Message-ID: <35903asstr$1017292202@assm.asstr-mirror.org> Return-Path: <cornell525@hotmail.com> From: "Sam Cornell" <cornell525@hotmail.com> Mime-Version: 1.0 X-Original-Message-ID: <F27Jse1fTvOSQeSOzNC00011912@hotmail.com> X-OriginalArrivalTime: 27 Mar 2002 19:54:55.0550 (UTC) FILETIME=[4461FDE0:01C1D5C9] X-ASSTR-Original-Date: Wed, 27 Mar 2002 19:54:55 +0000 Subject: {ASSM} The Streets Of London (FF, anal) by Sam Cornell Date: Thu, 28 Mar 2002 00:10:02 -0500 Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org> Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Archived-At: <URL:http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/Year2002/35903> X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> X-Story-Submission: <ckought69@hotmail.com> X-Moderator-ID: hecate, gill-bates The Streets Of London by Sam Cornell {Author's note. This story contains scenes of what I would describe as primitive ass worship. There is also anal sex. While I don't particularly like to spell out what's going to happen, (half the fun should be not knowing), it's a bit of a departure from my more recent writing and I wouldn't want anyone to get an unpleasant shock. There's a pretty clear indication fairly early on, so if you think you won't like what's in store, farewell and please look in on my writing again soon, I'm not always this obsessive. I hope. I love to get feedback. I always reply to e-mails. Whatever you have to say, tell me. If you want to remain anonymous, use hotmail. Of course it's fun to write something like this, but the real buzz is hearing from you, the reader. And if you've mailed me before, don't let that be an excuse. I liked your comments before, I'll like them again. Lecture over}. London, this great world city, former imperial capital, and the quickest way to get around in 2002 is on a bike. I kid you not. Car? Forget it, the place is so jammed up you'll find yourself staring at the same license plate for hours on end. And they don't even have bumper stickers to relieve the boredom. Public transport? Don't make me laugh. Most of the infrastructure was built in the nineteenth century, and with classic Brit conservatism they've pretty much kept it that way. They've even brought in a Yank to run London's transport, but I guess because the Brits have this deep-seated masochistic streak they aren't letting him get on with the job. These guys really like to suffer. Not me. Not in a hyper-crowded super-delayed subway train, anyway. Sorry, a lecture on the malaise of modern cities and/or the British psyche may not be your classic beginning to an erotic tale, but I had to begin somewhere. Which is on a bike. After running late for a number of meetings, (and you don't get away with that for long in the current employment environment) I was persuaded by a colleague to give cycling to work a go. I live in Docklands, the area east of the financial district. It's where the trade of empire used to land, and as the Brits don't have an empire any more over the last twenty years or so it has been half-converted to yuppie slicker paradise. The other half is still run-down social housing, but we have security and night-porters. Sorry, I'm getting into the urban planning thing again. So it's only a couple of miles to work, which on a bike shouldn't take more than fifteen minutes or so. And that is way quicker than any other method you could choose, probably even your own private helicopter. What the hell, I thought, give it a try, so I went to a bike shop and splashed out on a mountain bike, twenty gears and all. Yeah I know, a mountain bike, there aren't so many mountains in London, but I can be a slave to fashion sometimes. I also got myself all the gear, including some nice pairs of Lycra cycling pants. I should maybe put in a personal opinion about cycling fashion. Men -all that skintight fluorescent stuff, I'm sorry they just look gay. Women, on the other hand - well, from the moment I looked at the curves of my ass sculpted in the stretched black material, I thought "honey your best asset just found a new display case". And so I found it on the streets. The main thing you notice about a guy on a bike is his legs - if he takes the activity seriously his thighs will have developed to Olympic standard. Yeuk. With a girl, the only thing to look at is the way the saddle supports and separates the flesh of her ass cheeks. How convenient for my nasty little obsession. Of course you see plenty of less than perfect examples, but usually on my short ride into work there were enough peaches on display for my pulse to quicken and the first meeting of the day to be a confusion of number-crunching and images of lycra being tugged down to reveal the cream of a young cyclist's butt. Then, at the traffic lights near the end of The Highway, all my previous visions were blown away. She was stopped just in front of me, to my right. I had all the time of the red light to enjoy the view. It's difficult to put into words what makes a body, or part of it, "perfect", however hard we might want to in stories for this newsgroup. But I'll try. I think the ancillary details helped. As she balanced her stationary bike, I could follow her long legs up from the tips of her sneakers, past the gentle swell of her calves, the bend of her knees, and the slight thickening of her thighs, a long slow introduction and invitation to the main course. Also, she had long straw blonde hair, drawn back in a ponytail, reaching about a third of the way down her back. I had a quick, nasty image of her kneeling naked on all fours, her hair being tugged back as something fat and hard was shoved into her asshole. Then, of course, there was her ass itself. Her body was lent slightly forward, say fifteen degrees off vertical, to hold the handlebars of her bike, meaning that her butt was to some extent being "presented" to me. But what possibly helped to catch my attention was the fact she was sitting slightly further back on the saddle than was normal, allowing me to appreciate the fullness of her curves. So I could see the fact that the hard plastic of the saddle was pulling her cheeks apart. I actually trembled as I thought how much I wanted to do the same thing. I followed her. (Well the ISU meeting could wait). She was a medium speed cyclist, so I could keep up easily, enjoying the fact she crouched forward more to get her speed up. Talking angles again, her back was arched about thirty degrees from horizontal, an almost perfect posture if we were naked in bed for me to explore her behind. I also watched those legs pistoning the pedals of her bike, and I could see she was fit, but not athletic. Fortunately for my career she finished her journey at an anonymous office block just off Lower Thames Street. I had a look at the companies listed - mainly accountants. Quite frankly I didn't care what she did, she could have designed test tubes for a living and I would still have given anything to snack between her cheeks. It was a short ride on to my office. Of course I shower and change before I go to my desk, and in the past this had presented an opportunity for masturbation, an opportunity I had always previously declined because an orgasm usually leaves me weak and fuzzy for an hour or so. Weak and fuzzy is not how I like to be at work. There was no question of abstinence this time. As I stripped off my bra my nipples were hard and proud as pencils. I slipped into the cubicle and turned the full power of the hot water onto my body. Would you like to know how I masturbate? I guess like a lot of women I have something of a routine. My left hand rubs my breasts, tugging my nipples between my fingers. Of course this is smoother when you're soapy. My right hand rubs my belly and my ass, my middle finger sliding up and down my ass crack but not actually delving into it. A good wank is a good tease. Then I move my right hand round to my front, slipping my ring and middle finger either side of my button in a slow, slick, up-and-down motion. Sometimes, if I'm feeling nasty, I'll drop my left hand to my ass, and rub along my crack before sticking my middle finger into my butthole. That invasion is usually enough to bring me off. As I stood there in the work shower that morning I knew there wouldn't be time for clever games, so I slid my right hand directly to my cunt, my legs slightly parted. My mind was full of the girl at the red light. Even the true image would probably have been enough to illustrate my wank, but my imagination added one further detail. I crouched down behind the girl, and tugged her cycling pants down over the flesh of her cheeks. She responded by moving further back for me, more of her ass suspended over the back of her saddle. I reached up and pressed down on the small of her back, pushing her ass towards me and opening it up, revealing her dark little hole winking at me. Okay, here's my real perversion. I wanted her as she would have been, truly, honestly, on that bike. Not a sanitized version. You don't shower before you cycle, so the last time she cleaned down there was probably nearly twenty four hours ago, or maybe twelve if she liked to freshen up after work. Whatever, long enough. And that was what excited me, exploring the true, the real, dirty smelly ass of that beautiful young woman. As my imagination lifted my nose between her cheeks my whole body spasmed with the shockwaves of my orgasm, and I howled a low bass groan. Thank fuck there was no-one else in the room. I was still shaking a couple of minutes later. I reckon I lost the firm two hundred grand that day I was in such a daze. *** Most people in London work pretty regular hours, certainly the time they start. It didn't take rocket science for me to realize that ponytail girl was likely to be at the same lights, same time. To make sure the next morning I set out fifteen minutes early and lurked down a side alley to wait for her to pass. Yes, I was stalking her, but only because I wanted to do such nice and nasty things to her ass. Sure enough, ten minutes later she came shooting past my hiding place. It wasn't easy catching up but some concentrated peddling had me in my favorite position, just a few feet behind her. Now I had the memory of yesterday's orgasm to add to the enjoyment of the view. It was a miracle I didn't crash, what with the things that were going through my mind. My problem was taking things further. Sure I could strike up a conversation at the next red light, but was that really going to get me inside those pants? Even at my most charming and persuasive I'm not convinced I'm up to seducing a (probably heterosexual) beauty by the edge of a busy London street. So when we were stopped for a particularly long change, I pulled my Mont Blanc pen out of my daypack and dropped it on the road just behind her. "Excuse me," I said. She turned around. It was the first time I'd got a clear look at her face. I'd describe her as strikingly pretty rather than beautiful, and funnily enough that was so much the better as far as I was concerned. Her skin was pale, a little freckly, but suffused with a pinkness that was down to more than just the physical exertion of cycling. She possessed something that I've come to think of as a particularly English kind of prettiness, a sort of healthy glow. She also had mint green eyes that would have melted an iceberg. Her expression was neutral. On the way to work the last thing you expect is to have a young American woman calling out to you. I pointed to the road. "I think you may have just dropped something." She looked down, and my Mont Blanc glistened in the spring sun. "I don't think so," she said, but climbed off her bike to get a closer look. Maybe those beautiful eyes were a little short-sighted. I climbed off too. We were both squatting down, only inches apart. It was my first taste of intimacy with her, and being so close made me desperate that it shouldn't be my last. "I'm sorry," I said, "I saw that on the ground and I thought I saw you drop it." She picked my pen up. "This is expensive. No it's not mine." She spun the pen around, looking for identification. "Well you may as well keep it," I suggested. That was three hundred dollars down the drain and she didn't even know it. "Oh I couldn't," she said, still eying the pen. "Anyway, you found it." "I've already got one," I said. Well I would have when I went to the shop over lunch. "Go on, keep it. It goes well with your eyes." Yeah, I know, crass and stupid, but she smiled anyway. That's why I like the Brits, they don't take anything for granted, even the beauties. "I'd probably hand it in to the police," she said. "It could have sentimental value for someone." Now I'd already achieved something more than I might have expected - I was having a conversation with my idol - but it was increasingly obvious I was out of my depth. Just how do you make that move at eight o'clock in the morning? "It's up to you," I said lamely, sacrificing my pen to a dusty existence in some police lost property locker. "I'll drop it off at lunchtime," she said, and swung her leg over her bike, offering me at closer range than before a demonstration of the litheness of her body. "Thanks for pointing it out, anyway." You're welcome. And she was off. I was crushed. *** I tried moving to a different time, a different route, but it was no use. Every cyclist I saw reminded me of her, and everyone seemed pale in comparison. The trouble is, when I want something, I have to have it. That's great if it leads to ambition. I wanted to be a successful banker because I wanted to earn enough money and possess enough influence to get what I wanted. And I have the luxury apartment, the sports car, the clothes, and any other trapping you could care to mention. And I've fucked plenty of men and women most people would crawl on hands and knees to even get a sniff off. I've even had the kind of fucking I've wanted, most of the time. This was different. I'd been knocked back in the past, sure, but it hadn't mattered before because I'd never wanted it like this. There was something about the nature of the ponytail girl, the way she stood, even, now, the sound of her voice and the way she'd smiled, that meant it was the most important thing in the world for me to at least get some piece of her. Which led me on to Plan B. *** After a little bit more stalking, I found her route home. Next evening I slotted in a safe distance behind her, and followed her as she headed east. All I needed now was a red light, a beat-up car, and a bit of space. On Limehouse Road my chance came. I eased up slightly behind her and to her right. She would have been aware of my presence, without seeing directly who I was. Just behind me and to my right was a nasty looking Rabbit (they call them Golfs here, don't ask me why) driven by a pasty faced student type who wasn't likely to give me any trouble. If you're confused by the layout, just remember they drive the wrong side of the road. As soon as the lights went amber I could hear the car rev its engine, and I threw myself as hard as I could at the girl, both of us clattering to the ground. I'm not heavy, but as I was falling I did what I could to buckle the rear wheel of her bike. We ended up, inevitably, a tangle of bodies and bikes. Actually touching her would have been delicious if I didn't still have so much to do. I was pleased to see the Rabbit/Golf heading into the distance. "Fucking asshole!" I shouted after him, still enjoying the sensation of my leg pressed against hers. "You fucking asshole!" I turned to the girl. "Shit, are you okay?" I tried to get up, but we were still locked together in ways I couldn't understand. Fortunately Brit drivers are no better than their American cousins at stopping to help someone in trouble, even when they're a couple of hot young things. "I think so," she said slowly. Mm, that clear English accent. I decided to stop the shouting - screaming harridans aren't the most attractive category of women. "I'm real sorry," I said, "he went right into me. They just don't give a shit about cyclists." I began to extract myself from her bike and her body. Looking down I was delighted to see a definite buckle to her back wheel. Once I was free I stood up, and after resting my bike on the sidewalk, reached out to help her up. She took my hand, and that simple piece of contact sent a buzz of excitement though me. Then she was up beside me, and we were both looking down at her bike. "I'm really sorry," I repeated. "He got me, but I don't think I reacted very well. That must have hurt." She was rubbing herself, and the sight of her fingers (no wedding or engagement ring, I noticed - good) stroking her body knocked my pulse rate up another notch or two. "It's not your fault," she said. So I'd got away with it. We both looked down at her bike. "It's fucked," she said simply. Until you've heard a beautiful English woman say the word "fuck", you haven't heard it said properly. There is something deliciously inappropriate about such a hard-sounding Anglo-Saxon word coming from well-bred lips. It's an experience only beaten by the same woman saying "cunt". "Listen," I said, "I still feel kinda responsible. I only live a couple of blocks away. I'm sure we can fit your bike in the back of my TT." "I don't mind getting a bus," she said, but the implication that a lift was fine thrilled me. "It's not a problem," I said, and picked my bike up. *** "I kept the pen," she said as we walked the short distance to my apartment block. So she did remember me. "I guess this is my karma - you know, keep something I shouldn't and then you come crashing into me." "Hey if the pen was so special to someone they wouldn't have dropped it like that," I said with spurious logic. "Look at it as compensation for your bike. It's a Cannondale, right?" I asked. I'd done a bit of research, both to buy my own bike and to ingratiate myself with her. She nodded disconsolately, the damaged article bumping unevenly beside her. I whistled. "Shit I'm really sorry I didn't fall better." "It's not your fault," she repeated. We were at my apartment block. Time for another decisive moment. "Look, why don't you come in and have a drink?" I asked, hoping I didn't sound as pleading as I felt. "You could clean yourself up a bit, and I owe you that at least." I guess she weighed up the odds, and it was lucky for me she didn't have anything planned for the evening. "Sure, why not?" *** My apartment is designed for seduction. A penthouse looking over the Thames, it's seen more than it's fair share of vulnerable young people surrendering their bodies to me. This time felt different, and not just because I had established so little control. This time it mattered. I went to the fridge while she went to clean up her grazes. "This is going to sound kinda corny," I said, "but I've only got champagne. Will that do?" She laughed. Shit, a hot body, stunning eyes, a nice smile and now a great laugh - when was I going to find something about this girl that wasn't perfect? It made it seem all the more important that I could feast myself on her butt when it was in its' "natural" state. Although, the way she was shaping up, I'd draw down her knickers and find she smelt of roses. I handed her a glass of champagne and we walked out onto the balcony. The Thames immediately to the east of the City isn't the most glamorous of rivers - there are too many industrial remnants and poorly designed buildings for that. (Sorry, back on to urban planning again). But it's an impressive sight nonetheless, and as the reflections of the early evening sun glanced off the waves I knew it was having the desired effect. "This is quite a place..." She realized she didn't know my name. "Samantha," I said. "Penny." She reached out her hand, and although it was the second time we had touched it seemed more significant than the first. I went back to the kitchen to refill our glasses, and as I returned Penny was leaning over the balcony, enjoying the view. I stopped and enjoyed the view too. She looked a little out of place in her Lycra, but every curve of her body was heartstopping. Even almost upright the material snugged the contours of her ass, dipping slightly into the secret valley between her buttocks. I was so near, and yet it still seemed so far. As I walked towards her with the refilled glasses in her hand, she slipped her hand inside the rear waistband of her lycras, and then pulled the top down three or four inches. I nearly dropped the glasses. "I really banged my bum," she said, without even looking around. "I've probably got a horrible bruise." I rushed up to her, spilling champagne as I went. This woman needed help, and quick. I squatted down behind her. She was still holding the material down, and an area at the top of her left cheek, about the size of her hand, was visible to me. I was inches away. Her skin was creamy, and I examined the offered area closely. Still perfect. "I think you're okay," I said, sure my voice was trembling. I reached up gingerly with my hand. Could I really try this? I touched the skin, and she jumped, but only a little. "Does that hurt?" I asked. The feel of her skin against my fingertips made it difficult to speak. "Mm a little," she said. I gingerly moved my fingers over the exposed flesh. "How about here?" I asked. "I'm very sore," she said, rubbing her right cheek through the material. "It'd be a pity to bruise such a fine little butt," I risked. Hey, Americans have no sense of shame, she knew that. Sure enough, I was answered by a slightly embarrassed giggle. I decided to take it a bit further. "Why don't I get some ice, just to make sure?" She nodded. I was back with an ice bag before she had time to change her mind. She was letting me nurse her, so I gently reached for the waistband of her lycras, tugging them down an inch or so, revealing the top of her knickers. I pressed the ice against the small of her back, too high up I knew, but I wanted some encouragement from her. She jumped at the contact. "Round here?" I asked, knowing the answer. "A little lower," she replied. There was a definite tension in her voice. Did she want it, as I did? Did she want to show me her bum? I hooked the tops of my fingers underneath the elastic of her knickers and pulled everything down a couple of inches further. The top of her crack peeked at me, a black shadow as the uplands of her ass began. I was choking with desire. "I'll be fine," she said suddenly, and pulled the lycras and knickers back to their normal position with one definite move. I had been so close. "Please..." I started. "Honestly, I'm fine," she said, a real nervous edge to her voice. "You've been..." she paused for the right words, "...more than kind." I couldn't give up. "I really think you ought to put something on it," I said. "I got some great cream from Selfridges." Good old Mr. Selfridge, another American who had performed sterling services for Londoners. But I knew I sounded desperate. "Really, Samantha, thank you, but I ought to be off. The champagne and everything, it's been lovely, but I can't take up any more of your time." I gave it one last throw of the dice. "Sometimes a massage can really help." Pathetic. "It's nothing, really. I shouldn't have made such a fuss." "I can give you that lift, surely?" "No, thank you. You've done enough." Yes, I'd done enough. *** I was crushed. Truly. To get so near to something that I would have sacrificed almost anything for, and to end up with nothing, it was almost unbearable. I say nothing, but the small morsel I had been given provided hours of aching recollection for me. I have seen and done things that you might find hard believe, but that few square inches of bare flesh and the sight of the top of her crack were the most erotic memories I had ever possessed. I was, at times, literally consumed by the thought of Penny's "bum". At one point, towards the end of a meeting, I realized my knickers were sodden through as I relived yet again the magic moment as I hooked my fingers inside her waistband. In the evenings, at home, it was even worse. I would look out onto the balcony, remember precisely the way she looked, and relive the moment when so unselfconsciously she exposed herself to me. And I was tortured by doubts. If I'd played it differently, maybe slower, more subtly, could we have gone further? Even a few more inches would have seemed a triumph now I'd been left with so little. I would imagine Penny pulling down her lycras to her thighs, showing me the full glory of her bum. Even the use of that word, and my memory of her saying "I really banged my bum" provided the soundtrack for many glorious but ultimately unfulfilling orgasms. Sometimes the words would change - "rub my bum, Samantha", "look at my bum, Samantha", "kiss my bum" - but usually the memory of her innocent little phrase was enough to bring me off. I was a slave to the memory of those five minutes. I changed my journey time to avoid Penny. The humiliation of being on my knees, pleading with her to show me more, was too great. And I knew I had to get over it, the only way being to move on. The trouble was, I couldn't, and every time I thought about pulling someone else, my heart replied "it isn't Penny". Don't get me wrong, I wasn't in love. She was sweet, yes, and so far as I knew eminently loveable, but my passion wasn't so much about her personality, it was about the way she had come to represent an unattainable perfection. I knew she wasn't perfect, but somehow circumstances had combined to produce that indelible impression in my mind. It was a little like those appalling teenage crushes, that feel like love, but are actually far more complicated. *** I was tempted to give up cycling, as every pretty little bottom reminded me of Penny, and indeed the whole physical activity of riding a bike seemed inextricably linked with our brief encounter. But I was hooked on the convenience and carried on peddling to and from the City. About three weeks after "the incident", I was waiting at a red light on Cable Street, heading home. My mind was in my work - no longer were my journeys erotic adventures. I heard someone say something, but ignored it. The English do occasionally talk in public. Then they spoke again, and I realized it was my name, and it was Penny who was calling it. She was just behind me, on the (presumably repaired) Cannondale. She was smiling, although it was easy to tell that she wasn't entirely relaxed. "I knew it was you, Samantha," she said. "How are you?" It's funny how easy it is to revert to a sulky teen when matters of the heart are involved. I should have been delighted to see her, for her to be talking to me, but instead all I managed was a muffled "Fine. Thanks." The lights went green, and I moved off. Penny came up beside me. "Listen, Samantha, I'm..." She trailed off. She had some difficult things to say, made a lot more difficult by the stream of traffic whizzing past our right ears. "I'm really sorry how I behaved before." She still wasn't getting through to me, I carried on my way and without even turning around I said "It's okay." "It's not okay, I was very rude. You'd been so kind...and..." she was still finding it difficult "...and it was unforgivable for me to walk out like that." This time I turned to look at her, but I kept my expression pretty blank. "Like I said, Penny, it really doesn't matter. You shouldn't worry yourself about it." Of course everything about my tone and demeanor said it mattered a lot, but I like to use my forked tongue. Penny dropped behind for a bit, as if giving up, but then came alongside me yet again. With the weight of traffic, it wasn't the safest thing to do. "Please, Samantha, can we stop? Just for a second. I'd really appreciate it." There was little I could do in the face of such a direct request. And somewhere in my bruised emotions the realization was dawning that maybe, somehow someway, I might get another chance. Another bite at the cherry. I pulled over to the sidewalk, Penny following me. I tried to work out my best strategy. (Sam Cornell never does things without a plan). For the moment, playing hardball seemed to be working quite well, so I would carry on like that. Penny started to speak, but a large truck came past us, and I missed it all. When it was clear, she said "Listen, can we go somewhere quieter? The Prospect is just down there." Ah, the Prospect of Whitby, one of the most famous pubs in London. I'm not really into pubs, they always seem dirty and unhygienic, and although the Prospect also seemed dirty and unhygienic, that all added to the Dickensian feel to the place. Looking over the river, it really was stepping back in time. And Penny was asking me for a drink. I tried not to smile, too much. "Okay," I said. *** She insisted on buying me my gin and tonic, and then we found a quiet table in a corner by the window. For such a big river, the Thames is surprisingly empty. That was fine, I didn't want to be distracted from the task ahead. Penny chinked her glass against mine. "This is to say thank you," she said, "and sorry." It did occur to me that most people wouldn't have been so bothered about the whole incident, but then the Brits have some pretty extreme ideas about what is acceptable behavior. "Honestly, Penny," of course I wasn't being honest at all, "you shouldn't worry." "Well I do," she said. "You were very kind." It's not often I get accused of that. I smiled, despite myself. "You did leave kinda quick." I decided the time was right for a little gentle probing. "I know." She looked at her glass. Assuming she left because she thought I was coming on to her, how was she going to explain that one to me? "I don't know, was it because I complimented you on your butt?" I decided I could push it a bit - she could hardly walk out a second time. "Because you know we Americans always say far too much. And," I took a deep breath, "you do have probably the most fabulous butt I've seen in my entire life. Even the pope would recognize that." She blushed deep red, and continued looking at her glass, but with a complimented smile on her face. "I don't know if I can explain it," she said. "I just felt completely out of my depth. Maybe it was the crash, the champagne, but standing there on your balcony..." She paused. "I felt so confused." Confused was good. "Don't take this the wrong way," I said, "and please don't get up and walk out, but did you think I was coming on to you?" She glanced at me quickly, then looked down at her glass again. She was running her fingers around its rim. "I thought I might have been giving off the wrong signals," she said, after careful consideration. It wasn't the answer I'd expected. "How do you mean?" Again she paused for thought. She wasn't finding it easy. "You know, when I showed you my bum." Oh god, if I got nothing else out of this meeting I'd be left with another deliciously telling phrase. I wished I'd brought some sort of concealed tape recorder. "It's just sometimes people seem to misinterpret what I do. It's not the first time..." "I suspect - and you're going to blush again - that people are only misinterpreting you because they choose to. You're very beautiful, Penny, and there are plenty of unscrupulous people ready to take advantage when confronted by someone as..." now I was lost for words "stunning as you." I left it for her to figure whether I included myself as unscrupulous. She smiled, and didn't blush. All the time she'd been looking at her glass, but without warning she looked me directly with those green eyes. "So were you coming on to me Samantha?" It was my turn to be thrown on the defensive. "Yes," I said. "I'd admit to feeling pretty confused too, Penny." It's my experience that women are far more likely to allow themselves to be picked up if they think I'm normally straight but have been seduced by their unique attractiveness. I think there's a fear of manipulative dykes, whatever that stereotype means. "You talked about the champagne and the balcony. Well when I came back, and you were leaning away from me, and you pulled your lycras down...It was just stunning. It really was. I didn't think you meant anything by it, but it hit me like a bullet anyway. I thought `God, if only she'll keep going'. I was mesmerized, Penny, I have to admit." Our glasses were empty. "Same again?" When I returned with our refills, Penny was lost in her own thoughts. I knew it was significant that, knowing my feelings, she hadn't left. "I'm not a lesbian," she said suddenly, once again fixing me with her eyes. "No," I replied. It sounded like she had a `But...'. "I wouldn't call myself a lesbian, either, Penny. I'm not sure any label's helpful. I sleep with men. Yes, I've slept with women. If you want a label for me, you can use bisexual, but I think it's simpler than that. I go for what turns me on. That afternoon, on my balcony, you turned me on more than anything I can think of has. So I tried, feebly, ineptly, to get you." Why was she still here? It couldn't really be, could it? "Erm." I could see her hands were trembling slightly with nerves. "I did feel confused." She'd already said that. "Confused?" "Yes. When I was standing there, and you were kneeling behind me. You put your fingers inside my waistband. I nearly jumped through the roof." "Maybe my hands were cold," I said softly. "No - they felt so soft," she replied. "And as you started to pull everything down, my first reaction was `she's going to undress me!' I thought I was horrified, but then I realized I wasn't." "What were you?" Somehow we had leaned closer across the table. I guess it wasn't the kind of conversation you wanted to share. She was fidgeting very nervously, twisting her glass, staring at it. Then she looked directly at me again. It was an unnerving technique, if you could fairly describe it like that. "I wanted you to. I really, really wanted you to. And I just thought `Penny - what the fuck are you doing?' I just had to get out of there." "But now you're here," I offered quietly. She laughed, almost a little bitterly. "Yeah, now I'm here." "What do you want, Penny?" "I really don't know. I mean, I've got a lovely boyfriend, and I want to have kids, a Labrador, a nice house in the country. But, since the last time, I haven't stopped thinking. I keep going over it." "Me too." I thought about all those lonely evenings of masturbation, and now here Penny was, revealing her own torment. "It feels wrong, Samantha." "Why?" She struggled for words. "Because it just is." There wasn't any point pleading with her, I already knew that, so I had to try a different way to cross this hurdle. "Penny, for the last three weeks, my every waking moment has been filled with the thought of what happened and what nearly happened. At home, at night, I find myself endlessly replaying it. You know what I mean. And it feels good. So good, but it isn't real. At meetings I realize my mind has drifted and as I shift in my seat my panties are literally soaked through. You make me so wet, Penny. I'm wet now. Are you?" I reached for her hand, and she didn't pull hers away. "Yes." *** We left the pub, destination unknown, but walked our bikes along the riverside path. Sooner or later we would reach my apartment, and I think we both knew that. "What did you think about?" I asked. Penny seemed comfortable talking, at least. "Us." "You can do better than that, surely?" "You want me to tell you?" "Why not? It would turn us both on. Why not be turned on?" She carried on walking. After a few seconds, she said "I thought about what you were doing, about what I wanted you to do." She paused, wondering if that would be enough. "Reliving how I felt when you touched me, when you pulled my clothes down. Imagining what it would be like if you'd carried on." "What did you imagine?" Our voices are low, intimate. "I just thought about what it would have been like, for you to kneel behind me as I stood there, looking at the river, with you kneeling behind my bum." "That's what I thought about. I suppose in that sense, we were together. What did you do?" "You know." "I know. But I want to hear." "I..." Every second Penny was crossing boundaries. "I touched myself." "So did I. Tell me what you did." We were walking very slowly as the moment dragged on. "I touched my...self, until I came." "Did you think about anything else?" I was hungry for Penny's thoughts. "Sometimes." Was she purely shy, or was she also playing a game with me, drawing out my satisfaction? "What?" She turned and smiled at me. "I thought about kneeling behind you." I stopped. "This is my apartment block." *** I opened another bottle of champagne. Spring was turning into summer, and the air was warm. As I walked out of the kitchen, Penny was there on the balcony. It was if the sum of all my fantasies had materialized her there for me. Only this time she was looking in, waiting for me. I handed her a glass. She looked nervous, almost frightened. "What are we going to do?" she asked. "Whatever you want. Whatever we want. There doesn't have to be a set pattern. Although one or two obvious ideas do spring to mind." Penny turned away from me, looking out across the Thames. "My bum's still a bit sore from the crash." I knelt down. Her body was taut, stiff, a far cry from the relaxed pose I'd previously encountered here. "Let me help," I said, almost whispering. I reached up, and once again hooked my fingers under her waistband. This time I paused. "Do you want me to?" "Yes," she croaked. I pulled down and away. I wanted to leave her knickers in situ. A good fuck is a good tease. I pulled her lycras down as far as her knees. I think she was trembling. Her knickers were plain, black cotton. I was breathing very shallowly. "What now?" I asked. I think she knew it was all part of the game. She hesitated, but only for a second. "Look at me. I want you to look at me...at my bum." I slipped my fingers under her waistband, and slowly, ever so slowly, drew the material down. All the time, I avoided contact with her flesh. There would be plenty of time to touch her. It was an awesome, if simple, sight. The fleshy swell of her cheeks, dipping into the dark vertical valley of her crack. "You're beautiful, Penny," I whispered, rubbing my fingertips over the yielding flesh of her bum. "Now I want to look at you properly. I want to see your asshole. Can I?" She swallowed, nervously. "Erm, well..." She stopped. The hesitation was magnificent, and I continued to trace delicate patterns over her bottom. "Tell me," I whispered. "I'm...I could go take a shower." "Tell me what you mean, Penny. You know I want to know." My fingers drew ever closer to her crack. "I may not be that clean." "I still want to know." "My bum...My bum may be dirty." I was beginning to tease her crack apart, but I still wasn't quite ready. "I still want to know more, Penny. Just a little bit more detail, please." I was pleading, but this time I knew she wouldn't leave. "Okay. You want to look at my arsehole. Well...it may be a bit shitty." I groaned, and pulled her ass wide apart. This beautiful girl with her beautiful bottom was letting me feast all my senses on her dark little hole. As I'd expected, Penny was a careful hygienic girl, but there was still enough evidence to know that my beauty performed raw human functions like everyone else. I moved in closer, my eyes devouring the soft cluster of downy hairs that circled the dark brown of her anal hole, my nostrils breathing in the faint perfume of her dirt. I brushed the end of my nose up and down her crack, wanting her to know exactly what I was indulging myself in. At the same time I slid my hands around her body to stroke her as yet unseen pubic mound. We were preparing for the final act. As I continued my gentle nuzzling, I quietly asked her one more question. "And now? What do you want now?" "Lick me," she said, and I could hear the need in her voice. "Lick my smelly bum." As my tongue made contact with the firmness of her dark dirty hole, I slipped my fingers across to dip into her slit. She was soaking. Pretty Penny got so turned on having her ass cleaned by my tongue. As I brushed her clit, she let out a little choking sound, and bucked her ass back against my tongue. I stroked her clit as gently as I could as my tongue wriggled against her anus. I wanted to kiss her ass forever but I knew she couldn't last long, and sure enough I could soon feel her already rigid body tense up even more. I slowed my clit-stroking even further, at the same time probing even more deeply into her asshole, and then she was jamming her bum back against my face as she fought for breath, loud gasps coming out as she came in repeated waves. When she was finished I pulled my face and fingers away. She rested limply against the wall of my balcony, her ass slick from my tongue. I'm sure I'm not the only woman who gets most of their pleasure from turning other people on. With men, I love going down on them, seeing the pleasure on their face as I take their cock in my mouth. You can't get that when they're fucking you. So, although Penny had climaxed and I hadn't, I was feeling supremely satisfied. Just as long as I didn't have to wait too long. She turned around and slid down the wall of the balcony, ending sitting limply on the decking. Her eyes were heavy, and I could see she was still coming down from her orgasm. I took the opportunity to gaze at her neat triangle of blonde fuzz. I sat, patiently, until she started to come to. Slowly Penny's eyes focused on me. "That was...incredible," she said. Good. Not every Sapphic newcomer is so positive in the confused aftermath. Particularly when their orgasm was provided in such an unusual and perverted way. "You still haven't," she stated simply. "No." I didn't expect her to be able to do exactly the same for me. But I hoped she wasn't going to leave me to do it on my own. "I...I don't think I could do the same," she said. I noticed that her nipples were poking at the material of her top. "No. What can you do?" "I don't know." She frowned. "I couldn't do the same. But it would be hot if it was the way I imagined it. You know, you in front of me. I'd use my fingers," she offered. I decided not to say anything, just stood up and bent over the balcony railing. Looking over my shoulder I saw Penny move unsteadily onto her knees. I was pleased to see her pants still resting around her thighs. I liked the fact she didn't have the need to cover herself up. When her face was in position near my ass, I quickly slid my lycras and knickers down to my ankles. It was a curious thrill, exposing my behind to this pretty young girl. Looking down again I saw she was staring unashamedly at my ass, and my excitement increased. She reached up to the side of my thigh, stroking it, accustoming herself to the feel of another woman's skin. I wanted her to take as much time as she needed. Gradually her hand moved up, until she was stroking my hip. I stroked her fingers, encouraging her, helping her. Then, ever so tentatively, I felt her make the journey to my thatch. As her fingertips made contact with my fuzz I felt her start. She was fondling a woman's privates now. I was helping her, but I didn't want to play it entirely fair. As she gently brushed my mound, I slowly pushed my ass back, as if encouraged by her attention. Soon I could feel her breath on my crack. With every stroke her fingers were getting closer to my slit. I could almost countdown to the moment of contact, and when it came I groaned. At about the same time, I was surprised to feel the merest kiss of her lips on my butt cheek. She was pushing herself on. Two of her fingers traveled carefully up and down my cunt, dipping into my honey. At the top, encountering the hard yet soft button of my clit, she lingered, maybe curious to discover the feel and touch of someone else's sex, after so long enjoying her own. At the same time, I pushed the small of my back downwards, which had the effect of opening my ass up for her slightly. While her left hand worked my clit and cunt, her right hand was softly massaging my butt cheeks. But my teasing wasn't enough. "Can I show you?" I asked. "You don't have to do anything." "Okay." I reached around and cupped a cheek in each hand, then pulled them apart, revealing my ass in all its intimacy. Like Penny, I'm careful with my toilet. Shit doesn't interest me, if that's what you've been thinking. But I was thrilled to know that Penny's face was only inches away from my sweaty smelly behind. As if on cue, I could feel her breath on my ring. All the time, her fingers continued their slow, gentle wanking of my clit. She didn't even miss a beat. I was surprised to hear Penny ask "Shall I talk?" I hoped I knew what she meant. "Yes." I was so turned on I could barely get the word out. "I frigged myself thinking about this, Samantha. Kneeling behind your bum. My cunt got so wet when I thought about your bum. I'm wet now, looking at it." Looking over my shoulder I could see that her gaze was indeed fixed on my dirty hole. "But I didn't think it would be like this, Samantha. I didn't know I'd be so turned on by your bum, your smelly bum, Samantha, your smelly shitty bum." I howled as I came, but I could hear Penny moaning "Yes, yes," triumphant in the climax she had given me. I shook and shook until eventually the aftershocks subsided. Then I turned and dropped to the decking so Penny and I were facing. She had a look of almost childish delight on her face. "Next time," she said, "I think I'd like to go further." *** Like a lot of young women I've converted, Penny was all for moving onto the next course. (The other type are out of the door in tears. I'll admit that turns me on too). But having waited so long, I wanted to draw out the pleasure of getting to know her. I was teasing us again. "Let's eat," I suggested. "We can talk." "Talk?" "I thought you liked talking." "Oh, that. My boyfriend likes it. He says it helps him come." I looked at this stunning, sensual woman, and wondered what kind of man needed any additional stimulus. I was beginning to understand her enthusiasm for what we'd done. "Can I shower?" she asked. I liked the way she was letting me suggest things. It boded well for the future. "Sure, why not?" "I thought you might like me, you know, dirty." "I'm not sure there's much dirt left, Penny. No, a shower's fine." I decided not to bother. I had my reasons. Of course Penny only had her cycling gear, so I found her some of my clothes. It's curiously satisfying, seeing a new lover in your clothes. Like they acknowledge you have a claim on them. We went to an Italian place nearby. The Italian restaurants in London aren't a patch on the ones in New York, but this was okay, and the tables are pretty secluded, which suited both of us, I think. Penny had a sort of excited glow about her. There must have been all sorts of implications from what we'd just done, as she'd intimated in the pub, but for the moment the sheer joy of sex, and the prospect of more to come, was carrying her along. It didn't take long for her to start asking questions. The girl liked to talk. "Is that what you always do?" she asked. "What?" "The bum thing." "No. Whatever seems appropriate. It got us both hot, so why not? The usual progression - you know, kissing, groping tits, ass, pussy - that's for teenagers seeing how far they can go. I wanted your ass, so that's what I went for. Same sort of thing for you." "But you seemed to like...need, almost...more. You know - the dirt stuff." "Well, it heightens the experience. For me. You?" She took a long sip of Chablis. "Knowing that you wanted it, and knowing I was like that...it was incredible. Yes it heightened it. It was so nasty." "What about when you did me?" She sat back. I liked the way she thought about things carefully. A thoughtful girl. "Now that was truly nasty. Don't get me wrong, you were pretty clean, but even so..." "...there was evidence?" "Yes. Definitely. If you'd asked me before I'd have said it was disgusting. And a part of me now thinks `Yuk!'" "The other part of you? At the time?" "I don't know. Tell my why you like it." "I'm not sure I know, either. There's something about someone as beautiful as you Penny. Take your skin. Creamy, pink, lovely. And you look after your hair, your nails, to look at you every inch is immaculate, perfect. But I knew, when I saw you sitting on that bike, the one bit of you that wouldn't be perfect, spotless, was your ass. It's like going to the real heart of someone." "You think someone's real heart is their bum before it's been washed?" I laughed. "Okay, I'm talking bullshit. Feet of clay, maybe?" "I guess I found it nasty. I mean, I didn't have to look, using my fingers would have done you, but I was transfixed by your bum. It was such a dirty thing to do - and by `dirty' I mean sexy. So I suppose it heightened that for me, too." She took another drink of wine. "What else do you like? I'm sure you'll be able to persuade me." The tease. "Well," I twirled my glass in my hand, "very early I had a rather delicious image of you on all fours, and I was sliding something up your ass." "You have a real anal fixation," Penny commented. "Anyway, I don't like it up the bum. I've tried it with my boyfriend," it was funny how she never said his name, "and it hurts like...buggery." She giggled. "Maybe you've not been doing it right," I said. "Believe me, if you build up to it properly, your ass can offer you sensations that your pussy can't come close to. I know a lot of women view it as the ultimate." "Hmm." She looked unconvinced. *** Back at the apartment, I led Penny straight through to the bedroom. I think she wanted to kiss and cuddle, but I was sure my more remote approach would bring us greater rewards in the end. I sat on the edge of the bed. "Strip for me," I said. I had already had glimpses of most of her body before, but I still enjoyed every second of her undressing: her breasts, just the small side of medium, but pert and creamy, with stiff pinky brown nipples; the neat straw blonde V of her pubic hair; her legs. Fuck, everything. "You?" she asked. I liked it that she could make her own suggestions. We swapped positions, and it felt luxurious as she watched my clothing come off. Our frantic half-dressed passion had been extraordinary, but when we were both naked together in the privacy of my bedroom it felt like we were becoming truly comfortable with our desires. I was also strangely aware that Penny with her long blonde hair and me with my dark bob made a well-matched pairing. "Can we look at each other?" she asked. It was a curiosity I'd noticed in first-timers before, finally offered an opportunity to explore at the closest quarter a body similar but different to their own. We lay on our sides, head to toe, our legs parted to allow each other as much access as we needed. Penny was tentative, stroking my thighs. I remembered it could be difficult getting used to the slick wet softness of a woman's sex, so totally different from the hard meat of a cock. And I guessed she was aware I had declined the opportunity of a shower. Cruel of me, maybe, but I was confident that ultimately my perversion would be her perversion, "heightening" her experience as we'd discussed. It was different for me. Her lower body was soft and clean, a refreshing change from the rawness I had encountered on the balcony. I brushed my mouth and nose over her fuzz - her hairs seemed softer and less coarse than most of the women I had known. I could feel Penny's hands rubbing up and down my inner thighs, from my knees to just short of my pussy, and back again. She was working herself up to it, but I was confident she would get there. My eyes lingered over her labia. They were already gaping slightly, glistening, as her arousal puffed and opened them. They were, perhaps surprisingly, given her generally neat body, quite large. Of course I liked that. It was like I'd discovered another private secret. Beautiful smiling Penny with her fleshy cunt tucked comfortably inside her panties. She was lingering now at the tops of my inner thighs. I longed for her to move on to my sex. I took each of her lips between my thumb and forefinger and eased them apart, opening the petals of her flower. Her flesh was wet from the pleasure of being exposed, and maybe the anticipation of her own difficult enjoyment of my openings. I traced a finger from the top of her cunt to the bottom, passing around the pea of her clit, down the slickness of her grotto, slipping over the slight opening of her pee-hole, then pressing slightly against the fleshy tunnel of her cunt. Penny groaned, and I felt her legs open slightly wider as she invited me in. Maybe encouraged by my contact, I felt her fingers rub between my own lips as she dipped into my honey. Once used to the feel of my cunt juices on her fingertips, Penny opened me up as I had done to her, and for a time we just lay there, examining each others' sex. I moved in closer, nuzzling Penny first with my nose and then my mouth. The taste of a woman. That unique combination of her secretions, sweat and pee. Soon I was lapping at her hungrily, my fingers rubbing around her inner thighs. I could feel Penny's breath coming closer, but so far she couldn't bring herself to lick my cunt. I moved my tongue around, sometimes teasing around her clit, then her cunt, and then her asshole, not the nasty tasty delight of earlier but still firm muscly and gorgeously resistant to my probings. Then, heaven, I felt Penny's tongue brush tentatively along my pussy. I felt my back arch in response, tingles running the length of my body. She remained cautious for some time, as she became accustomed to my cunt. In some ways I wanted the feel of her licking to stay like that, to always experience her newness, but I knew that soon she would be intoxicated by my flavor. I was fingering her now, first one finger in her cunt, then two, then while my forefinger remained inside her cunt I pressed my middle finger against her asshole. I felt her whole body tense at my presence there, so I rubbed around her crater, teasing and tickling that sensitive muscle. I passed and re-passed over her hole, lingering there longer and longer until she seemed calm. I slowly penetrated her anus, stopping when there was little more than my fingernail inside her, then my first knuckle. By now she was licking me quite vigorously, her tongue tracing patterns from my cunt to my clit. I suspected she was maybe taking her mind off what my finger was doing to her asshole. Initially her ass felt slick around my finger from my tonguing, but as I pressed my finger in to the second knuckle Penny's butt felt drier and tighter as her anal canal squeezed around the intruder. All the time I teased her cunt and clit with my tongue, and the wetness of her sex told me her body was enjoying my delicate ass-fucking. I could feel she was close, but I wanted to go just a little bit further before Penny came. Ever so slowly I partly withdrew my middle finger from her asshole, before pressing my forefinger, coated with honey from her cunt, alongside it at the entrance to her ass. Once again I felt Penny stiffen against me, so again I teased her ring before slowly pressing slowly into her butt alongside my other finger. Penny's licking of my cunt became frantic, partly I suspected from the sensations of my double invasion, partly from the fear of what might happen. I was slow, careful, until both my fingers were embedded all the way inside Penny's hot butthole. Then I concentrated on licking delicately at her clit, my fingers moving slightly in and out of her ass, before I thrust my thumb up her cunt where it could feel my fingers through the thin membrane that separated Penny's asshole from her cunt. Then she was coming. However much discomfort she was in from my fingers I knew the sensations she was also getting were indescribably good. Her orgasm was different from the one on the balcony, deeper, more animal as her bucking jammed my fingers further and further inside her ass. But she managed, just, to keep her tongue in contact with my clit, which was enough to send me into a powerful shuddering climax of my own. We both collapsed back on the bed, and I slowly removed my fingers from Penny's body. There was a thin sheen of sweat on her creamy skin, and I noticed her nipples were still poking out. We lay there for a while, but soon she was back stroking my thighs. Like I say, when they get the taste, they always seem to want more. "How did it feel?" I asked. She knew what I meant. "Incredible. Painful, really painful - I thought I was going to choke. But once you were a certain way in, having your fingers there really multiplied all my other sensations. When I came I thought I was going to explode. I wouldn't have believed it possible." She moved up towards me and began nuzzling at my nipples. It was the first time either of us had given the other's breasts attention. "I was sort of getting you ready," I said, loving the way she gave my aching teats little bites. "I'd like to do you properly now," I said. "I promise you'll love it more than anything so far. I started rubbing my fingers up and down her ass crack. "Let me fuck your ass, Penny." She pulled away from my breasts, looking a little confused. "Trust me." *** When I came back into the bedroom from the kitchen Penny was kneeling, as I had requested, on all fours. She looked great in any pose from any direction, but like that, with her butt proudly jutting towards me, she was magnificent. I climbed onto the bed and knelt alongside her waist. It was a little like the game I used to play with my girlfriends when we were little, where one of us was the horse and the other the rider. How things had changed - I like being an adult. I stroked Penny's butt cheeks, sliding my fingertips up and down her crack. She was tense, as always, but then at least that seemed to prefigure incredible orgasms for her. I moved directly behind her, between her feet, directly behind her butt. Once again I opened her up, and without hesitating began working her anus with my tongue. I could feel her rocking back gently, urging me into her asshole. When my tongue began to tire I knelt beside her again, and slid my forefinger swiftly inside her hole. Loosened by my earlier assault and my tonguing it went in easily and Penny groaned at the penetration. I fucked my finger in and out for a while, and once again she built up a rocking motion, wanting me far up her hole. I slid a second finger alongside, she tensed, but then quickly seemed to appreciate the extra presence. When she was enjoying that too much I pulled out. She looked round at me, her eyes heavy, and she wiggled her ass, inviting my fingers up her again. I reached to the floor and picking up the candle I had brought from the kitchen I held it in front of her face. It was dark green, about twelve inches long, and only about an inch wide, although it tapered in towards the wick. The bottom of the candle was rounded, something I was always careful to check before I bought a pack. In fact I'd found that Selfridges stocked the perfect item, and I knew that the candle I was hoping to bugger my girlfriend with had cost twenty dollars. Penny's eyes widened. "I won't push it all the way in," I said. "It's probably not a lot bigger than two of my fingers. It won't hurt. Or, at least, any pain you do feel will be a pleasure." "Have you done it with it?" I nodded. "Up your bum?" Another nod. "With this candle?" Only three nights ago, when my despair over Penny had been at its blackest, I had resorted to an old favorite, viciously fucking my own asshole with the candle. The orgasm had been fantastic, the frustration and loneliness afterwards awful. She looked at the candle a few inches in front of her face, pondering the knowledge that it had been up my ass. Then she dropped her head down, rocking back slightly. "Go on then," she said, "fuck my bum with your candle." I liberally coated the candle with the butter I had also brought from the kitchen and moved myself into position alongside Penny's butt. As with my fingers, I began by teasing her anus with the slippery candle, but this time, to ease the shock when the penetration started, I began gently stroking her clit. I was pleased to feel how wet she was in anticipation of what I was going to do to her behind. Then, I pressed it firmly against Penny's asshole. I could feel her take a deep intake of breath. Her sphincter was loose from my probing, but even so I knew it was going to take a degree of force to push the candle past her tight muscle. I continued to stroke her clit, which seemed to have swelled since we had begun this last act. As I carefully eased the candle against the resistance of Penny's butt I saw her wince, and her hands were gripping my bedspread tightly. Then, almost with a pop, it was through, and her head was up as she muttered a low controlled "Aaagh." I continued to slide the candle further into her anus until I figured it was about five inches in. All the time she was stock still as her body tried to accustom itself to the violation. I couldn't help but notice, though, that her nipples were stiffened and erect, and her cunt sodden with her juices. Then, Penny started to take long slow breaths, and began rocking back against the candle. I started a careful in-out motion to match her, and as I watched her face I saw her expression change from one of controlled pain to a deep, agonizing pleasure. With each rock backwards she was shoving my candle deeper inside her butt. Once I knew that she was steadily on course for the kind of excruciating orgasm that only a good anal fucking can provide, there was only one thing left for me to do. Moving first behind her, I slid my legs between hers and then shifted my body down so we were in the classic sixty-nine, with Penny on top. She was quick to bury her tongue in my slit this time, but I had other things in mind. At the same time as I lifted my tongue to tease her and stimulate her clit, I pulled my knees right back, Penny briefly lifting her arms to allow me to complete the maneuver, then my knees were pressed hard against my aching little titties, my calves and feet pointing directly in the air. All the time I continued my relentless sodomizing with the candle, Penny grunting with every thrust. Penny lifted her mouth from my cunt, knowing what I now wanted. "Samantha..." Her voice trembled as the candle continued to invade her body. "Please, Penny." I didn't care if I pleaded. I was desperate for this completion. "Samantha, I can't, I'm sorry, I really can't." "Smell me. At least. Smell me?" My own voice was unsteady with my need. "Oh God, Samantha..." "Please. Put your nose between my cheeks." There was a pause, and then I felt Penny's body shift slightly. "Penny?" "I'm there." "Tell me." I realized that as my desire and excitement grew I was fucking her butt harder than ever before, but the honey running down the inside of her thigh and her loud groans seemed to show she liked it. That and what I was now asking of her. "Tell me." "Okay. I'm smelling your bum, Samantha, I've got my nose up close against your bum." I gave her clit a gentle lick, and then pulled away again. I could feel her frustration grow, which was good so long as I didn't push it too far. "Tell me more," I whispered. I could almost hear Penny take a deep breath. To pluck up courage, or to accurately describe things? "I'm smelling your bumhole, your dirty shitty bumhole." That would have been easily enough, and I let out a loud groan, but my mind went back to the pretty girl on her bike at the red light, her ass poking out over the back of her saddle, and I knew I had to have it all. "Kiss it," I groaned. "Taste it." "Please, Samantha, no." At the same time I could feel her fingers stroking my clit. Was she really so reluctant or was she teasing me the way I'd already teased her? "Please, Penny, I need you to." "Samantha I can't. It's really..." "Tell me." I was so wrapped up in my own needs that it came as a shock to realize that Penny had taken almost the whole of the candle into her backside. The greedy girl. "Tell you?" The tone of her voice changed, from pleading to almost comical. "Tell you about your bum? Okay, Samantha, your bum is dirty and sticky and shitty and you want me to taste it, you want me to press my tongue against your shitty bumhole, can you feel that, Samantha..." there was the lightest tickling on my anus "...I'm licking it, I'm tasting you, Samantha, I'm tasting your nasty smelly bum." She was so wrapped up in the battle to make even the lightest contact with my rear that she had almost stopped frigging me, but a couple of strokes were enough to have me bucking and writhing in fearsome spasms. Despite the pounding of my blood I could hear Penny gasp in shock and delight at the pleasure she had caused and created. I pressed my mouth against her sopping pussy and gave the candle one last, violent push and she too was almost choking as wave after wave of her climax shuddered through her body. Then, we subsided together onto the sheets, the candle, I knew, still protruding from her butt, the air thick with what must be one of the most intoxicating odors of all, the musk of two women who have been making love. We lay there I don't know how long, lightly holding each other, until Penny sleepily opened her eyes. "I've decided," she said, reaching across to stroke my breast. "Next time, miss, you get to take a shower." _________________________________________________________________ Get your FREE download of MSN Explorer at http://explorer.msn.com/intl.asp. -- Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated. +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ | alt.sex.stories.moderated ----- send stories to: <ckought69@hotmail.com> | | FAQ: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/faq.html> Moderator: <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ |Archive: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org> Hosted by Alt.Sex.Stories Text Repository | |<http://www.asstr-mirror.org>, an entity supported entirely by donations. | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+