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Lesbian Stories
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Lesbian Female / 37
A Long Time Coming I've Found My Lady Friend And Live Sexual Pleasure
I'm one of several daughters and two brothers. Everyone worked to have spending money, to save for college. As we left high school one went into the service, another became a court reporter. One became a stewardess with fanciful tales of Detroit, Cincinnati, Chicago. I wanted to be a sports reporter. I worked hard to stay fit, was a cheerleader, went to a small campus of a State University. For reasons too many to enumerate, I didn't like jocks, didn't like religious types, didn't like business majors, didn't like Joe, or Sam, or Harry.
I studied journalism, and went to law school. Not a court lawyer, or patent attorney, or family practice, I settled into commercial law in a corporate law department. I made more money than any of my siblings, was involved in high intellectual issues. I leaned left, smacked back to center as I saw with my own eyes what was said and what was done by politicians.
I discovered art and photography, gravitated to nude females, both paintings and photography. I hung some on the walls of my bungalow. Nothing erotic. The internet became a habit, beautiful girls engaged in intercourse, pulsating penis penetrations. Always focused on the vulva and vagina. The long necks, the curves of their hips, the breasts and nipples. My nights filled with dreamy penetrations of my imaginary penis and their receptive vulvas. I had found my very own method, rolled up towel, between my legs, my legs hugging a pillow, humping my clitoris into orgasm after orgasm.
A woman friend photographer, who enjoyed the women's form, had me wax and shave my vulva. Black and white photographs, nude, erotic, fingers reaching, lips parted, near orgasm, orgasmic photographs. I placed some of these in frames, on my nightstand, my hall walls, my bathroom. I turned 35.
At work I had a woman friend, the Financial Reporting Director. My age, married to a business brainiac, a successful man, who made a lot of money. She and I danced around and around. We became more than friends, but respected our distance. One Saturday I invited her to an afternoon music presentation of a friend, and she had lunch at my house. Her fingers traced my photographs on the wall, on my nightstand, I assured her it was me. She focused intently on my naked vulva, my breasts, my hips. I had to tell her that after the shoot I had let my pubes grow back, she frowned back at me.
Her response to me, sitting on my couch beside her, is how much her husband would like my photographs. She went further, how much he would enjoy me. I agreed to let him know me, and if he wanted me, he could have me. Anything to please her. Oh, he wanted me, like a ravenous dog wants his meal. Bent in ways I had never experienced, with visions in my mind of those penetrated vulvas, he tore me open until he satisfied his hunger. My friend elated, obsessed with my nakedness, she then enjoyed herself with me.
My friend enjoys the nudes and photographs, she enjoys the abject internet penetrations, she enjoys long baths together, she enjoys her husband's pleasure. He is not Joe, or Sam or Harry. He's the man that fucks me. And my friend and I enjoy the afterglow of his brutal penetrations.
I studied journalism, and went to law school. Not a court lawyer, or patent attorney, or family practice, I settled into commercial law in a corporate law department. I made more money than any of my siblings, was involved in high intellectual issues. I leaned left, smacked back to center as I saw with my own eyes what was said and what was done by politicians.
I discovered art and photography, gravitated to nude females, both paintings and photography. I hung some on the walls of my bungalow. Nothing erotic. The internet became a habit, beautiful girls engaged in intercourse, pulsating penis penetrations. Always focused on the vulva and vagina. The long necks, the curves of their hips, the breasts and nipples. My nights filled with dreamy penetrations of my imaginary penis and their receptive vulvas. I had found my very own method, rolled up towel, between my legs, my legs hugging a pillow, humping my clitoris into orgasm after orgasm.
A woman friend photographer, who enjoyed the women's form, had me wax and shave my vulva. Black and white photographs, nude, erotic, fingers reaching, lips parted, near orgasm, orgasmic photographs. I placed some of these in frames, on my nightstand, my hall walls, my bathroom. I turned 35.
At work I had a woman friend, the Financial Reporting Director. My age, married to a business brainiac, a successful man, who made a lot of money. She and I danced around and around. We became more than friends, but respected our distance. One Saturday I invited her to an afternoon music presentation of a friend, and she had lunch at my house. Her fingers traced my photographs on the wall, on my nightstand, I assured her it was me. She focused intently on my naked vulva, my breasts, my hips. I had to tell her that after the shoot I had let my pubes grow back, she frowned back at me.
Her response to me, sitting on my couch beside her, is how much her husband would like my photographs. She went further, how much he would enjoy me. I agreed to let him know me, and if he wanted me, he could have me. Anything to please her. Oh, he wanted me, like a ravenous dog wants his meal. Bent in ways I had never experienced, with visions in my mind of those penetrated vulvas, he tore me open until he satisfied his hunger. My friend elated, obsessed with my nakedness, she then enjoyed herself with me.
My friend enjoys the nudes and photographs, she enjoys the abject internet penetrations, she enjoys long baths together, she enjoys her husband's pleasure. He is not Joe, or Sam or Harry. He's the man that fucks me. And my friend and I enjoy the afterglow of his brutal penetrations.
