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Girl on Girl: My First Time
by Debbie Tureski
My husband and I had just decided we wanted to swing. We'd hit one of those plateaux that often happen in good long-term relationships and we figured getting down with a cute couple would get our mutual juices going. I forget where we saw the couple's ad, but it said they threw monthly themed parties. We sent them a letter telling a little about ourselves (it was just before the internet explosion). We were really excited when we received their fat packet in the mail -- their party schedule and directions to their house. We picked a Sadie Hawkins party (over the toga party and the PJ party). Since my husband Frank's a really quiet dude, it gave me the perfect excuse to be the aggressor.
Between getting that email and Sadie Hawkins day, Frank and I talked endlessly about what it might be like. We told each other stories. I told him about how there would be three women for every guy. How two of them would drag him off and strip him naked. He would have his choice between pierced pussy and shaved pussy, large loose pussy and small tight pussy. He would be forced to come several times in the evening to keep everyone happy. Big breasted red-heads would beg to wrap their oversized lips around his fat cock and blow him. Tight, college coeds would put their perky breasts in his face and beg him to suck them. He'd have women on their knees, women bent over his lap, cunts up, legs splayed. There'd be just so much pussy all around him the air would be thick with the smell of them, like a fish pier. Though Frank's shy on the outer layer, he likes as much raunch as the next guy.
After I primed him with these stories, he'd prime me with his own -- there was one about an orgy, and how we'd go from couple to couple watching them screw. It would be like the best porn, seen up close. I could watch the guy's dick ease into the lady's hole, her thick cream oozing out around it. Another couple, the guy'd be slamming into her crotch, I'd watch his balls slap and slap against her upturned ass. Young jocks would kneel in front of me begging to eat me out, peeling me open with firm fingers and bulging arms. Forging deep into my cunt, like gold diggers, licking me all over. Both men and women would be waiting in two long lines to lick my breasts.
We talked of threesomes, foursomes, pig piles and Twisters of naked arms and legs and pricks and mouths and holes. Ah, anticipation.
Finally, the night of the actual party arrived. Since we knew our fantasies would be hard to live up to, we now started talking ourselves down with a story in which everyone was over sixty and toothless. They'd all be desperate and obsessive, chasing us through the house like body snatchers till we ran out the door and drove away. By the time we got to the party location, we were somewhere between fantasy and horror. And that was just right.
The couple running the party, Greg and Maggie, were in their late forties. He was charming, very down to earth; she was bubbly and sweet. They charged something like $35 to get in the door, but they provided all kinds of little eats -- Swedish meatballs to brownies. Since we were new, they led us past the kitchen and pointed out the food before taking us down to the basement. Even when it's not your first time, you can't help scoping out the crowd as you go through -- anyone sexy here? Does anyone turn me on? If you see someone attractive, you start to undress them. Does he have hair on his chest? How thick is her pussy? Does he have huge meat? Is she the type to get dripping wet? I had never fucked or even fooled around with a woman. But I was feeling lusty and very willing. I wanted to have a pair of someone else's tits in my face. But once I got myself all worked up like that, I suddenly started feeling self-conscious. Then I wondered, What do they think of us? Do they think we're too green? Do we fit in? Is anyone scoping us out with lust in their eyes?
Downstairs our hosts had provided coolers full of beer and soda, the odd bottle of wine, and chips. Some people had also brought coolers of their favorite beer with them. They said that anyone who wanted could help themselves to their stash.
There were about 40 people in the house, but several of the couples seemed to have already paired off, standing so close they touched each other's mates. Frank and I whispered to each other. "Does she go down on him?" "Will that woman get fucked by both guys?" "Do you think they do DP?" To us, these couples seemed like real swinging pros. And more than once Frank and I wondered if coming to this thing had been a mistake.
Greg and Maggie started the organized part of the party with a little break-the-ice session. Introductions. Two very talkative young couples and a no-nonsense young woman, all in their late twenties or early thirties, seemed to know everyone in the place. They were the ones who had brought their own beer and they passed beers around with great extravagance. In the introductions we learned they were from the nearby military base. Then came all manner of "regular folk." Teachers, contractors, health workers, construction workers, truck drivers. Some of the couples had been coming to Greg and Maggie's parties for four years. Frank and I introduced ourselves as newbies. We stated that we were looking for couples like ourselves (there were about 3 single ladies and maybe six or seven single guys) and weren't exactly sure what we liked and didn't like. Maggie said that if we simply wanted to hang out and chat all night, that was cool too.
Then we played some goofy games, meant to be goofy to kind of put everyone at ease. Since it was ladies night, the ladies got to pick out guys -- someone they didn't know -- and have them answer trivia questions or strip. Like truth or dare without the truth. Eventually, most of the guys in the room had a shirt off or sat in their briefs or boxers. One woman had chosen Frank. When he missed the trivia question, she made him take off his shirt. It kind of turned me on to see him sitting there shirtless at a public party. I was liking the whole swinger environment more and more. Then it progressed to where the women could volunteer to strip if the guy got the question right. So women were in bras or slips to match men in their briefs and boxers, and then Maggie sort of called the formal part of the party over.
Before they left Frank and me on our own, our hosts took us around to the rooms. There were two "general use" rooms, one brightly lit with music playing and a busy pool table, the other, the room where we'd played party games, softly lit, more like a long parlor, with couches, coffee tables and arm chairs. Then there were bedrooms. Five of them. Each carpeted and outfitted in a different color -- pink, white, pale yellow. Bed spreads and curtains to match. Night tables with small lamps, tissues, lube packets, and condoms on them.
Frank and I were in awe -- just to be in this large, suburban home of a couple so willing to accommodate perfect strangers and adult play. We planted ourselves nervously on the couch, hoping we wouldn't be considered "wall flowers." The couples who knew their way around the place circulated, chit chatting with everyone. They approached us to welcome us and sort of helped us feel more comfortable. Still, we were really stiff, constantly whispering to each other, should we get up and walk around? Was it good etiquette to watch the people in the corner stripping, pawing, and tonguing each other?
The military couples sitting across from us were funny and lively, talking about adventures in Germany and the like. So we stuck to them like adhesive. And as other people passed by, Frank and I compared notes in whispers:
"I'd do that."
"Nah. What about her?"
"She's not bad."
"I'd have to be pretty drunk to do him."
And so forth. The two servicemen suddenly looked up from their stories; in fact heads were turning everywhere. I twisted to my left and saw why -- she was about thirty with blond hair falling in soft curls to her collar bone. She had a peachy pale face, adorned with deep red lipstick and pale blush. Tall, leggy, lean, wearing a simple but pretty outfit, pink sweater over a sleek, black satin skirt. Frank and I turned to each other and said at the same time, "I'd do her in a second."
[To be continued...]
Part 2, Girl on Girl: My First Time
by Debbie Tureski
Welcome to Part 2 of "Girl on Girl."
"The two servicemen suddenly looked up from their stories; in fact heads were turning everywhere. I twisted to my left and saw why -- she was about thirty with blond hair falling in soft curls to her collar bone. She had a peachy pale face, adorned with deep red lipstick and pale blush. Tall, leggy, lean, wearing a simple but pretty outfit, pink sweater over a sleek, black satin skirt. Frank and I turned to each other and said at the same time, 'I'd do her in a second.'"
[And now for Part 2:]
Her husband on the other hand, well, he left a little (maybe more) to be desired. He was skinny, gangly, gorilla hairy, with birdish eyes and a large beak. He was not warm nor did he have any social graces, and yet he was directing this tall(er than him) beauty all over the house. "Why don't we go in here?" He'd say. "Let's get a drink," sort of guiding her by the elbow as if she were blind. Frank and I couldn't make up our minds whether the husband would be hard to take in a foursome, or whether she would be well worth it. When the couple left the room, I was at a loss. Should we follow them? The energy in the room decidedly dropped when they left. I had no clue how to make a first move. And the doubts: they've probably got friends here to get with; they probably aren't into couples; they're looking for single men; they're just voyeurs...
We started getting into the conversation with the military couples and hardly noticed that the room was thinning out. A few single guys approached us to ask if we were interested in single men at all. Frank kept looking for my signal because we had agreed that our swinging experiments should include a little of everything. But, I didn't find any of the guys appealing. I wondered if I was getting cold feet.
There were couples off in corners, draped over tables and arm chairs in various stages of undress. We saw couples disappear into the back rooms. One woman, older, but obviously very experienced at entertaining gentlemen, sat back in a recliner with 3 of the six available bachelors at her feet and sides. Her top was down to her waist and her big boobs had gone wall-eyed and ended up each one in a different guy's mouth. She was sprawled back, her legs, in black nylons, spread wide and careless, her skirt riding up to her thigh sockets. A third guy stood in front of her, jabbering away as if they were in a restaurant having tea. In fact, she was equally as nonchalant, waving her lazy hands, her long cherry red fingernails through the air to punctuate her slow, clean enunciation, all while her nipples, each time they emerged into the light, were going a soft pink from the sucking. The two men just continued to suckle, clenching her fat breasts like frantic babes. One of them pulled off his paled nipple with a smack, admired his work, tightened his grip to force the nipple more erect. I couldn't help being fascinated as he handled the woman's heaving boob with both hands while he teased the nipple with his lips. "Umm," she encouraged finally. Then, "Could you bring me another glass of the Merlot, Charlie," she said. And when Charlie headed off to comply, she called, "There's a love." She had an air of someone who'd been in the theater. I was gettin hot watching two guys paw her over.
Behind a far couch, we heard moans of pleasure, but we couldn't see who made the sounds.
All this made me nervous -- wondering if I was supposed to make a move. Wondering on whom; wondering if I really cared to have sex this night. While I listened and nodded to the garrulous military guy, Frank sat silently beside me -- every now and then he cracked a smile or made a nod. I started to think it might be time to leave.
Suddenly I felt someone sit down on the couch next to me. When I looked over, I was surprised to see the model-beautiful blond lady that Frank and I had both agreed we'd do in a second flat. Her name was Laramie. She was holding a glass of deep burgundy wine in both hands by its stem. A fine silver bracelet hung from one wrist and pink sweatered sleeve. She was all comfortable with herself. I glanced around for her husband until I spotted him off against a wall, blending in with the wood like a gnome. As I started talking to her, he eyed us intently. Frank, seated to my other side, was still engrossed in the military guy's stories, nodding wordlessly. I nudged him with my elbow. As soon as he turned and saw who I was talking to, his attention shifted like the wind. Soon he was basically leaning over my shoulder to hear. Laramie taught elementary school. We talked a bit about education. She compared this party to others -- this was Laramie's first time here. She talked about how she and her husband Walt only went to parties every few months. She talked as if they always scored. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Laramie's husband sidling up. He started guiding the conversation. Laramie started to get complimentary. "I like your hair," she said, running her fingers lightly through my hair. I wasn't used to a woman's advances. It felt weird, but exciting.
As she moved in, I smelled her, a light, delicate scent, like lilies of the valley in a distant field. I watched the sliver of cleavage at the loose V of her pink sweater edge towards me. A shapely bra firmed her breasts, which moved towards me in a solid mass. Walt had something to say, but Frank fielded the question because I was talking to (and drinking in the sight of) Laramie.
Here we were at a swinger's party, with a choice of rooms to fuck in, a blond fairy princess chatting me up, moving in on me, growing more intimate with me, and I couldn't imagine making love to her. I couldn't even imagine what to say next to get this beauty into bed. Lucky for Frank and me, she knew what to say. In a conversational lull, she asked if we wanted to take a room together as if she were asking do we want a glass of wine. By then her husband was standing at her knees.
"Sure. Let's do it," I said. That was easy!
She brought her wine with her, led me into the room by the hand like she and her husband had reserved it or something. Frank and Walt followed us women in good Sadie Hawkins fashion. The room was what you'd call cute with its frilly bedding looking gay and sexy in the light of a small shaded lamp.
When we got into the room, Laramie faced me, touching my face, my shoulders, running her hands down over them, down my arms, as she said how strong my arms seemed. She stopped, sipped from her glass, ran her fingers back up, the one hand still holding the glass and when her fingers reached my collarbone, she undid the top button of my blouse. Then another and another, pulling the material aside, brushing her fingers along my skin. I was swept up by her scent and her lacy curls. Frank and Walt stood spread out as if to form a ring around us. They didn't talk to each other, except for Walt's occasional, almost rhetorical "aren't they beautiful together?" To which Frank just beamed.
Then her husband moved in and took the wine glass out of Laramie's hand. "Mattie," he said to me, "why don't you strip Laramie to the waist?"
Walt's words excited me. I couldn't wait to help myself to her, to watch her breasts fall from her bra, and to touch them. But his voice -- he couldn't have been more tepid; he could have been in a library requesting a book. Suddenly, I had this feeling like I was a prop in his fantasy about his wife. For a second, it made me hesitate, got my rebellious side acting up, and seized me with indecision. Laramie was still running her hands over my clothed body. Wherever her hands were, I tingled -- I'll be the first to admit. To look at her, all soft curls and flesh, she was like a centerfold model on a magazine cover waiting to be opened. And I had a gust of desire to know what she felt like, naked, what she tasted like.
[To be continued...]
Part 3, Girl on Girl: My First Time
by Debbie Tureski
Welcome to Part 3 of "Girl on Girl."
"Laramie was still running her hands over my clothed body. Wherever her hands were, I tingled -- I'll be the first to admit. To look at her, all soft curls and flesh, she was like a centerfold model on a magazine cover waiting to be opened. And I had a gust of desire to know what she felt like, naked, what she tasted like."
[Now for part 3...]
What would it be like to rub my mound against hers, my pussy lips against hers. Would my cunt feel the soft wet of hers as they met?
I undid the buttons to her pink sweater slowly. Pink knit buttons. And when I opened the sweater, I felt decadent. She stood like a canvass I was free to paint on, rapidly or slowly -- I chose slowly. Her bra was floral, lacy enough to see parts of her nipples hiding behind the flowers. Each cup swept in a curve to the center clasp so that fleshy roundness spilled out a little. I touched her there at the fleshy part, just to make her feel my presence. I thought about how they would feel, nude in my hands. I enjoyed the moment; her willingness and vulnerability.
"Go on," her husband goaded from behind me. I glanced at him and then over at Frank. The look on my husband's face told me he was rapt. I also knew he was hard, and maybe even dripping a small string of precum in his jocks. To Frank --I had been the third fuck of his life -- this was like living his favorite porn flick. And that made it even more exciting for me.
However, I found Walter a bit of a gnat at my picnic. I hurried forward as he commanded, drawing the curtain of her sweater aside. I dragged it down her arms, tossed it on the bed behind her, drew her bra straps down over her shoulders and began to stroke her shoulders and arms, each time nudging the straps lower. Her skin melted under my touch. I teased the exposed flesh of her breasts, ran fingers over the nipples, hard in their lace blanket. I cupped her neck and massaged it slightly, up under her hair. She caught her breath. I could tell her juice was easing out below -- I imagined her panties, lacy, bright, and perfumed, with moistened crotch.
"Go on," Walter said again. As if I'd have stopped stripping this beauty without his encouragement. As if.
I wanted her breasts bared as much as he did, or as I imagined Frank did. But I really enjoyed this feeling of power and potential, thinking of all the little things I could do to Laramie to tease and taunt and make her drip before seeing all of her.
I massaged her neck, bare shoulders, bare upper chest. I even smoothed my hands under her arms, with relish -- she let go, let her muscles slacken so I could touch her as clay. Each move pushed her pretty bra lower and released more of her breasts for me to press and push.
Then, for the revealing moment I wanted to be very close to her skin, to smell it. I pressed my lips between her breasts and took hold of the bra clasp with both hands, undid it and lifted it away so it separated from her breasts without disturbing them. So soft and fluid. With my head on her chest I could actually watch the nipples and areola morphing as the air hit them. She was beautiful to see this way. The pale blue of her veins, far beneath her skin. Her perfume. I took my hand and dusted it over her breast lightly, then formed a cup where it sank in a round sump and I let the soft pudding of it settle into my palm. And then, slow tease be damned, I sucked her nipple in and suctioned it hard against the roof of my mouth with several strong draws.
A sound like "Uhn," slipped out of her. I edged forward, my leg moving into the tight material of her lady-like business skirt, and kneed her between the legs, forcing her to fall backwards onto the bed. It was puffied up with a comforter, which folded around her; we bounced once and I was on top of her, pulling her bra free from her arms so that both her breasts swung and swayed until I seized them, one in each hand, squeezing gently, letting them fall. I lifted her arms up to watch her small mounds stretch and reshape themselves. I liked to hold her just under her clean-shaved arm pit, right in that access zone, between two screaming nerve centers of her pit and breast, just hold her.
"No. Strip her completely," Walter directed.
"Is that OK with you?" I asked her. Maybe just to piss him off because really she was into it. "Yes," she whispered, sounding like a little girl. She obviously enjoyed having Walter as her director -- maybe she was the movie star in their film. Frank and I were the props and set pieces. When I think back on it, it's funny that I didn't really need direction. Maybe Walter was thinking that being new at taking a woman, I would need direction. But I didn't. My natural drives told me just what I wanted. And I went for it.
"Here, lie up on these pillows," I said, piling two pillows one on top of the other for her head. I could already picture her naked against those pillows, pictured how wide I would make her legs go and her pussy open up. She was still lying prone, like a sex doll ready for play. She could see me and what I did to her this way.
She edged backwards, keeping her breasts to face us, and as she wiggled her ass into position, they danced. "You have beautiful breasts," I told her. "Doesn't she?" I turned to Frank. "Very beautiful," he said. But Frank was busy trying to iron out the bulge just under his fly. I kissed each of Laramie's nipples. She was feathery soft. I am full breasted, small, a little tight and muscular. But she -- tall and all bubble bath pert.
"Strip her," Walter repeated, "I want to see her naked."
So did I. Still, his voice irritated. And I wasn't sure why. Maybe it was the way he treated Frank as if he didn't belong in the room. Or maybe it was the way he thought he could be my director, without ever asking me. But then I realized that he was an opportunity to play the game a different way. New experiences. That's what Frank and I had gotten into this for. And so, I went with it. Pretended me and Laramie were lesbian porn stars, totally into each other, only half listening to our director.
I reached up under her skirt with both hands and dragged her nylons down to her knees. Then I pulled her white floral panties down to her thighs. I put my fingers on the cotton crotch. Wet. Just as I'd thought. Wet from inside her. And then I ducked down and sniffed the air in the dark cove between her legs and just over the crotch of her underwear. Between all the sweet aromas of her bathed and pampered skin, it was there, unmistakable. Cunt. The smell rose above the factory scents, saying she had heat there, pressed between her legs. And I remember thinking that even this pretty, soft-scented flower of a woman has a damp, hungry cunt. I pushed against her thighs as I worked her nylons off. I left her underwear there, however, while I reached into the dark, inside her skirt. I liked the look of her, a kind of bondage look, her legs trapped by her panties. She could not open them to air out the heat building between her legs. I reached into the warm darkness there, slid my hands up her Y, anxious to feel her wetness, her heat, to know if she shaved her mound, to know how full her vulva grew, was she soft there, inside her lips, was her bush hair fine or short or stray.
[To be continued...]
Part 4, Girl on Girl: My First Time
by Debbie Tureski
Welcome to Part 4 of "Girl on Girl."
"I liked the look of her, a kind of bondage look, her legs trapped by her panties. She could not open them to air out the heat building between her legs. I reached into the warm darkness there, slid my hands up her Y, anxious to feel her wetness, her heat, to know if she shaved her mound, to know how full her vulva grew, was she soft there, inside her lips, was her bush hair fine or short or stray.
[And now for Part 4:]
"No, no," he snapped, "Get her completely naked, first. I want to be able to see you play with her pussy."
Frank was now further away from Walter and farther back from the action.
"Can you see?" I called to Frank. After all, I thought, this was partly for him.
"Yeah," he said, all lathered, "I can see great." Frank was the type who would go along with whatever or do whatever he was told. If Laramie had said "Come eat me," he'd have had her sweet parts in his mouth in three tenths of a second. But he must also have been sensing that this performance was Walter's to direct. Didn't matter to Frank anyway. He was just happy to be in the room. I know it sounds weird, but sometimes I felt sorry that Frank was so easy to please.
I unbuttoned the skirt at Laramie's hip and drew down the zipper. I ran my hand over the skirt material where her hips, her belly, her joint were, relishing the thought that there was nothing underneath the skirt but well-pampered skin. I watched her breasts tumble lightly, her eye lids flutter, her silver jewelry cling to her moist skin.
"Play with your boobies," Walter said to her.
Come again -- Boobies? How could this breathtaking lovely be partnered up with a scraggly crow dribbling such a decrepit vocabulary?
But she did as he told her, rubbed around on her "boobies" with her fingers flat so you could see her long nails. The talon effect made her nipples seem more vulnerable. When I watched her play with her breasts, her pearl-painted fingernails twiddling the nipples into beads, her fingers bouncing the flesh so her tits would show well for him, well, they were so NOT "boobies" that the word suddenly had a strange appeal. It became part of the whole fantasy -- a sort of beauty and the beast, swan and ugly duckling fantasy. I pictured his sweaty, fuzzy body smothering her, his hot, sweaty little hands groping her cunt, her tits, her mouth. It had all the appeal of watching a pale, naked beauty mud wrestling. Even with me there, she was his remote control play pal -- I was even his play pal, though I often malfunctioned just to irritate him, he, he. It all had a debauched kind of excitement to it. It started to turn me on. I couldn't wait for his next instruction. For him to operate us like mechanical fuck toys. I didn't have to wait long, for while her tit play mesmerized me, I wasn't removing her skirt.
"Take it all the way off," he instructed.
Before I did, I reached up under her skirt, secretly, slid my thumb and forefinger like pincers between her pussy lips and pinched her cunt. She gave a little jump and her fluid breasts jiggled -- our little secret. I pushed the skirt up so that it bunched like a belt around her waist, revealing all her secrets. Oh, and she was beautiful. Her pussy hair was pale and fine as baby hair, no shaving needed. Her lips were plump and firm. I wanted to open her.
"No, take it off," her husband cawed.
I ran my hands down her soft thighs, just to feel her skin. Just then she piked her legs up so I could wiggle the skirt off her hips, but the sight of her cunt pressed between her mallow cheeks just above the ripples of her pink ass hole, held me entranced. I wanted a camera so I could freeze her perfect Kodak cunt, suspended there forever.
"Go on," he said, in a domineering voice. I kind of liked being forced to undress her, relentlessly, exposing her piece by piece until her nakedness had no quarter. I wanted to ease something inside her. Instead I worked to wriggle off the skirt. Then set her ass down and when she lowered her legs, I pushed them apart. I couldn't let them hide her cunt from view. Right at the meeting of two pussy lips, where downy curlicues of hair touched, I saw the sticky. Just a little. All this time she'd been giving it up, and now it collected there. I wanted to push my finger through, into her hole. Then I wanted to eat the sticky, and then I wanted to suck whatever else she had in her out.
"Now, Mattie, I want you to go up there next to Laramie," said Walter, "And Laramie, I want you to undress Mattie until she's naked. I want to see some girl-on-girl."
For a second I was nervous: naked in front of two strangers. It was going to be a first for me. But I was so horny at this point I had all the inhibitions of a drunk -- none. I couldn't wait to be naked with her, all over her, and rub my tits into hers, nipple to nipple. I simply didn't care who saw me -- pussy, tits, ass and all. I pulled off my sweater.
"No, let Laramie do it," our director told me.
I loved the feel of her fingers up under my sport bra as she lifted the band over my breasts. They fell out, full and tumbly.
"You have such big, beautiful breasts," she said, touching them, lightly, then pressing, then squeezing them. They tingled. I felt my clit jump. She planted a kiss on one nipple -- softly. I nearly jumped to the ceiling. I started to think how wet she was going to find my underwear, then my pussy. She held the other breast with her fingers when she kissed it. I wanted her all over me. I wanted to crush my breasts in her face and fill her mouth with them.
She went for the zipper on my pants. She unzipped me. She slid her hands along my hips, into my underwear, sliding down, catching underwear and pants to strip them down my thighs, knees, shins. I deliberately kicked up my leg as she stripped them off my feet, facing my cunt to Walter and Frank so they could have the same ass-pussy sandwich view Laramie had flashed me. I could hear them working their fat cocks. My breasts rolled, my cunt dripped as I mounted her. I cannot describe the feeling of her body underneath me, of breasts on breasts, rolling and cushioning at the same time. I thought I could squeeze myself into her forever, my face nestled in her neck under her fragrant curls.
"Mattie, I want you to eat Laramie out, now," Walter said to me in that clinical voice he'd been using all along. Maybe not so much like a director as a doctor. In a way, his commands, always interrupting the way they did, kept the burn on -- desire. It was like this perfect stranger could make my cunt run with lust on command. Besides, though I was enjoying lying on top of her, breast to breast, cunt to cunt, I also wanted to taste her inside. As I got up to fit myself between her legs, I glanced over at Frank. He stood there with his engorged penis in his hand, stroking himself. Walter was doing the same. When I realized two men were jerking off to me and another woman having sex, I was thrilled no end. I almost felt like a porn star.
And then as she squeezed my breasts, I sunk between her thighs, pushing her knees up and out to open her. I caught her delicate scent about the same time that I caught the glisten of her pussy. I spread her. I took a huge draft of her oh-so-hot spread: the pinkness, the wet, the labyrinth of folds, the retiring hole, the chevron of skin below her clitoris, pointing the way, the raw tiny clit head exposed. I had never tasted another pussy before. But that slight scent coming from her sticky had the saliva going crazy in my mouth, and I wanted so bad to find out what she tasted like.
[To be continued...]
Conclusion, Girl on Girl: My First Time
by Debbie Tureski
Welcome to Part 5, the conclusion of "Girl on Girl."
"I had never tasted another pussy before. But that slight scent coming from her sticky had the saliva going crazy in my mouth, and I wanted so bad to find out what she tasted like."
[And now for the conclusion...]
I pressed my lips into her. I discovered her hiding place with my tongue buried -- I received a warm, viscous welcome as folds of cunt wriggled around my tongue. Her folds were so soft it felt like they might melt if I sucked them hard. Her cunt overwhelmed my senses. The taste of her was sweet and bitter all at once. And my nose buried in her mound where she was moist from heat and passion, musky and lightly perfumed. My face dripped her juices. I pulled away and lapped, her sticky remained on my tongue. As I lapped the squirming nub, she uttered soft cries and moans, hips rolling and breasts lolling. But it was not about me being so good at working cunt, it was about I couldn't get enough of it. She was fragrant and smooth, soft and pale, cunt-flushed and wet. I wanted to nip her, suck at her hole until I dragged the juices out of her. I strained to look up and I could see her thrown-back head and her round breasts bouncing on her chest, the nipples stony hard and dampness glistening all around the pink crowning rings.
"That's it, now Mattie, fuck her good," I could hear the vibration in Walter's voice from the force of his hand jerking. I had been lying face down on the bed, but when I remembered him and Frank behind me, I got up on my knees and bent at the waist. I could get at her pussy better with my bum up, but it also splayed my own wet cunt so it flashed the guys behind me. Before I dove back into Laramie's wet pie, I could actually hear them slapping their meat, with vigor.
In this new position, I had complete control of her. I could pinch her nipple with one hand, sink two fingers from my other hand into her hole and come down on her clit all at once.
"Oh, my god," she moaned. I clasped the shaft of her clit between my lips while lapping at the head of her clit. Suddenly I shifted my tongue strokes to her shaft, then back to the head. I kept her guessing. Maybe even a little frantic. Because when I took the fingers I had buried into her cunt and started massaging the spongy mound of her g-spot, Laramie's soft, smooth thighs started to tremble. I flicked her nipple, then migrated to the other nipple and pinched, then rubbed softly then flicked. Her voice was trembly. I kept her guessing up there too, her breasts, her nipples not knowing what to expect from me. I felt like an octopus. She was making noises that sounded a lot like whimpering. I wished I could watch the flushed heat on her face, and her strained neck, her head rolled back and breasts shuddering, or see the freed nipple quiver, or watch her belly pump to the sound of her rapid breaths, but I couldn't. I was up to my teeth in pussy juice, up to my eyeballs in open lip flesh and fine, fragrant cunt hair, with my nose buried in the smell of her, tart now, like an essential oil distilled.
"Ohh!" It was a hard groan from behind me. Frank, I realized. "Uh, oh!" A long cum he was having. I would like to have seen his cock spit all over the floor or his cum drizzle down his hand, but I had this beautiful bitch between my hands and mouth like a three point vice. She was mine. I trapped her clitoris lengthwise with my breast hand -- the other hand was still inside her, circling her sponge, not stroking over it -- that would make her come too fast. The way I held her clit, from the roof of her pussy mouth to the base of the shaft forced her into these deep breathy moans. And the way she trembled as I held her this way made me feel vampiric. Like I was sucking her life's blood out through her clitoris. She was sounding almost bestial. This delicate blond with her baby fat breasts. Like a primitive beast. And it brought that beast out in me, too. My inner fingers pressured her inner sponge, my thumb and forefinger pressured her clit, my lapping tongue taunted the clit head. I forced her to come from the inside out, and her cunt beat like a carotid artery. She heaved these little panting squeals -- maybe so they couldn't hear her animal orgasm upstairs and down the street. She held onto one of my breasts tightly. After she came, I dove on her, sucked her breast into my mouth and opened my pussy with my hands to expose my clit and gnash it into her mound. I humped her while she played with my nipples and I sucked hers. My wet mixed with hers in the hair and on the bone between us. She was good. I wanted more of her. I squeezed tight and mashed my clitoris hard and almost exploded, my breasts bouncing on top of hers. What a feeling, that bounce, two breasts thick. But she stuck her hand down by my pubic bone and tried to lift me away. I was so close to coming I wanted to ignore her.
"Come here," she said.
And behind me I heard Walter say, "She wants to eat you."
When I pulled away, I could feel that little pent up pussy throb telling me how damned close I was. But I turned around, straddled her, back-end to, and backed up so my pussy was near her face. When I felt her hands spread me, another tingle shot through me. I didn't know I could have so much of a rush and not orgasm. My pussy felt swollen. And then her lips and her tongue, all over my cunt, I felt thoroughly invaded, no escape. So that when she rubbed with a hardened tongue at the tip of my clit, I just burst, and the waves came inside my cunt, outside along sensitive skin, coursing through my nipples. The way I was positioned and opened, I knew Laramie could see my cunt spasm. I was shivery.
I dropped down, my breasts pressing into her belly and I re-opened her softly closing pussy. Lightly, I kissed and kissed the gluey folds, inhaling deeply through my nostrils each time my nose touched her pussy so I'd remember her scent. My first time going down on a woman, and I suddenly learned that I love pussy.
She tapped me, signaled me to pull around and I did, on top of her. We embraced. She was soft. We kissed, mouth to mouth, breast on breast, cunts, thighs, touching. I wished I could have her inside me and then I remembered...
The men. When I rolled off her, I saw Frank sitting back in this arm chair across the room, his soft penis rolling nonchalantly on his lowered jeans, looking content. His skin was pink and moist. I was glad for him. Glad he'd enjoyed the show and had a good time. But then I saw, in the middle of the room, Walter still working his meat madly, not noticing us at all, but beating, beating, hard and mean, his head thrown back and his dick craned by the force of his pulling it, yet not entirely hard. And though I know it's not at all nice to say, I wanted to laugh. I swear I couldn't help myself when the expression, "choke the chicken" popped into my head. "Blaahhh... blaahh... blaahh." If a penis could talk, that's what his would be saying. Oh, yes, Walter was choking it soundly.
I managed to hold my laughter. Instead, as I lay on my side, arm propped on one elbow, I held one of Laramie's breasts from the bottom, and it felt like a fresh-baked biscuit, and I smiled at Frank.
He smiled back and blew me a kiss.
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