Dallas Mayo - For women only

"Darling? Still feeling sexy? I've got such an itch down there in my ass. It's been itchy since we talked on the telephone yesterday. Itchy for that hot tongue of yours…"

Suddenly fingers of flame scorched my insides. I peered up at her lovely face and felt myself drowning in those all-knowing green eyes. She looked so calm, so serene, but I knew her too well now, I knew what lay beneath the surface. As a lesbian slave-girl knows her lesbian mistress! The fire spread and my body was overwhelmed by a hot chill. I was already moving to serve her, licking my lips with my hot tongue, my hot lesbian tongue…

"But we've got all night for that, haven't we? Kiss my feet some more first. Oooh, isn't this exciting?"

Hours later, she sat up to click off the bedside lamp and then sank back exhausted. I drowsed off between her thighs, my mouth still pressed against the furry softness of her cunt, inhaling its comfortably familiar scent and slipping into oblivion in the loose embrace of those long legs. Sometime during the night I became aware of a pleasant but intrusively ticklish sensation, awakening in the darkness with tendrils of hair brushing my eyelids. The smell was stronger now, a bit sweaty and terribly sexy – even more alluring, somehow – and I couldn't stifle the sudden compulsion that swept through me. Not that I tried very hard; after all, my mouth was already there and it seemed no more than natural to nuzzle right in and part the hairy tangle with my tongue, cleaving her cunt-lips with a sleepy soul-kiss. Nor did she become fully conscious or even tacitly cognizant of my insidious courtship, apparently, not even when I shed all restraint and feasted on her flesh gluttonously, nourishing my dim hopes for one last lovely climax before dawn.

Borne by the night breeze, the rhythmic sound of rolling ocean waves came through the screened window. I sniffed the salt air happily and reveled in my good fortune. Or luxuriated, more accurately, considering the grandeur of the place, this beach-house that was more like a mansion. Talk about luxury! The off-season upkeep alone probably cost an astronomical pretty-penny.

Anyway, we were here at last – and among the early arrivals, I was glad to note, giving us a chance to get settled before the sapphic revels began. And in a way, I hoped, allowing me a short respite, a moment of introspection to organize my jumbled mind. I was still kind of breathless about Consolidated and my swift change in status. And even more breathless – awed, really – over the demonstration of raw power that had accomplished it. I had to believe her now: Julia Beresford was somebody in the company. I could love her in our lesbian bed and adore her in our mistress-and-slave orgies and respect her as my boss in business, but now there was a new word in the fine print of our unwritten contract. Or a newly revived word, rather. Fear. And it spilled over into everything else, of course, which was why my often irresponsible young mind had lost its carefree cool. All of a sudden I was a lesbian slave for real, a slave-girl in a house full of wealthy and no doubt willful lesbians. With fear to keep me in line!

Okay. I had faced that fact. Only why should I feel so excited about it? Sexually excited. The danger, the dire prospect of a week in this unknown and unpredictable situation, why should it be such a thrill? I had the sensation of teetering on the brink of a great chasm, off balance, weightless, suspended, needing only a nudge to send me hurtling into the dark depths below…

The bathroom noises snapped me back to reality. Julia was in there redoing her hair and makeup, getting ready to join our hostess and her welcoming committee downstairs. I just hoped she wasn't in too big a hurry. All that thinking about my sexually excited state of mind had generated a certain sexual excitement of a more immediate nature. A tongue like mine needed plenty of practice; how else would it ever become perfect?

"Rory? You're not dressed."

"I'm nekkid as a jaybird."

"Rascal. Licking your lips like that. For shame. Are you trying to tempt me?"

"Sure. How'm I doing?"

"Well…"

"Must be the salt in the air, kind of an aphrodisiac. Makes my tongue hang out. Precocious tongue. See?"

"Wicked, wicked. Oh, wicked!"

"That's because I've got no place to hide it. Like a nice big beautiful ass maybe, hmm? Mistress? Won't you take pity on your poor little underprivileged slave-girl?"

"Hot for my asshole again, eh? Hmm. I thought we'd save that for later. Bedtime. Our first night here. Tell you what, though, as long as you're so anxious…" Grinning, she reached under her tight skirt and foraged momentarily, getting a firm grip and stripping her panties off in a single swipe. Then, slowly, almost seductively now, she worked the reluctant hem up past the flare of her hips with a squirming motion, sidling over to set one foot on the rung of a chair. "There. Care for some cunt, baby?"

Baby cared. I was already sniffing the scent and sinking to my knees to pursue its trail to the source, pausing only for an appreciative peek at the vision of rosy red cunt-lips filtering through that lacy profusion of hair. Just a peek, though, and then the musky-moist flesh was soft against my face, a gentle softness, an aptly textured conclusion to the increasingly dense wake of her perfume. Even the raised leg and the uneven spread of her thighs seemed curiously compatible with the unique serenity of the moment, an unfamiliar posture to match the unfamiliar surroundings, all part of our first embrace in this ocean paradise.

Then, from somewhere within the house, a distant noise picked up volume and shattered the peace like the war-whoop of a tribe of savages. Indeed it sounded very much like that, a raiding party on horseback, only the voices became clearer now as the pounding footsteps left the stairs and approached through the hall. One voice in particular – our hostess, more than likely – clear enough to crystallize the blood in my veins:

"Julia! Where the hell are you? Carload of old friends just got in, all dying to say hello."

I knew what was going to happen. It took only a hint of pressure to quell any notion of revolt and reduce me to the lowest of lowly slaves. Crouched there, I sucked the cunt of my Goddess as she raised her voice to tell her friends to come in, the door was open, and then a moment later as the multitude trooped in behind my back, "Relax, everybody, we're almost finished here, just take it easy and give the little cuntlapper a chance, will you?"

An earthquake would have helped. Or even a hole in the floor for me to fall through. But I had to create my own miracle, steeling myself to bear up under the ordeal – this too shall pass! – and ignore the presence of my snickering audience. Only that was impossible, of course, and I found myself playing to them instead, turning their smug snickers to a paean of whispered approval as I groveled at the feet of my lesbian mistress and fucked her with my tongue, sucking and fucking her cunt to a peak of orgasm that astonished our lesbian audience and would have made her proud of her lesbian slave-girl, except that we were both off in that private world of ours by then, the world of indescribably exotic pleasures, and if that wasn't a pure-cream lesbian miracle, well…

Would she be wearing boots? Would I be expected to lick them? Oh, why did it have to be Adelaide? But that was obvious, of course, almost a foregone conclusion – making it with the hostess was like getting my feet wet. Anyway, orders were orders, and I had to obey without question. About time I got ready, too, my fresh young body was supposed to be naked for the skinny old bitch. I hated to move, though, still feeling kind of steamed up, the residue of that last embrace with my mistress. But the panties and bra had to go; naked meant naked…