Dallas Mayo - For women only

Anyway, the time had come. Moaning aloud to vent my crescendo of inner tension, I simply surrendered and sank low right there – between her legs and beneath the rucked-up skirt – and at last muted the dregs of my moan in the hot fleshy mound that appeared to split down the middle and yield coquettishly to my slightest pressure. It opened wider and wider to welcome me, giving my zealously primed tongue plenty of room to practice. Only the practice failed to achieve its hoped-for perfection there, fitting me with a sense of loss instead, a vague feeling of frustration that refused to go unheeded.

I had to slow down and figure that one out. The fault lay at least partly in our position, still reversed but more nearly parallel now, the so-called "head over heels in love" embrace. Loving and being loved, supposedly. Only the thrill seemed comparatively weak, not quite up to expectations – not even by less exacting standards – despite the extreme intimacy of our entanglement. And I realized then, after an interim of introspection, that this final classic coupling of body with female body had certain limitations. No wonder she had swung only halfway around before this, twisting herself into an ungainly angle for those earlier kisses. Uh-huh. Method in her madness! Small as it was, her tongue had managed to reach my clitoris quite nicely then, approaching it from below, the more sensitive underside. But now, stuck here in this obviously limited parallel posture, not even the most agile and amply proportioned of tongues – mine included! – could duplicate that feat. Not from the underside. So we were both at a distinct disadvantage, capriciously thwarted by the apparent dictates of custom; after all, this was the classic lesbian position, wasn't it?

Worst yet, my reason for getting involved was still at stake, even more so than ever now, an opportunity already down the drain. Down that great big dark hole, all vagina and no clit. Too big, too damned big! Bigger and looser than a cunt ought to be – especially upside-down like this! – even though I had no right to criticize or complain. No, it was disappointing only because I couldn't really show off my tongue. Ugh. With a little more push I could probably fit my whole head into that bottomless undersea chasm. And drown in a watery grave, no doubt, too limp to evade the dark undertow and struggle back up to the surface. Or too preoccupied maybe, still more concerned with the dashed hopes and dying possibilities for my larger-than-life pink tongue, my uniquely wrought organ of taste and speech and what-have-you…

"Honeychild? Not quitting, are you? So soon?"

The query sounded quite serious, occasioned by an unwitting and almost imperceptible lift of my head. I remained like that but couldn't unclog my throat for the requisite answer, still restricted to no more than a barely audible moan. Even my ability to think rationally was still in doubt, suspended, submerged in the aphrodisiac haze of musk arising from the quivery-hot interior of those lustful loins. I gazed down at its sultry source with mixed emotions, a breakthrough of sorts, my first long and unabashed look at her cunt. Even the prominently thicketed plumage surprised me, light brown at peak density but jauntily overlaid with a charming golden tinge at the curly ends and edges. And now I could actually see the thing, itself, the cleft, the labia, the softly furled petals, all rosy red inside and glistening with her sex dew, tiny jewels of moisture sporadically strung upon stray tendrils of hair. I was too close to view it in context, of course, but the overall color harmony did make an aesthetic impression on me. The tipped, light brown tuft picked up a certain translucence under the lamp, a quality and chromatic hue not unlike the amber of her skin, a fetching blend. And the same easy compatibility persisted throughout, as far as I could tell, the fusion of colors narrowing almost to a single uniform consistency: an antique gold aglow from within. A bit bizarre, perhaps, but no more so than the woman herself, consistently unpredictable…

"Hey there, won't you join me? Come on, Rory."

"Hmm?"

"Get plugged in. It's no good unless you complete the circuit, you know? Just like before. Only better."

"Oh…"

"Unless maybe you really are quitting. Copping out, huh?"

"N-no… never…" I pouted, mumbling my protest slowly but with demure emphasis. Speech was less difficult now, a cover for my injured pride. Then, on the crest of a sudden giggle, "That circuit. If we complete it, isn't a bell supposed to ring or something?"

"Sure. Pavlov's dogs come in and ring it. In case of a cop-out, though, they just bark good and loud."

"Okay, okay. I can take a hint."

A chuckle sounded from between my thighs, and that pointy little tongue of hers resumed its joyous torment. She had it down to a science, I realized, angling her head slightly even in this restricted position. Couldn't I do the same? Regardless, my moment of procrastination had run its course. I had to do something…

And then, inspired by her droll rejoinder, I decided on a new approach. Instant conditioning. Pavlov would have been proud! No more stewing over my sad tongue, no more foolish frustrations about showing it off. No more intellectualizing. Back to basics, back to the simple stuff. Cunt. Even those dumb dogs would have understood that. Cunt, cunt, cunty-cunt. Cunt-conscious, cunt-oriented, cunt-conditioned! Just like that. Hmm. Cunt-crazy? Somewhat premature, perhaps, but it did cast a promising shadow. Crazy over cunt! No persuasion necessary. Instant conditioning. Ah yes, just the thing for a well-bred bitch in heat. A naked little bitch in droopy nylons. Cunt-conditioned now, hot for another bitch! A big one, a nice big sexy bitch with an impatient cunt and conveniently torn panties. And wouldn't they have themselves a ball, those two lucky bitches?

I dove right in and started my suck-kiss. Her great wet maw of a crotch opened in greeting, all warm and moist and slippery, huge enough to swallow half my head. And why not let it? I sank my face in deeper, tentatively at first and then with an almost grudging recognition of its unexpected pleasures. The ripe flavor, for instance, the richly appetizing taste of mature woman-flesh – mmm, yummy! – wasn't it just this sort of thing that could get to be a habit? If so, I was already beyond reclamation, adrift in the slithery softness, lost in the exquisitely intoxicating texture and fragrance. And now I was delving for more depth, using my hands underneath her coyly yielding buttocks to cup and lift and seal the contact. Scrumptious! And oh, the mystery of it, the dark vortex luring me liquidly onward, ever deeper into the tart-sweet slime of our shared depravity. We were doing it together for the first time, really, fulfilling a mutual desire – to possess and be possessed. Together, together! And the sheer physical thrill swelled to wondrous proportions, leaving no room inside me for anything else, not even a random thought. No fallout from this life-exploding bomb, no toxic residue sifting down upon my shoulders like a burden of guilt. Nothing at all. Except perhaps for a fleeting split-second notion, a flash of insight to illuminate the canyons of my conscience with the almost blinding revelation that "lesbian" is not a dirty word…

"Oooh! That turns me on. Do it some more, darling."

"Ummm?"

"Hard, much harder. You know. Fuck me!"

"Mmm. Hmmm? Nnnng?"

"Oh yes, that's it, that's just grand! Isn't it freaky? Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me with your face, your pretty face!"

I clutched at her legs, the backs of her thighs, feeling the urgency in them, in the rock-and-thrust of her pelvis, the writhing contortions of her entire body. Urgency indeed – a need to be served and an imperative demand for that service – all focused upon her cunt, the hot wellspring of her passion, a veritable font of lubricity. And I was more than willing to serve it, naturally, even if that made me some kind of slave girl. Cunt-slave? Whatever. Slave to my big bossy lesbian lover…