb tightened painfully on Jamie's nipple. But Jamie didn't change her pace, and Brigitte came ever-closer to a mind-blowing orgasm. Finally ripping her mouth away from Jamie's, Brigitte cried out to her lover.

"God, just let me fucking cum!" she half-screamed, half-moaned.

Jamie only smiled and increased her pace very slightly as her mouth came down on Brigitte's neck. Her lips and tongue made love to the tender flesh of her throat, and then her teeth began to graze the side of Brigitte's neck. It wasn't long before Brigitte's moans were turning into cries of passion. Her hands and fingers worked Jamie's buttock, tit, and nipple more harshly than ever, prompting more and more squeals of delight from the therapist, as Jamie's mouth began giving her a hickey and her fingers tortured the reporter. As the tension mounted, Jamie's body got hotter and hotter; but it was Brigitte's body that was starting to prepare for the orgasm of a lifetime, one even more powerful than the one she'd experienced only a few minutes earlier.

Just when she thought the torture would never end, just when she was starting to scream, her muscles clenched up and she began spasming. A gushing flow of hot, sticky cum began to pour out over Jamie's hand, which was now clamped hard within the woman's tight cunt as she came again and again. Though her fingers got faster and faster, Jamie never stopped fucking Brigitte or giving her a hickey. Brigitte's pussy exploded for nearly three times as long as it had during her previous orgasm. Her river of girl cream didn't seem to have an end as her screams filled the room and echoed through the door; the hallway outside the therapist's office was filled with them.

When at last both the screams and the orgasm itself had died away, Brigitte heaved as though she'd run ten miles in under a minute. Her body was coated in two layers of sweat that Jamie was enjoying sucking from tops of her breasts. Jamie's fingers had removed themselves from Brigitte's tight pussy, finally free to wiggle again – which they did just to make sure they still worked. A bruise was already forming over the marks Jamie had made on the right side of Brigitte's neck. That would be something to talk about at work, she knew. But she also knew that Brigitte could keep her mouth shut when she needed to. Right now, though, she wanted Brigitte's mouth to be anything but closed. Climbing onto the backless couch above her patient's head, Jamie's desire was all too clear.

Still weak from the orgasm, Brigitte stuck out her tongue and began to slowly lick Jamie's pussy up and down. Jamie had given her the two most powerful orgasms she'd ever had; the least she could do was return the favor. Her hands reached up and massaged her therapist's ass as she licked the woman's pussy. Jamie's heavy breathing quickly turned into moans of pleasure. She rocked back and forth, pushing against the licking tongue. Her eyes were closed and her hands were massaging her own tits, playing with the nipples, pinching them almost as hard as Brigitte had.

"Oh, Brigitte," she moaned, though her words were barely audible. "Fuck me."

Brigitte had no trouble complying, her tongue sliding between the glistening folds easily and moving up and down inside the woman. The increase in the volume and passion of Jamie's moans were all Brigitte needed as she tongue-fucked her lover, giving her a thorough oral examination. Her hands continued to massage Jamie's ass as she ate the woman out, but one of her hands came away just long enough for a finger to insert itself deeply into Jamie's ass.

"Brigitte! Oh, god...fuck me!" Jamie cried out.

Fucked by a finger in one hole and a tongue in the other, Jamie began to moan louder and call out Brigitte's name more often. She started holding onto the pillow attached to the couch to keep herself from falling off as she was fucked from both sides, desperately trying not to cum until the last minute. Unlike Brigitte, Jamie relished the anticipation, cherished the torture of long, agonizing sex before a powerful orgasm. Brigitte was young and impatient; Jamie was older and more experienced. But there was no distinction now as Brigitte gave her the tongue-fucking and finger-fucking of a lifetime.

Her moans were quickly turning into screams as she reveled in the pleasure she was experiencing.

"Brigitte! Oh, god, Brigitte, fuck me! Yes! Yes! Yes, Brigitte...make me cum! Fuck me...fuck me, Brigitte...fuck me! Brigitte! Yes! Oh!"

Such were the screams of the therapist as she came closer and closer to climax. Then, her whole body shook and her own girl cream started to cascade down over Brigitte's face. Neither woman had bothered to clean Brigitte up during her orgasms, nor would neither of them clean up Jamie after hers. Her body rocked back and forth, her back arched as she sat up straight under the pressure of her orgasm. It ended only slowly, draining her until it was a mere trickle of cum pouring out of her the way water leaked from a broken faucet. Brigitte swallowed as much as she could of the delicious girl cum, but her face was painted white with it. It covered her nose and the space around her mouth; her cheeks; her forehead; and her eyelids.

Brigitte wiped the cum from her eyelids and ate it, but she left the rest of it where it was. Lying down on top of Brigitte, both women breathing heavily, Jamie softly began kissing her new lover in thanks for the orgasm. The two girls' hands roamed over each others' sensitive bodies, making both of them moan and sigh in pleasure.

"We really should do this again sometime. I don't see why you resist it," Jamie said breathlessly.

"Me neither," replied Brigitte.

They smiled and laughed cheerily at that. Then they began kissing and feeling each other up again. Yes, this looked like the beginning of a promising relationship.

"From now on," Jamie said, "you pay only with your tongue and fingers. No money."

Smiling, Brigitte decided that she'd thank Jamie in advance by putting her fingers in her pussy and wiggling them.