Dallas Mayo - For women only

Her tongue was softer than mine – and much smaller, of course – but its expertise and greedy enthusiasm went beyond belief. It kept moving all the time, licking the inside of my mouth, darting back and forth and circling around and around and never coming to rest. The kiss was a hot one, no doubt about that, but pretty soon the liquor flavor wore off and then all I could think of was the sweetness of it. Lipstick against lipstick. Perfume blending with perfume. The taste of woman mixed with woman. There was something ripe and rich and fruity about it, a succulent dessert with the magnitude of a main dish. I could have feasted there for hours.

Julia had other ideas, though. She broke the contact abruptly and stood there towering above me, her face aglow with triumph, almost a kind of exaltation. "Uh-huh. Whose little girl are you? No, my dear, you'd better start revising your priorities. For someone like you, men are only a habit left over from adolescence. You were designed for more exotic pleasures."

There was no sympathy now, merely a blunt statement of fact, too tough for any rebuttal. I remained mute, overwhelmed by her majestic presence, breathless, still sexually aroused, still tasting the sweet residue of that soul-shattering kiss. And famished for more, naturally, parched for another sip of its succulence. Had she offered it, I would have sucked and swallowed the saliva-honey from her mouth. I felt myself floundering now, torn loose from the bedrock of my past, bewildered by my own erratic behavior, my emotionally unstable reactions. How could she have wrought such a change in me – this unpredictable woman – how did it happen, how did my world crumble so quickly?

I had no answers, only questions, unspoken questions. And even those were set aside as she touched me, patting my flushed cheeks with her hand. A condescending caress, first one side, then the other – her expression impassive now, with just a hint of amused arrogance lurking beneath the surface. Or was it cruelty? From my lowly viewpoint, even her character traits were unpredictable. I received only vague impressions, no diagrams, no details, nothing clear and concise. There was the aura to contend with, misty as a black lace nightgown, an aura of sensuality. Of sex and lust and wickedness. And it billowed out to encompass me like some big sweet-scented cloud. Not a fleecy white cloud, a dark and mysterious one, rife with innuendo…

"Hmm. So soft. Such a sexpot. Maybe I ought to make you my little girl. Do you think that's possible?"

"I-I…"

"Hush. You've already told me. Like this. See? Wait now, I'll do it again. Oh, you are sensitive."

She had me shaking, that was how sensitive I had become. All with just a fleeting touch of her hand. Well, not so fleeting. Both hands now, one gliding down to where I needed it most. While the other continued to hover over my already blossoming nipples. And then it was the thing in my belly that was blossoming, incited by the magic wand of her fingertip. Anyway, it felt like that, just the tip of one finger, although I couldn't tell for sure. Her eyes held mine. Peripherally, I could see her lips, the lipsticked lips, a lovely red counterpoint to the green of her engulfing gaze. Inches apart, we seemed to be kissing again. Only now all my sensitivities were rushing downward, converging on that fantastic finger.

Fantabulous! And it wasn't even inside me yet. Just tracing up and down the outer furrow of my cunt. The vulva. I had the feeling of being painted with lipstick down there. My craving was for something deeper, though, and I indicated it with a quivery little lurch of my middle. A tilt of pelvis, spasmodic. I must have been wiggling my legs apart, too, because all of a sudden there was a wetness, a definite slippery wetness, even though her finger hadn't seemed to move much in that direction. It was in me, sure enough, narrowing the arc of its motion to fit into my now well-irrigated furrow. Not nearly to the depth I craved, alas…

"Do that. Yes. Make it suck, darling."

"Ssuck? Hmm? Julia?"

"Your cunt. Make it suck ray finger. Invite me in."

"Oh. I-I don't know… wait… uh…"

"That's it. Good girl! Isn't that a lovely way to fingerfuck? Ah! You darling. Nnngg. Isn't this nice? You deserve a reward for learning it so quickly."

Unpredictable. Just when I was getting the hang of it, too, clenching and unclenching some unidentified muscles down there, muscles I wasn't even aware of. But the reward came with a delicious jolt, an abrupt thrust of her finger – hand? – that sapped the strength out of every muscle, inside and all around, including the ones in my already shaky thighs. The weakness reached my knees, turning me perilously limp, and I swayed and clutched at her but still couldn't function, clinging there like a parasite. She too lost her balance momentarily, and we collapsed together.

The rug abraded my bare back, a fresh stimulus. Her invading hand went quiescent again, a gentle fuck once more, the work mostly mine. But she was still rewarding me – and herself now, no doubt – as a man might, a breast-oriented male. (A common species among the opposite sex, so hung-up on tits!) Only there was no comparison, of course, and it seemed quite logical that someone with breasts of her own would best know how to treat breasts. The soft nipple-suction, so maddeningly soft that an accidental touch of her teeth soon became a welcome relief. Only a woman would understand. How often had I soaped my own budding nipples in the bath – a girlhood habit we never outgrow, I'm sure! – lathering them so softly that even the flick of a sharp fingernail had a certain abrasive charm. Only it was sharp teeth instead now, the painful accidents occurring more and more frequently, a kind of subtle erotic violence, until she had me squirming in scary protest. I was sandwiched between two abrasions then, still conscious of the bristly carpet below. Bristly but not unbearable. Like the bite of those teeth, excruciating but masked in fluid ecstasy, still only a tiny nucleus in the great sexy wet molecule of her mouth. Some molecule! Mollusk was more like it, nurturing each nipple, each pearl, like a guardian oyster…

"I'm very fond of your dewy young bosom, my dear."

"Thank you, ma'am. My pleasure."

So courtly! Such elegance of phrase! And so deliciously phony, what with the kiss turning fiercely covetous, losing all sense of restraint. Her lips smacked at my tits greedily, overdoing it, making loud slobbering noises. But the sound was strangely infectious, vibrant, penetrating the length of my body to buzz around my clitoris – and I could only hold her close and stroke her head rapturously, the long golden locks atumble on my flesh. Every now and then I brushed aside a few stray strands that threatened to interfere with her sucking. I had to touch her mouth once, right at the point of contact, discovering a bizarre new excitement as my finger slid into the wet vacuum to wedge itself between wet tongue and wet nipple.

Even before her head moved away, I knew exactly where she was going. Or maybe I moaned first and that gave her the idea. A moan full of meaning, it must have been, a desperation signal to stir her to pity. Or at least strike some responsive chord. And it succeeded, apparently, because she made only a pretense at planting butterfly kisses on the way down, pausing once at the dip of my navel and then again upon the rolling crown of my abdomen. Belly button to belly. Charting the depth and rise, the lay of the land, as though to prepare and acclimatize herself well in advance, as thorough as an old pith-helmet-type explorer on an equatorial quest. Uh-huh. How torrid was my zone! Erogenous zone, that is. Although by that time my whole body was beginning to feel like one huge erogenous zone, glad of any attention whatsoever.