4 comments/  61833 views/  6 favorites

One Weekend

By: sephia32



I was twenty when I met Michelle. She and I didn't actually move in together, but she had a suitcase that she kept over at my place with many different clothes in it. Everything from nice panties to no frills granny panties. Her sexy black dress, jeans, bikini, lingerie, and regular stuff also like white t-shirts and pajamas. She had some cash through her family. She wasn't rich, richer than I was and still am. So her clothes were mostly higher end stuff ordered or purchased from Europe. Also in the suitcase were two dildos and three vibrators of different sizes along with some lube.

She went on vacation to New York and while she was there she called me up to tell me that she was going to stay there and that she wanted me to send her stuff to her. She didn't mention us breaking up, but she also didn't mention me visiting her or even moving there, so it was clear she was moving on. Not having the money to ship her clothes across the country, and her not sending any money (or even an address), I did not send her the suitcase. It just sat in my closet for a few months.

One Friday night, I was at home, dateless. I had a few nights prior taken to sleeping with a pair of her panties (pink and black, see thru in the front) under my pillow, occasionally sniffing them, enjoying the smell. A thought crossed my mind. My dick was instantly hard and I had to try it. I was already naked and I slipped on the panties. It was a strange feeling to say the least. But good. 

I opened the suit case and pulled out the little black dress and put it on. I was enjoying this greatly. I often had bi or gay fantasies, and cross dressing was often in those fantasies, but this was the first time I had ever tried anything like it. I ended up shortly after with the dress pulled up, the panties down and me doing myself in the ass with the small vibrator. I wanted more.

After I came I went to the computer and ordered a wig that matched my hair color. I liked the shoes that were in the suitcase, but they were not big enough for me, so I, went looking for feminine shoes to fit me. I also shaved off my body hair, except for the pubic region. If anyone asked, it was because I was taking up swimming. 

The week that followed was torture. The wig and shoes arrived, now it was just time to wait for the weekend. I sat at home practicing sitting like a lady and trying to come up with a female name. Finally, it was Friday. I came home from work and closed the blinds to my apartment. I removed my clothes and took a shower and shaved my face and legs. I put the wig on and applied some lipstick (I found a stick buried near the bottom of the suitcase), I spent the week practicing that also. I considered putting on one of the lingerie numbers, but instead, put on a wrap around skirt and a blouse, after putting on matching bra and panty. I looked myself over in the mirror. I looked pretty good I thought. 

I sat down on the computer and went to a chatroom that was divided up by regions and sexual topic. I trolled the chatroom looking for someone, anyone, to fuck. I didn't want to cyber. I started this around seven that night. I didn't work weekends, so I could pretty much stay up all night if I had to. 

It was about 8:30 when I finally found someone in my town looking for some action also. I have him my address and told him that my name was Alice. I was nervous has I waited. It was less than thirty minutes, but it felt like a day, until he knocked at the door. I opened it, and was relieved to actually find him attractive. He was in his early thirties. No gray hair, clean shaven, bi sexual who was in decent shape.

I invited him in, we talked a bit, breaking the ice. I didn't know if I should make the first move or if he was supposed to. This was completely new ground for me. He kissed me, without hint or warning. Finally, one of us was doing something. We continued to kiss, which lead to making out. I pushed him off of me and undid his pants, and reached in, pulling out his manhood. It was not quite as big as mine, but bigger than the vibrator that I had been using. 

Without any thought, I took the head of it into my mouth, and then, I found myself wrapping my lips around the shaft and bobbing up and down while he rubbed my ass. The taste wasn't what I thought it would be like. I felt my skirt rising up. 

Part of me began to worry about what was bound to happen next. I decided that the only way I was going to get through it was to basically let him take me and to submit to his will. I pulled off his cock and could see a trail of spit from my lips to his cock. I reached onto the floor and grabbed the bottle of lube and applied some to his dick.

He stood up and walked behind me, pulling down my panties. I was on my knees, resting on the couch with my upper body on the back of the couch. I waited. He spread my ass cheeks and slid his dick between them. I moaned as I felt the dick enter me. I bit down on the couch cushion. I closed my eyes. It hurt. He kept going. Before I noticed, the pain was gone and it was feeling good. I was moaning and grunting with his thrusts. I should have tried this sooner. His strokes changed and before I could react, I felt him stop and collapse. He just came inside of me. 

He pulled out and I stood up. I asked him if he would go down on me, and he did so. Between the fucking I just got, wearing women's clothes, getting a blow job, and feeling the cum in my ass, it wasn't long until I came in his mouth. 

He got dressed and left, after I told him it was a one time deal. I cleaned myself off and changed into my regular clothes. I sat in front of the tv, not believing what I just did. My ass wasn't really sore, it was a good feeling, that much was certain. I tried to watch some old movie I had seen a thousand times before, but my mind kept flashing back to what I had just done. Each time I remembered him calling me a bitch, or a whore or a slut, my dick twitched just a bit. He had made me his bitch. Enough of a slut to put out in less than an hour. The feeling of shame and disgust disappeared. I wanted more. 

I changed into women's clothes again. This time it was into a pair of granny panties and her pjs. I didn't know what I was going to do next. It was payday and I thought I might get some clothes my size before I destroyed all of her stuff. I might hit that chat room again and see who was there. 

Before long I was rubbing my hard cock through the pjs. The youngest was a 19 year old looking for his first time. He was tempting. I got his number and promised to call him the next day. What did catch my attention was a cross dresser not much older than I who had been doing it since the age of 16. Tabitha, the cross dresser, was willing to come over and show me a few things. I was eager to learn. 

It was close to midnight when she arrived. I was just in a pair of boxers. We figured it was best to start there and work to me being Alice again. She was wearing a sundress (it was late spring) and looked passably female. We started with make up and moved up. I tried to make a move on her at several points, but she stopped me, letting me know that this was not a booty call. 

After her final lesson we made small talk and had some drinks. I invited her to crash on my couch. She asked me to change into my sleep wear. I gave her an odd look. She said that it was to see if I remembered her lessons. I went to the bedroom and selected a short silky nightie and the matching panties that went with it. I figured it wasn't too forward but still girlie enough. She smiled when she saw me walk out, and addressed me as Alice. 

She and I had another drink and she then said, "Okay, now that you look more like an Alice, sound like an Alice and act like an Alice, it's time to see if you can suck like an Alice." 

We sat back down on the couch and she had me pull my dick out. She sucked it for a short bit, the stopped, laid back and said "Now, it's your turn." as she removed her dick. 

I tried to mimic what she did. First my tongue circled the head of the dick, then I licked the shaft, even sucked on her balls before going down on her. She moaned, told me I was doing a good job and called me a slut. She said "Don't stop." and closed her eyes while I continued. It didn't take very long for me to enjoy sucking a dick. I released her dick from my mouth and kissed her on the lips before taking her hand and escorting her to the bedroom. We laid on the bed, arms and legs around each other, my dick against her's. She adjusted herself so that we were now in a 69. Not as comfortable as the ones I have been in before, but still highly enjoyable. I did everything she did to me, including massaging her asshole when she did it to me. She didn't need to do it long before I came into her mouth, and she into mine. 

This was something that I had fantasized about, and now, here I was with a mouth full of cum. Tabitha kissed me, sliding her tongue into my mouth, and mixing our cum together. We went to the bathroom and rinsed our mouths out. We returned to the bedroom and kissed again. She put on some pajamas and I put back on the nightie. We kissed and went to sleep. 

I woke up to her sliding her lubed dick into my ass. I welcomed it gladly. She did it slow and gently before building up to a fast and furious tempo. I had my face buried in my pillow. I felt her thrusts change. I expected to get my ass filled with cum. Instead she pulled out and came all over my face. She then reached onto my night stand and grabbed my cell phone, getting a picture of my cum covered face. I licked the cum from around my lips and she stood up. 

As I cleaned my face she got dressed. We exchanged phone numbers and discussed meeting again. I told her about the 19 year old and she gave me an idea that I had not thought about, but I was going to try it that night. 

The 19 year old, Derek, called me up. We made plans for him to meet me around seven. It wasn't even noon yet. I decided that I was going to spend the day as Alice. After showering and shaving, I put on a pair of loose shorts and a low cut top and a white no frills bra filled with a water balloon full of shaving cream. The panties were cotton full back, white and plain. I didn't dress up to be sexy, I dressed up because I felt like it. I painted my toe nails. Finally having small feet has paid off. I put on the wig and brushed it. I looked at the pack of press on nails. I debated putting them on. Yes they'd make me look more like Alice. But I didn't want any glue or anything to be on my fingernails come Monday. Finally I said "Fuck it" and put them on and painted them to match my toes. I looked at myself in the mirror and liked what I saw looking back at me.

I was horny, thinking about tonight. I didn't want to masturbate. Well, I wanted to, but I wanted to wait until tonight before I came. I surfed the internet, checked my email to make sure that Derek didn't email to cancel, also listened for the phone, just in case. I played some online games followed by a movie. I figured watching a movie that I'd seen a thousand times would make the day pass faster. I cooked up some dinner, nothing special and before I knew it, it was already 6:30.

"He'll be here soon." I said to the empty apartment as I entered the bathroom to apply lipstick and eyeliner. Then I went to the bedroom to change. I stripped completely naked. I put lotion on my body, save for my dick. I wanted him to taste dick and not lotion. I put on a black thong, I'm really loving those things. I put on a wrap around dress followed by a black bra. I didn't fill it with anything for good reason. I'll explain later. Derek knew what he was getting anyways, so it's not like he was going to miss out. I put on some stockings and a pair of shoes. I put on some soft music and in case things needed a little help, I put in a porn movie. I hoped it wouldn't come to that. 

There was a knock at the door as I checked my cell phone. I asked who it was and it was Derek. I opened the door and he walked in. He was 19, tall, taller than me. He looked young and was fit. I smiled and ran my fingernails over his chest. His shirt was so tight against his chest.

We sat down on the couch. I offered him a drink. He turned it down and I said, "Don't worry about your age honey, I won't card you." He laughed and asked for a beer. 

As he drank the first beer of his life, he explained to me that he was still a virgin. I assured him that there was nothing wrong with that (he wasn't going to stay a virgin much longer if I had anything to say about it). He came from a loving house hold, but his mother would have nothing to do with homosexuality or even bisexuality. He was still living at home at that. He being shy and too afraid to start anything kept him from doing more than just kissing girls, or so he thought. It wasn't until recently that he started to have thoughts and feelings that maybe he might be bi or gay. I said that it was no big deal, while rubbing his thigh. He couldn't keep his eyes off my legs. I eyed his groin and found that he was fully hard. It was clear that I was going to have to start this. 

I finished my drink and noticed that he wasn't even half finished with his. I suggested a different drink for him. So I made us both screwdrivers and I poured each of us a shot of rum. I invited him to the kitchen as I made the drinks. My skirt wasn't short enough to ride up and show my ass, but it did show off my legs and he was liking the show and I was loving the attention. I suggested that he could make himself at home and I suggested that he was welcomed to take off his shoes, or remove his clothes, what ever worked. He laughed and I eyed him and smiled. I was going to be playful tonight. I wasn't going to the the slut I was last night. No. I was still going to be a slut tonight, but I wasn't going to bang him as quickly as the first guy.

Once I finished pouring and mixing our drinks I handed him a shot and said, "It's simple, once you start drinking you don't stop until it's empty. He asked what would happen if he stopped. I took the glass out of his hand and sat it on the counter, I pushed against the fridge and kissed him on the lips. One of those kisses that morphs into a sloppy open mouth kiss. I could smell his after shave and feel his hard cock against me. I said, when finished, if you liked that you'll start drinking and not stop until it's finished. We toasted and he swallowed it all. We then sipped out screwdrivers while talking more. He did grunt work on a construction site, which is why he was built the way he was. 

I sat up on the counter. The skirt fell in such a way that one leg was hidden and the other was fully exposed. I grabbed Derek's hand and placed it on my exposed knee. I rubbed it. I asked "Like it?" and he nodded in agreement. We kissed again and I pulled him closer to me, between my legs. I ran my hand over his chest, around his back and over his ass. I think my dick was about to tear through my thong. Especially once he ran his hand from my exposed right knee up to my ass and back. 

I pulled off his shirt and kissed his left upper arm, left shoulder, the upper left side of his chest and finally his nipple. His chest was also smooth and rock hard. How the hell was this guy still a virgin? All my ex-girlfriends would have thrown this man into bed, tied him down and had their way with him if he was too shy to make any move beyond a kiss. Maybe he was gay because he was having no problems with me. Or maybe he was just bi and I was the first person who wanted it bad enough. 

I broke the make out session we had ended up in and I jumped off the counter. I told him to wait for me to get out of the bedroom but to be patient, and to take off his clothes. I was ready to do what Tabitha suggested I do. I closed the door removed my blouse, skirt and bra. I put on a see-through black nighty (this is why I didn't use the balloons) and looked in the mirror. The front of the thong was also see-through. I posed again, enjoying how I looked. I put lube and toys next to the bed. We might not use the toys, but they were there if we wanted that option.

I opened the door and walked through. Derek was there, completely naked, as I suggested. He looked at me and his dick jumped. That was a huge compliment I thought. I suggested that he join me, and he followed. We kissed again before I pushed him into my bed. I laid on the bed next to him and proceeded to massage his dick. There was already a lot of pre-cum. He moaned loudly. This dick was huge. I was going to need lube. I then thought about how he told me that he was a virgin and a thought came to mind. I asked, "Have you ever jacked off?" And he explained to me what I thought was impossible. He never did. He knew what it was, but while he wasn't raised in any from of a christian house hold, he was raised to never do that. No wonder he was doing grunt work at a construction site. No sex, no drinking, no masturbation, he was probably in need of any physical activity he could find. I figured. Then it occurred to me that I was probably his mother's worse nightmare. A cross dressing male who's gotten Derek drunk, aroused and about to have his first sexual encounter which was also going to be his first homosexual encounter. My dick throbbed with that thought. 

As I started to pump his member, I noticed how good my hand looked while it worked the dick. Something about the nail polish, the fake nails and his dick. I opened my mouth and put just the head in. I removed it and just licked it with my tongue. He gasped as I continued this. I stopped and put more into my mouth. I didn't bob my head long, probably not even ten times until he came. I tilted my head back and opened my mouth. This really felt odd. I've seen porn videos of women doing this with cum and I was curious. I lowed my head forward, closed my mouth and swallowed the cum. He watched me the entire time.

I kissed his belly, and then made a path to his lips and we kissed again. I wasn't going to let him cum and run before giving me mine. He, on the other hand, had other ideas. He slid away from me and started for the bedroom door. He fed me some bullshit line about having to work early in the morning. As he put on his clothes I called him on it. I should have thrown his ass out in just his tidy whities. He wasn't gay or even bi. He was just experimenting and realized that getting his dick sucked by me meant that he wasn't gay. He left and five minute later I noticed that his cell was still on my couch. I put on my robe (it was also my ex's) and walked outside to see if I could find him. I did. He was drunk, backed into a cop car and had just failed his breath test. Must have sucked that he was still underaged. I walked back in. Yes I did break the law by giving him alcohol, but is he really going to tell the cops that the cross dresser he visited to lose his virginity to got him drunk? 

Yes I was pissed at this point. It was Saturday night. I planned today for one reason, he gave me a bullshit excuse and was now it was clear I'd never get fucked by him, ever. I took off the bathrobe and looked down at me. I was still in the lingerie. I looked good. I was not going to waste this. It wasn't even 8:30. The night was young. 

I found myself in that chat room again. Many more people in my area than last night. I had to be a little careful. Two of them were coworkers. This was a secret I wasn't ready to announce, if ever. 

I found someone. He was visiting from Chicago. He was bisexual and looking for some fun. We chatted a little bit. He here on business and his company had him in a four star hotel room down town. He was bisexual, single and experienced with a thing for cross dressers. I asked him to come over and he refused. His argument was that he didn't want his hotel to go to waste. I couldn't argue with that. 


One Weekend



Brooke asked if I would write this story. The theme is interracial lesbian domination. All the characters are real. All references to people and photographs are real. I've simply inserted myself into her world. The story ends at my last point of contact with Brooke. There may be more to come.

CLAIRE -- LATE AFTERNOON

My heart was beating faster than normal. The email had intrigued me... so had the photographs—sexy, raw photographs. 

Brooke was a hot, beautiful girl who embodied every masturbatory fantasy I'd ever had about black women. I'd had countless ... ever since that unexpected night with Laura Johnson. Some fantasies involved beautiful young girls like Brooke while others featured older, unattractive black dykes. But they all had one thing in common.

They made me cum like there was no tomorrow.

I would normally have refused a personal request to feature someone in a story. My writing career was just taking off and I had deadlines to finish on two stories, plus another to start. I couldn't take on another project.

But this curvy black girl had made me think again... 

This is Brooke. I am a 19-year-old college student with way too much time on my hands. I love your current story and I was wondering if I could get you to write a story about me. I am bi, I love to tease, I love to be forced, submissive side. I have turned my high school friend into a total lesbian, I tease her mom. I have my nipples pierced, I tease all my dad's clients, and I like to walk around with nothing under my sundresses. Here are some photos of me you can use.

I dropped the email back down onto the passenger seat and concentrated on my driving. I was close to Brighton now. But the words I'd just read again wouldn't leave my mind. Nor would the images in the photographs she'd shared. 

I was both terrified and elated at the opportunity to work closely with her. And I was definitely stepping out of my comfort zone. Despite my experience with Laura Johnson one drunken night after a party in London I wasn't bi. 

I wasn't! I wasn't!

Yet recollections returned as if it were yesterday. The black woman had offered me a lift back home and had surprised me by stopping at hers and inviting me in for coffee. Even now, the way I'd eagerly responded to the first kiss still surprised me. It had been daylight before I'd left her flat and we'd fucked practically all night.

I hadn't returned any of her phone calls afterwards. How could I? I was ashamed and racked by guilt. I wasn't a lesbian. That wasn't me. The last message she'd left on my mobile phone had been brief and had haunted me every since.

"Once you've had black, you never go back."

I shook my head violently as if that would drive the thought away. I had never had another experience with a woman since then. But Laura Johnson had left her mark. The fantasies had continued and now I lived them out through my stories.

The complicated streets in the centre of Brighton made me focus on my driving again. My sat nav was useless and I'd printed out the route. Brooke's email had said her choice for our late afternoon meeting—The Legends wine bar—was easy to find. I hoped so. I'd been driving for over four hours now.

I hadn't decided whether to find a hotel and make a weekend of it, or drive back home after our meeting. But another long journey didn't appeal to me and drops of rain against the windscreen suggested that the brewing storm was about to burst. 

I felt that strange combination of weariness and arousal. There had been too much time to think during the journey. And to keep glancing at the photographs Brooke had sent me. They were spread out on the passenger seat. He black body looked stunning in the white swimsuit. And in that yellow top. And then there was that naked photograph. The one that I'd masturbated to...

I felt a lick of heat run through me...

Stay professional, I reminded myself. Find out what Brooke had to say and make a logical judgement as to whether I could turn it into a meaningful story. I surprised myself by laughing out loud at the absurdity of the thought. Who was I kidding? The chance to work with the young black girl was drawing me like a magnet. 

The wine bar was easier to find than I'd anticipated. But then it pretty much encompassed a whole block on the seafront. Who could miss it?

I was a few minutes early. Would she be there yet? 

Butterflies tickled the insides of my stomach and I sat for a good minute to let them settle before checking my appearance in the driving mirror. It took several more deep breaths to compose myself. Thirty seconds later I opened the car door and made my way towards entrance.

*

The place wasn't that busy and Brooke was sitting at the bar, looking out of the rain covered window at the panoramic sea view. She was wearing a tight white top with black low-rise jeans and, with her sunglasses perched on top of her long black hair, it struck me that she could easily pass as a model. 

She'd told me in subsequent email exchanges that she hated to wear a bra and true to her word, I could see her nipples through the white top. Her pierced nipples! 

Pierced tongue and pierced nipples. 

I hesitated when I saw her turn and talk to the woman next to her. It hadn't occurred to me that she wouldn't be alone. The woman was much older than Brooke and the large dark sunglasses she wore covered her eyes.

I stepped closer to introduce myself but when she saw me Brooke was quickly on her feet. The warmth of her greeting took me by surprise. She flung her arms around me and before I could speak, her lips were on mine. Her tongue slid across my lips, wetting them, before sliding into my mouth. 

I felt the heat all the way down to my pussy. 

When she eventually stepped back, a red blush covered my cheeks. We were in public, in the middle of a wine bar, and yet I'd accepted the kiss like a long lost lover. I realised that despite my bra, my own nipples were making themselves known through the dress I'd worn specifically for the meeting. It was short enough to display my long tanned legs and sufficiently low cut to display a modest amount of cleavage. 

Normally I would have chosen something more formal for such a meeting but in the circumstances...

"This is my Auntie Mischelle," she explained, nodding at the woman seated beside her. "Well she not my real Auntie, but I call her that."

I smiled at the woman as I reached for her hand. Like the expression on her face, it was ice. I still couldn't see her eyes through those dark sunglasses but had the impression that her gaze was looking right through me. The contrast between her and Brooke's greeting couldn't have been more marked.

I asked if I could buy them a drink and we settled on a bottle of wine. The older woman made me uncomfortable and with Brooke offering no further explanation for her presence, I began by making some small talk about my journey to meet them. 

Brooke's eyes sparkled at me throughout and in truth it was difficult to keep my eyes from her body. I could see the outline of the nipple rings through her white top but didn't feel confident enough to ask about them yet. 

"You have the face and the body of a model, Brooke," I found myself telling her. "Have you ever thought of finding some modelling work? You never know what it could lead to."

She laughed aloud. 

"Around here, babe? I doubt there'd be any opportunities around here. I'm at college and when I finish I'm going to be a mad scientist."

It was impossible not to laugh with her. She was so bubbly. But the older woman with her had no such problem. Her expression didn't change one iota.

"Okay," I eventually said during a pause, "let's get down to business. I wanted this meeting to determine if I could do you justice, Brooke. Writing stories for other people isn't usually my style. I'll need quite a lot of detail before I agree to take this on as a project."

"But you like writing erotic stories, especially featuring black women..." 

She flashed me that mischievous smile again and her dark eyes stayed on mine, as if she were evaluating my reaction. 

"I've read them all. And you like writing about control and domination. That sort of thing turns you on."

It wasn't a question but the words served their purpose. I felt a little off balance. I shuffled on the bar stool and took a gulp of wine while I thought. I didn't particularly want to get into the style of my stories at that point. And while I was becoming more curious about the presence of the woman she called Auntie Mischelle, I wasn't clear on the best way to clarify her role. I decided instead to ignore her and focus on Brooke.

"Okay," I eventually responded. "Why don't you give me some background and we'll take it from there?"

She smiled happily. "Sure. You know the photographs I sent you?"

I wondered if Mischelle knew about them and perhaps absurdly felt the need to clarify what Brooke had done.

"Yes, the ones you gave as background to the people involved."

She nodded and picked up the buff coloured envelope on the bar by her elbow. I hadn't noticed it until then. 

"I have more pictures to show you."

She rummaged inside the envelope, bringing out a couple and pushing them back inside before finding the photo she wanted and handing it to me.

"This is Carla."

It took me aback. The girl had dark eyes and short dark hair. Her hands were out in front of her, palms upwards, and eyes were looking up towards the ceiling. But what was particularly shocking was that someone had used red lipstick on her face. There were stripes on her cheeks, a ring around her mouth and the word 'Slut' emblazoned across her chest just above the top of her dress.

I stared wordlessly back at Brooke.

"She's one of my girlfriends," she casually said, as if that explained everything. "She's taken me to a few lesbian parties at her college."

I nodded and glanced at Mischelle out of the corner of my eye. Throughout the meeting she had yet to say a word. 

"This is Mira," Brooke told me, pulling out a second photograph.

This one made my heart pump faster. The Latin looking girl had straggly light brown hair, a slightly curved nose and lips as wonderfully full as Brooke's were. Her hands were up by her shoulders and her breasts had been shamelessly pulled out of the cups of her black bra. They were full and heavy, with pink nipples that sat in the middle of her large and perfectly round areola.

"Hot bitch, huh?" Brooke chuckled, licking her lips. "Mira works at the Honda dealer and when she saw me in a bra less top she said I should get my nipples pierced. She said that she'd get me a better deal if I let her take me to get it done and I ended up with the car and pierced nipples. What d'you think?"

Before I could react, she used both hands to lift her top and, for a couple of seconds, her full black breasts were totally revealed in all their glory. There was only one word to describe them—magnificent. Laura Johnson had majestic breasts, too. But her chocolate coloured nipples hadn't been pierced. I'd never seen anything as sexy as Brooke's nipple rings, with the little hearts hanging down.

"I ... think ... they're very attractive," I slowly replied, cursing myself for such a lame answer.

She pulled the top back in place, oblivious to the stares from people near us. Was their nothing that embarrassed this girl? Then she was rummaging back in her envelope again. She took out a photograph and held it up to her Auntie. When Mischelle nodded her permission, Brooke smiled and handed it to me.

I almost fell off my stool. The photograph was of Mischelle, sitting upright in a bath full of soapy water. She was smiling for the camera and cupping her pendulous breasts. I glanced at her impassive face and then back at Brooke. 

It seemed that the photo was no big deal to either of them but it certainly left its mark on me. Despite myself, I could feel the heat between my thighs. Here I was, looking at the naked photograph of a woman who was sitting next to me and who had yet to utter a word. It was as surreal as it was provocative.

My mouth must have dropped open because Brooke began to laugh again.

"Auntie Mischelle wants me to tell you about her and me. She's my mum's best friend and lives in a very nice house close to my college. I run some errands for her and she pays me ... routine stuff to begin with but then outside of the box."

"Outside the box?" I queried, looking at one of them and then the other. 

"Mmm-hmm," Brooke answered. "We've grown very close and Auntie Mischelle sort of guides the things I do."

This time I frowned. Was I picking this up clearly? The change in expression on Brooke's face told me there was more to tell.

My gaze shifted to Mischelle as I returned the photograph to Brooke. The expression on her face remained emotionless except ... except ... my eyes had involuntarily dipped to her breasts inside her dark jumper. The photograph had shown them to be as generous as Brooke's, with large dark areola and nipples. Just like the older black women in my masturbatory fantasies. A knowing smile seemed to briefly touch the corner of her lips ... and then disappear again just as quickly. 

Had she noticed my glance?

I suddenly had the feeling that while I wanted to hear more from Brooke, I would gain more from the discussion if we were on our own. Mischelle was starting to bug me. I told myself that was because of the silent treatment and not the tinge of arousal I'd experienced on seeing her naked in the photograph.

I glanced out of the window, seeking a way forward. The storm had well and truly broken and the rain was pounding against the glass.

"I have enough to be going on with for now," I said, deliberately looking at Mischelle and then turning back to Brooke. "I intend to stay down here for the weekend. Perhaps you and I could meet again tomorrow? By then I'll have digested all of this and have my thoughts in order. How does that feel?"

Her eyes lit up instantly. "You're going to write it?"

"One step at a time," I said, sending her a reassuring smile. "Let's say I'm very interested but we have a few more things to talk about."

She instantly swung her head towards Mischelle.

"See, I've done what you asked. You didn't think I could. Now everyone will know what a slut I can be. See, you won't have to punish me anymore."

"Punish?" 

The word just came out of my mouth. What did Brooke mean, punish?

Her head went down for a moment and I realised I shouldn't have interrupted. This was between her and Mischelle. I needed to understand what was going on but I could probe further when Brooke and I had some alone time.

"Where are you staying?" she suddenly asked, changing the subject.

I shrugged nonchalantly. "I'll find a hotel. It shouldn't be too difficult and—"

The look of bemusement on her face made me pause. 

"You haven't booked a hotel? This is Brighton's busiest time of the year. Don't you know there's a festival on?"

No. I had no idea. Damn. The long drive home wasn't an option, not with the storm outside. Besides, I was tired and I'd drunk a couple of glasses of wine. I'd never been good with alcohol. 

"Don't worry," she said as I hesitated. "I have an idea." 

She exchanged glances with Mischelle and when her gaze returned to meet mine there was a different look in her eyes...

BROOKE

Everything was working out exactly as Mischelle had predicted. She had gone for it big-time when I'd first mentioned the idea of getting someone to write a story about me. She'd said I was a slut and that I should be shown as one. But that wasn't all. When I'd shown her Claire's photograph she had instantly decided she wanted a lot more than just the story. She made it clear I was to follow her instructions and that she'd punish me again if I didn't.

But this was going to be a pleasure. 

I held Claire's sexy gaze while I slipped the photographs back into the buff coloured envelope. By the time I'd showed her them all, and told her the stories, she'd be eating out of my hand. She might be playing hard to get but I knew she was already hooked on writing the story about me. Then there was the way she looked at me. She tried hard not to show it but she could hardly keep her eyes off my body. 

She wanted me every bit as much as I wanted her.

Mischelle had insisted on attending the meeting to make sure I did as she'd told me. I'd followed her instructions to the letter. She also wanted to spook Claire. Auntie Mischelle knew exactly how to manipulate people—look at me!—and her silent treatment was just a way of establishing control. 

When I felt he nudge my foot with hers, it was my cue. I picked up my dark sunglasses and covered my eyes with them. It made me look even sexier.

"I'm staying at the Hotel Pelirocco tonight and only got the room by default a week ago," I lied, repeating what Mischelle had told me earlier. "So I doubt there'll be any rooms available anywhere in Brighton. But why don't you let me see what I can do..."

CLAIRE

Brooke and Mischelle had left me at the bar while they went off somewhere, to check vacancies I assumed. I sipped nervously at the remains of my wine as I awaited their return, trying to put the pieces together. Brooke's sudden exclamation to Mischelle had taken me aback and they didn't make sense. 

"See, I've done what you asked. You didn't think I could. Now everyone will know what a slut I can be. See, you won't have to punish me anymore."

I couldn't take the words at face value. I was missing something and I needed to get her alone tomorrow to discover what that was. That wasn't going to be easy, with her Auntie Mischelle shadowing her every move. She still hadn't said a word to me, although she did offer her hand, and a smile, before she and Brooke had headed towards the bar entrance.

Brooke had said they wouldn't be long and she was as good as her word. Except that when she returned, she was alone. Every move of her body as she walked towards me was provocative, designed to draw heads. By the time she was halfway across the room, practically every guy in the bar was staring at her. And a few women. 

"I have good and bad news."

I stared blankly at her as she slipped onto the bar stool beside me. 

"It's as I thought," she said, crossing her legs.

She casually dropped a hand onto my bare thigh as she shuffled closer. I wondered what Mischelle would think when she returned.

"There are no vacant rooms at any hotel in Brighton 'til Sunday night after the festival. Everything's booked."

I looked at her in frustration. The rain was beating against the windows now. Driving home appeared to be the only option but it wasn't one I was looking forward to. And yet, there was a glint in her eyes. She'd said good as well as bad news...

"But Auntie Mischelle has worked wonders. I've had to give up my room at the Pelirocco but that means we've been able to secure you a suite."

I stared at her, nonplussed for a second.

"A suite? Give up your room? I couldn't ask—"

Her smouldering eyes shone with excitement and she waived the small leaflet in her free hand into the air.

"It's complicated but Auntie Mischelle has pulled a few strings. She has a few things to attend to now but you can thank her tomorrow. But listen to this..."

She opened the leaflet and leant even closer to me so that I could see the contents as she began to read them. She smelled good. Some kind of spicy perfume. 

"Our flagship suite, the ultimate "dirty weekend" room..."

It took a moment for me to focus on what she was saying and when I did I blurted out my response without even thinking.

"Dirty weekend?"

She burst out laughing at my instant reaction and the hand on my leg squeezed a little more tightly. It was the touch of someone sharing a confidence.




One Weekend



"Uh-hum..." 

She practically rested her head on my shoulder as she nodded at the leaflet and began to read again. The aroma of her perfume seemed to wrap itself around me.

"It says here that the suite is dedicated to all things decadent and indulgent"

A lascivious grin lit up her face as she turned her head towards mine. Her wonderfully thick lips were moist. Kissable. My God. Was I really thinking that? If she edged forward another fraction they'd be on mine. I could still taste her lipstick from her over-jealous greeting kiss. I yanked my gaze back to the leaflet again.

"Go on..."

"It has an eight foot round bed," she said, removing her hand from my thigh at last and pointing a finger at the picture in the leaflet. "A round bed. And eight foot! How 'bout that?"

I nodded quietly. It sounded divine. 

"And ... it says here it has a mirrored canopy." 

Her elbow nudged my side and she winked at me. 

"And it has a luxury en-suite bathroom with a giant plunge bath and..." 

Her hand found my thigh again and her fingers squeezed my skin in excitement. 

"It has a pole dancing area!!!"

My jaw dropped. I momentarily stared at her and then took the leaflet from her hand. My God, it was true. There it was in the picture on the left, a silver pole. I'd done a pole dancing class when I was a few years younger and stupidly wondered if I could remember some of the moves.

"We're going to love it."

Her words didn't register immediately and when they did my breath caught in my lungs. Had I heard that correctly? We?

"Auntie Mischelle has paid for it," she excitedly told me, "so that we both have somewhere to stay. We can get to know each other better and talk more about the story. That's what you wanted, wasn't it?"

EARLY EVENING

The suite perfectly fitted the description in the leaflet. It was full of vivid reds, pinks and purples, with lots of cushions, low hanging lights and, yes, a pole. 

Brooke had giggled like an excited schoolgirl when we'd entered. Within seconds she had visited every room in the suite—twice—and then returned to the bedroom. Her body had bounced on the mattress as she'd launched herself at the large round bed. Then she had excitedly pointed upwards to the canopy ceiling mirror that matched the size and shape of the bed.

"Look at this, babe," she had chuckled. "We can watch ourselves fuck..."

It had been a joke. Of course it was. But my already soaring temperature had instantly nudged up another few degrees. 

We had decided to order room service rather than find a restaurant. That had been my suggestion. I'd thought it would give me the opportunity to quiz Brooke further about her Auntie Mischelle without other distractions. And that it would help me gain more insight into what she was expecting from the story.

Instead, although the evening was extremely relaxing, she had seemed reluctant to say too much about Mischelle other than we were going to see her again tomorrow and that I should thank her for arranging and paying for the suite. It was very generous of her, I had to admit? Maybe I'd misjudged her? Perhaps she was shy?

So we spent a good couple of hours eating a light meal and discussing Brooke's college work and aspirations, and then talked about my writing career. 

Eventually I was growing tired and happy to turn in for an early night. I still felt nervous about sharing the same bed as Brooke, but told myself not to be silly and that the eight foot monster left plenty of room for us both.

The bubble bath had been Brooke's idea.

"You've had a long day and it'll relax you before bed," she had eagerly told me. "Ask Auntie Mischelle, I make the best bubble baths in the world." 

She'd been so enthusiastic I didn't have the heart to say no. 

So here I was, luxuriating in the hot water and letting my mind regurgitate the happenings since I had arrived in Brighton. It was Brooke's relationship with Mischelle that intrigued me the most. Try as I might, I couldn't piece it together. Whose idea had it been for this story? Why would Mischelle punish her? Was that just a figure of speech? What sort of relationship did she and her so-called Auntie have? She had told me that not only did she run her bath, she would bring them wine and sit by the tub, keeping Mischelle company while she took her bath.

The silly thought occurred to me that she might do the same tonight and I felt a warm shiver run through me. What would I do if she suddenly walked in here? I had no idea. But even through the door I could hear her singing along to the music from the radio. She seemed happy enough in her own company.

My thoughts bounced from one to the other and eventually led me to my encounter with Laura Johnson again. Even when I gathered my dark hair in my hands and submerged my head beneath the bath water, it made no difference. The thought stayed with me. The recollections. 

Had we actually fucked all night—and in all those different positions? 

I'd not only given myself to my first and only female lover, I'd been a full participant. I had been so out of control, in that rarest of places where I didn't give a fuck about a thing except the next orgasm. I could still picture us in my mind's eye—the sight of white flesh and black skin clashing together was so sensual, so erotic and so raw.

Suddenly the sound of Brooke's music became clearer, the noise turned up several notches. It took me a few moments to realise why. The bathroom door had opened.

"Heyyyy..."

I almost creamed myself there and then. Brooke's smile was wide as she walked into the bathroom, but it was her naked body my eyes were focused on. She was magnificent ... slender yet curvy in all the right places, from her full breasts to her toned stomach to the gentle curves of her hips. And if I wasn't mistaken her cleanly shaved pussy was moist, her lips glistening with arousal.

"See something you like?" she chuckled as she caught my gaze.

I felt myself blush but still couldn't draw my eyes away. Her firm young breasts were swaying as she headed towards me, a glass of wine in each hand.

"We didn't finish it all," she told me, handing me my glass.

Her smouldering eyes locked on mine as she carefully placed her wine glass on the end of the sunken tub and gracefully climbed into the opposite side of the bath.

"Want some company?" she simply asked.

Her long black legs stretched down under the water, settling either side of my body. She dug her toes into my waist. 

"Would you like me to tell you more about me? For the story?"

I nodded. "Tell me about you and Mischelle."

She pulled her hair high onto the top of her head, fixing it there. Her breasts rose with the movement and I found myself studying her pierced nipples. She'd said that the girl who worked at the Honda dealer—Mira—had suggested she should get them pierced and that she'd arrange a good deal. I needed to hear more of that story, too. 

I took a long sip of wine as I waited for her response. The coolness as it slid down my throat was a nice contrast to my body temperature. 

Even Laura Johnson and I hadn't shared a bath.

"Why don't I start by telling you more about what turns me on?"

I nodded silently. It was a good compromise. Getting under Brooke's skin and finding out what made her tick was essential to the story. 

"I liked being blackmailed," she said, reaching for the soap.

As she began to work a creamy lather into her hands, she rotated the toes of both her feet against my skin. It took a concerted effort to concentrate on her words. Blackmailed, she'd said? I opened my mouth to explore the confession but she had already moved on. 

"I like to wear see through clothing and show off my body in public..."

She was working the soapy lather into her breasts now, first the right and then the left. Her hands moved slowly, covering each firm mound. I wondered how hard her nipples must feel in her palms. 

"I love it when older men and women get the hots for me..." 

She had reached for the soap again. This time, instead of working a lather into her hands, she caressed the soap across her stomach and downwards, under the water.

"I like to oral sex on a women or a man ... that gets my juices flowin'..." 

She raised one of her legs and pushed it between mine. I should have thought of resisting but I was captivated by the spell she was weaving.

"I guess I am more submissive but when I want to get my own way I can be dominant."

Her eyes narrowed a little as her arm began to flex just above the water. Was she...

"Tell me, babe," she murmured. "Did you get turned on you while looking at the pictures I sent?"

I could have pretended but there was no point. She could see right through me.

"Who wouldn't?" I replied, trying to generalise.

It didn't fool her. She wasn't even looking for an answer.

"The thought of you writing my story had me rubbing a hole in my pussy last night."

I blinked my eyes in an attempt to stop my head from spinning. She knew exactly how to press my buttons. Was I that obvious? I told myself to get a grip. But her foot was rising higher between my legs and pushing them apart. I knew I should put a stop to this before it went too far. But my legs were widening of their own volition.

Her foot found my wetness. When she ran her big toe along the full length of my opening my heart began to palpitate. I was more aroused than I could ever remember... except for Laura Johnson. What had she said?

"Once you've had black, you never go back."

I stared helplessly at Brooke but she wasn't letting up. She was grinning back at me, as if defying me to resist. I stifled a groan when she gently parted my labia with her toe. When she eased it inside me, I thought I would pass out. 

"Do you like that thought, Claire. Rubbing my pussy thinking of you?"

She rotated her toe as she spoke. My body shuddered and jerked. When she repeated the action, I whimpered like a baby. As she twisting the toe inside me a third time, there was no holding back. 

The orgasm hit me like a freight train. 

She kept the toe inside me as I rose to the summit and then peaked. Her caressing movements were gentler, as if pacing me down from the throbbing intensity. Then before I knew it she was pulling away. With both hands on the side of the tub, she rose to her feet and stepped out of the water. 

"Don't be long..." she sexily said.

I watched transfixed as beads of water cascaded down her curvy black body. A tiny drop released itself from her left ear and landed silently on her right breast, tantalisingly making its way down to her erect, chocolate coloured pierced nipple. 

I knew then that I was lost.

*

I had waited as long as I could. Every nerve end in my body was taut with expectancy. When, eventually, I had no choice other than to leave the bathroom, I moved uncertainly into the bedroom. It had taken a while to rebuild my resolve and I had decided that we would have to put what had just happened behind us. 

Brooke had taken me unaware ... but as much as my personal desire was pouring out of every pore, I needed to be professional if I was to write this story.

But the scene as I moved from one room to the next stopped me in my tracks.

Brooke had stretched herself across the large round bed, her legs spread wide. One hand was squeezing her right breast and the other was busy between her legs. Her eyes were tightly closed, lost to the world. Above me, her reflection bounced back off the mirrored ceiling. There were two Brooke's in the room, both with their fingers busy between their thighs. My pussy flooded. 

I told myself to return to the bathroom to compose myself but I remained riveted in place. The rise and fall of her breasts were almost hypnotic. Her pierced nipples looked like they were begging to be sucked. And the wonderful darkness of the skin between her thighs contrasted with the illicit glimpses of pink between the working fingers on her sex.

Her laughter caught me by surprise. Her eyes hadn't been fully closed and I realised with some shame that she'd caught me red handed.

"You like watchin' the lil black girl fuck herself?"

I was too embarrassed to reply. Her words hit the mark and she could see me she struggle with my feelings. It wasn't just that I'd caught her playing with herself ... I'd stood there and watched her like a voyeur when I should have turned away. 

"Don't be shy..." she whispered seductively.

She slowly pulled her hand away and examined two of her fingers. They shone wetly in the subdued lighting. She turned them slowly back and forth before slowing dipping them into her wine glass and then took them seductively between her lips.

"Black pussy," she murmured, pulling them free and then holding them out towards me. "The best taste in the world. Would you like to taste?"

I couldn't help myself. I didn't want to help myself. My knees were threatening to buckle but I was suddenly stepping across the floor towards her. When I reached the bed, she presented her fingers to my mouth. I crawled onto the bed beside her and she pressed them against my parted lips.

"That's it, babe. Open up..." There was a sultry edge to her voice.

Like an obedient pupil I sucked at her fingers. The taste was familiar from my experience with Laura Johnson but this was sweeter. She smiled into my clouded eyes as she watched my reaction. It was as if she knew—we both knew—that I'd crossed the Rubicon and that it was a taste I was not going to be able to resist.

Then she was leaning back, resting her elbows on the bed as she spread her legs wider. She pointed down to her sex and then crooked a finger.

My need took over. I dipped my head. It was then that control passed between us. The first lick across her sweet lips was electrifying. It was like giving a reformed addict another. This was what I'd been craving ever since Laura Johnson. 

I just hadn't realised it.

Her taste was intoxicating and I frantically pushed her legs wider still. Her skin was like silk—black silk—under my hands. My eyes stared upwards into hers as I began to lap along her labial lips. She was right. It was the best taste in the world. 

I couldn't get enough and to begin with there was no finesse. Just frenetic licking. My hands curled around her thighs, pulling her closer. I tilted my head so that I could push my nose into her pussy. The aroma was almost as intoxicating as her taste. 

"Yeah, that's it, babe," she groaned out.

She dropped her hands to my hair, gripping it tightly. Her hips began to gyrate on my tongue. She pulled my head up fractionally so that she could stare down into my eyes. The needy look in hers drove my libido higher.

My hands reached up to her breasts, cupping them. The tips of my fingers closed around her nipple rings and I tugged at them. She screamed out her approval.

I was lost. I was found. I was out of control. 

I speared my tongue between her labial lips, pushing deep inside. Her whimpers turned into moans. I glanced up again but this time her gaze was fixed on the mirror above us. We must have been quite a sight. I tried to follow her gaze but she yanked my head back in place.

"Keep doin' what you're doin', babe..." 

Her legs went around my back and the way she squeezed my head between her thighs forced my tongue even deeper inside. She frenetically was humping her black body up into my face and I was responding like a madwoman. Beads of perspiration prickled my forehead and mingled with her flowing juices.

"Like that..."

"Shit..."

"Oh fuck..."

I was desperate for a breath of air but I wasn't letting up. Neither was she. I could feel her pussy tighten on my tongue. Her whole body was tightening. When the dam burst, it was as if I had been reincarnated.

NEXT MORNING

I turned my head on the pillow to check the time. It was seven am. Brooke was curled up on the bed beside me. She was softly dozing. It had been a long night, an incredible night ... a night when I had found myself again. Each time either of us had drifted off to sleep the other had taken advantage and off we went again. 

I reached out and gently tugged on the light sheet across her body. Inch by inch, I uncovered her. A naked black female body was so much sexier than that of a white woman. I had discovered that with Laura Johnson. Brooke reminded me.

I shifted on my side to face her and then shuffled downwards, moving slowly so as not to disturb her sleep. I had other plans to awaken her. Her left nipple was inches from my mouth. It was still hard. The nipple ring, with the little heart hanging down, looked so sexy. I nudged the tip of my tongue towards her and licked across her nipple ... once, twice, enough to bring a soft sigh from her lips.

She fractionally shifted on the bed and my eyes zeroed in on that treasure between her thighs. It was officially mine now.

I licked again at her nipple and slid my hand between her legs. She was warm and wet. Glancing up at the mirror above us, I watched the white woman on the bed start to pleasure the black teenager. It was like watching an adult movie. The viewer knew what was on her mind. The older woman wanted to take advantage of the teenager. The white woman wanted to fuck the black woman while she slept.

My fingers began to play with her pussy, gently caressing her clit. My mouth on her nipple became more active, taking it between my lips and sucking gently. Brooke began to stir. Half conscious, she opened her legs wider and arched her back to thrust more of her breast towards my feeding mouth. 

Her eyes half opened and she smiled at me. She was beautiful.

"Oh yeah," she purred and ground her hips upwards against my fingers. "Don't stop..."

I had no intention of stopping. I ran my tongue up her chest and licked around her neck as I worked a finger inside her. She moaned and wantonly spread her legs wider. Everything about Brooke was wanton. I'd never met such an uninhibited young woman. She had told me during the night that she lived to fuck. 

"I'll never have enough of you," I whispered in her ear.

Her hand slid down my body and cupped my mons.

"That's what I like to hear, babe," she sexily murmured. "Are you going to put that in my story?"

"I'm going to put in what a great fuck you are," I said with a soft chuckle. "And how you seduced your writer."

I darted my tongue in and out of her earlobe as I spoke. She moaned and responded by pushing two fingers inside me. They entered without any resistance.

"Didn't take much seducin'," she laughed, roughly pumping her fingers in and out of my pussy. "I'd say the little white girl craves black, wouldn't you?"

I groaned aloud at the delicious friction inside me and pulled both knees upwards so that the squelching fingers could reach even deeper. The fact that she could see right through me, could sense my need, made everything even sexier. 

"You my bitch now?" she asked with a grin.

I jammed my mouth to hers and kissed her hard. She instinctively knew how to press my buttons. But I was learning how to press hers...

I twisted myself away and surprised her by spreading my body across hers, scissoring our legs together. She gasped out loud. I could feel her heat and wetness as our pussies clashed noisily together. 

"No, you're my bitch," I mumbled, pushing myself into an upright position.

I pulled my leg up to my shoulder and stared triumphantly down at her as I began to move my hips. Her eyes stared back but then I realised she was looking past me, up at our reflections in the mirror. I grinded slowly, savouring the moment. The delicious feeling of our bare skin gliding against one another was sublime. 

"Whose bitch are you," I asked, surprising myself with my need for control.

Her smouldering eyes found mine. "Yours, babe."




One Weekend



I melted at the words and adjusted position, so that clit rubbed on clit. Our juices were already flowing and eased the smooth grind of our pussies. I moved up and down, hard and deep, and then in tight little circles. Brooke released a deep, guttural groan and pumped her hips back. One of her hands reached for my thigh, holding me close. I held her raised leg against my shoulder and used my free hand to grip her ass. 

The friction, the heat, the sucking wetness, the constant rubbing had me out of control. Brooke was close too. Her groans mingled with mine. When I bucked faster, her body responded like-for-like and our groans became shrieking sounds. 

Our nerve ends triggered, our bodies vibrated, and the red mist descended...

LUNCHTIME

I was on a high. 

I had rediscovered the feelings that had remained dormant ever since ... since ... since I had first discovered the joys of lesbian sex. 

Laura Johnson had inducted me and I had repaid her that night by letting loose my inner slut. I had done the same with Brooke last night. The stunning black teenager had seduced me, yes, but then I had taken over and fucked her with all my heart, body and soul. 

And this morning I had fucked her again.

Afterwards, we had enjoyed a leisurely late breakfast in the suite and then gone for a long walk along the beach. Brooke had worn a see through wife beater t-shirt with her breasts clearly visible each side. She looked slutty. She looked hot. She told me she wanted men and women to admire and want her ... but to know that they couldn't have her because she was mine!

My pussy had instantly flooded. 

She could seduce with words as well as her fabulous body.

I hadn't brought any sort of beachwear to Brighton with me but like everything else, Brooke had a solution. Her black skirt would go well with my white tee-shirt, she had said. It was so short that my panties were almost on display but I had gone along with it. 

Brooke had dressed incredibly sexy for me and I wanted to look hot for her. She wouldn't allow me to wear a bra either. God, was this really me?

By the time we had walked along the promenade, and then along the golden sands, my thong was so wet that I thought I would have to remove it. People were staring at her, at us, and it was clear what they were thinking by the looks on their faces. My prudish embarrassment was overridden by the feeling of intense arousal. Yes, I was fucking this girl. So what?

Eventually we reached a seafront bar and took a small table at the front, overlooking the beach. Brooke draped an arm around my shoulder until the cocktails were served. I had never felt this liberated in my life.

"You know what, babe?" she whispered as she planted kisses around my ear.

People were looking our way but she didn't care. I was beginning to feel the same way. I was so turned on that I swear if we had been alone I would have gone down on her there and then. 

"What?" I quietly replied, trying to rein in my thoughts. 

"Maybe next time I should wear a dog collar? I could have a leash that comes under my shirt and you could hold me by it. Would you like that?"

I crossed my legs in a vain attempt to control the heat between my thighs. I came from a different world to this girl but every time she told me what she was thinking I just wanted to fuck her again. 

I bashfully shook my head. "Brooke, you are something else..."

She laughed out loud and adjusted her top. My eyes automatically followed the movement. Most of her incredible breasts were on show. 

"Love my tits, don't ya," she chuckled as my eyes clouded. She then tilted her head quizzically. "You said you had a lot more to ask me..."

I took a couple of deep breaths. My heart was rising in anticipation of where the conversation could go. Yes, I needed more background for the story but I also needed to understand exactly what was going on. 

"Your Auntie Mischelle," I slowly said, watching her eyes. "Tell me about you and her."

"Sure. She is my mom's best friend and she lives in a very nice house close to my college. She has a ton of money. My mom got me to run some errands for her and I suppose everything has progressed from there."

"Everything?" 

I picked up my drink and swirled the pink liquid in its martini glass. 

"What does that mean, Brooke?"

"Well, she started off having me do routine things like going to the store and car wash but then she got me to do some things outside of the box, like going to an adult store and buying her toys and lube."

I nearly choked on my drink. I waited for her expression to change, for her to tell me she was joking. But her face was impassive. 

"She's been very generous to me. She knows I'm a student and gives me money for the errands I run. She even paid for me to have my tongue pierced."

She grinned as she stuck her tongue out at me. Her hand slid onto my thigh.

"You liked the effect last night, huh?"

I felt myself colouring and pushed her hand away as she playfully tried to slide it under the hem of my short skirt. But then her expression changed and I could see a deeper thought come into her mind. 

"One day I left my purse there and she must have gone through it. She found two prescriptions bottles with medical marijuana in it. I pleaded with her not to tell my mom because she would kill me. That's when things began to change."

I felt my breath catch. Her voice was a little deeper now. 

"Change in what way?"

"She began to insist I walk topless around her house." She suddenly grinned at me. "She loves my titties as much as you do. I bring her toys to the bath for her and she gets me to suck on them after she's used them."

My eyes grew wide. This was almost beyond belief.

"Does she..." 

I choked back the question. How could I ask if her so-called Auntie was fucking her? But Brooke anticipated the question.

"Of course." She nonchalantly shrugged as if she was talking about housework. "I do anything she tells me." 

This time my blush was accompanied by shivers. I had so many conflicting thoughts running through my mind that I didn't know what to say or ask next. The thought of Brooke and Mischelle together appalled and yet—unbelievably—excited me at the same time. What was wrong with me?

"So..." I slowly said, thinking things through. "What did you mean when you told Mischelle yesterday that you'd done what she wanted? That she didn't need to punish you. The story was her idea?"

She leaned forward again, as if anxious for me to understand. 

"No, no. That was my idea, babe. But I couldn't do anything about it without asking Mischelle. I showed her your photo and she told me I could go ahead. She said she wanted the story to show what a slut I was—"

"You're not a slut..."

She seemed taken aback by my instant reaction. For a few seconds she just looked at me and then her head darted forward. The quick, fervent kiss took me completely by surprise and when I opened my mouth her tongue flooded in. 

"Yes I am," she told me, leaving me breathless when she pulled away. 

Her eyes darted around the room. Our passionate clinch hadn't gone unnoticed and it was as if the kiss had been designed to reinforce her point. 

"I love the attention," she almost purred. "I love people looking at me, wanting me. Auntie Mischelle controls me and I love that, too. I'm her slave. I don't do anything without her permission and I do whatever she tells me."

My mouth dropped open. I was stunned. There was a bigger picture here but for the moment I could only think of one thing. Had I really been stupid enough to think there was something special between us?

"So last night," I muttered. "She told you to—"

Brooke's expression changed instantly when she saw the pathetic look on my face. She leant forward again and dropped a reassuring hand onto my thigh again.

"No! She didn't tell me to fuck you. I wanted you the moment I read your stories. I knew how hot it would be. When I saw your photo and then met you, I wanted you so much I almost creamed my panties. It's just that ... I needed Auntie Mischelle's permission."

I nodded. As strange as this all felt, I could understand her logic.

"She knows what happened last night?"

Brooke laughed and I realised how stupid I must sound. Of course Mischelle was fully aware of what had gone on. She had set it up. 

"She paid for the suite, remember," Brooke reminded me. "You can thank her when we go to her house later."

I stared at her. This was getting out of hand. A feeling of intense irritation settled on my body. Fuck Mischelle and her games.

"I'm not going."

She stared at me for a moment, as if she couldn't believe what she had just heard. I could see the tears building along her mascara-lined lashes. She sniffed to hold them back but her voice began to quiver as she spoke.

"She'll punish me if you don't..."

MID AFTERNOON

My body was literally shaking as I stood outside the door to Mischelle's house. Brooke was already looking at me in that way of hers, the one that suggested she knew something I didn't.

Throughout our return walk to the hotel from the seafront bar, she had pleaded with me not to let her down. Mischelle would punish her if I didn't visit, she insisted, knowing full well that I wouldn't allow that to happen. 

But that wasn't the only reason I was here. 

I was becoming more and more intrigued with Brooke's so-called Auntie Mischelle. The fascination had started with the silent treatment she had given me when we'd first met and had continued with Brooke's confessions. 

Many of my masturbatory fantasies involved beautiful young black girls like Brooke, but others had featured older, unattractive dykes. Mischelle was no dyke and she certainly wasn't unattractive. But she was older and her controlling way was exactly the sort of thing that got me off. Despite myself, I found myself wanting to see where more contact would take me.

Brooke, the sexy little bitch, had known how to work me up in preparation for the meeting. No sooner had I agreed to go with her to Mischelle's than she had stripped naked and positioned herself on the bed with her back to me, doggy style. She hadn't even needed to speak. That stunning black ass, pushed high into the air, had been impossible to resist. 

Her dusky labial lips had been partly open, revealing her arousal as well as her pinky interior. It needed a tongue. My tongue. 

Strangely enough, her asshole had looked almost as inviting. I'd never indulged in ass-play before and a couple of days ago the thought would have been abhorrent. But now ... I craved everything she offered to me. 

I had crawled onto the bed behind her and followed my instincts...

As Mischelle opened the door, I shook the recollection away and tried to control the beating of my heart. She wore only a thin black robe and, beneath it, I had the impression she was naked. It was the first time I saw her without her large sunglasses. She had beautiful brown eyes, accentuated by the carefully applied make-up.

"You've come to me," she said, staring me straight in the eye. "I knew you would."

I felt myself bristle with indignation. She was implying that she had exerted some sort of influence to get me here and for some reason I felt it was important to bat that away.

"I came because Brooke asked me to," I retorted. 

Her stare didn't waiver as she shook her head. 

"No you didn't. We both know that."

Before I could respond again, she took Brooke's hand and pulled her behind her into the house. I was left standing at the door, watching them disappear, and it took a few moments for me to realise the significance. The decision to enter was mine. But if I did, I was playing by her rules. 

I hesitated, more for effect. I didn't want her to think it was that easy. But even as I waited, I knew I wasn't fooling anyone. There was an inevitability about what was going to happen that made me shudder with anticipation.

The living room was bright and airy. Mischelle had seated herself on the sofa and unfolded her legs from beneath her as I entered. With a lazy ease, she stretched them along the length of the sofa. 

"You like the suite?" she asked. "It's yours for tonight as well."

It was? I realised with a start that I had been so captivated by the last twenty-four hours that I hadn't thought beyond today.

I cast a quick look in Brooke's direction and the sight brought my mind back to the here-and-now. Her naked black breasts thrust proudly towards me. Should I have been surprised? She had warned me in the beachfront bar that Mischelle insisted she was topless around her house. But those had been words. This was reality.

"I hope you made full use of the suite," Mischelle continued. She shot me a knowing smile. "Brooke is wonderful company, ain't she?"

She deliberately raised her knee and the robe slipped away. She knew my eyes would home in on the exposed shadows of dark flesh. I shivered. There was no doubt that I was being manipulated and yet I couldn't resist. 

"I insist my guests dress appropriately in my house," she went on, turning the screw. 

She nodded at Brooke. There was no mistaking the message.

But I was stronger than that. For a few moments the final shreds of my self-esteem held sway. This woman might control Brooke but she had no control over me. I remained stock-still, a battle of wills. 

But Brooke had read the situation and come up behind me. Or perhaps she had been primed? Whichever, I should have resisted as her fingers slipped around my body and slowly began to unfasten the buttons on my blouse. Instead, by the time I finally came back to my senses, she had unhooked the clips of my bra and was dropping it to my feet next to my blouse. 

I told myself that I should have been disgusted at the way Mischelle's eyes devoured my breasts. My nipples were rock hard under her appraising gaze. Yet I felt only pride and arousal at the way her eyes devoured me like a lioness sizing up her prey. 

"Come here..."

Her voice had an edge to it, one that brooked no disagreement. I moved forward hesitantly as she patted a place on the sofa next to her. My legs were so weak I wasn't sure if they would carry me. 

"Wonderful," she murmured, cupping my breasts.

Her eyes found mine as she took my nipples between her forefingers and thumbs. When she gently twisted I closed my eyes and grunted. 

She pulled on them a second time, a little harder this time... 

And then again... 

My grunts grew louder. The throbbing in my nipples was exquisite. 

"Let's see if we can make that noise a little louder..."

This time she pulled so hard that tears formed in the corners of my eyes. My body flinched and I bit my lip as my head fell back. 

Before I could recover, she flicked the hem of my skirt to my waist and began to tug my panties down my legs. I think I even raised my ass from the sofa to let her remove them.

"So obedient," she triumphantly teased.

I didn't resist when she pushed my legs apart. She nipped my nipple again, making me whimper. Her other hand found my clit and rubbed in soft circles.

"Pleasure and pain is such a wonderful mixture..." she whispered.

She had no problem working two fingers inside me. I was so wet. Her other hand curled into my hair and she yanked my head back and then forward. Telling me who was in control. I grunted out my acquiescence. 

She somehow worked a third finger inside—I had never taken three before—and I found my legs spreading wider of their own volition.

I panted, moaned and whimpered, all in one. I began to pump my hips, pushing my body up and back to the movement of her fingers. I was close to exploding. But then she was pulling her hand away... 

No ... no! 

I stared silently at her, my eyes pleading for her to continue. 

"Don't worry, baby," she reassuringly whispered. "I just want to watch while the slut finishes you off."

*

Brooke grinned up from between my legs as I came down from my orgasm. But it hadn't just been the eager way she'd attacked my pussy that had brought on my climax. It was the sight of Mischelle shrugging off her robe no more than a couple of feet from me.  

Her eyes had burned into mine as she had rubbed her clit while Brooke lapped at me. I had never seen anything quite like it. Incredibly, it was growing even bigger with each stroke of her middle finger...

"You can come and help whenever you're ready," she told me.

Her spare hand brought her left breast to her mouth as she spoke, so that she could suck on her dark chocolate nipple. I couldn't hold back. However surreal the situation was, I wanted to prove to her what I could do. I lunged forward and used the whole of my mouth on her clit, sucking like on a cock.

"I love enthusiastic white women," she rasped. 

Without warning, she gripped my hair and yanked my head upwards so that she could stare into my eyes. The look she gave me confirmed who was in control and who was submitting. My whole body shivered. It was as if every forbidden fantasy I'd ever held was coming true.

"Make Mischelle squirm 'n shake," she ordered, pulling my head back to her pussy.

I was so aroused I began to devour her like an animal that hadn't been fed for days. I wrapped my hands around her plump black thighs, dragging her even closer. She placed her palms over them, entwining our fingers. 

I couldn't get enough—desperate to please her. Saliva dripped from my lips as I chewed on her clit, sucked on each of her labial lips in turn, and then licked and lapped at her juices as if I was going out of my mind. 

I was out of control, surrendering to whatever my fate was going to be. We both knew it. 

Brooke approached us out of the corner of my eye and for a moment or two I didn't understand the sudden flash of light. Then it hit me. She was photographing us. A surge of panic ran through my fevered mind but Mischelle had no intention of letting me escape from my submissive position.

Her hands found my hair, curling strands of dark locks around her fingers and holding me there. Eventually, I almost forgot about Brooke. All that mattered were the moans I was eliciting with my mouth and tongue. 

I was on fire. 

I have no idea how long I pleasured her but every second was unbelievably hot. Gradually, her calmness changed. She began to pump upwards into my mouth. Her moans grew louder. Her body began to tremble. When I raised my eyes to stare up beyond her pendulous breasts she grabbed my head in both hands and held it motionless while she rotated her hips in slow circles on my face. 

"I have two sluts now," she mouthed down at me. "I'm going to mark you as mine forever, girlie."

Her words bounced around my head. They thrilled me. She was going to mark me? I could feel another orgasm begin to form in my own body. Was that possible? Without being touched?

She began to rub her pussy across my face again, smothering her juices everywhere between my forehead and my chin. Then she was smothering my face, letting up occasionally to let me breathe and then grinding over me again. 

Her black cunt was treating my face as if she owned it. She did. 

Her hips began to move faster and her wet pussy left a juicy trail all over my face. She was close and I was in heaven. She began to pant hard and the trembling in her wonderful black body signalled the onset of her orgasm. 

But when she came ... oh fuck ... I had no idea what was in store. An uncontrollable scream tore from her throat as the first squirt erupted. 

It splashed across my face, making me jerk my head. I tried to pull away but her hands held my head a short distance away, perfectly positioned to take the full force of the faultlessly directed second gush, and then a third. 

"Drink," I heard her gasping voice tell me. "Drink..."





One Weekend



I could hear the click of Brooke's camera beside us but was too high on arousal to care. I'd seen women squirt in blue movies and had masturbated to the images afterwards. To experience the effect was like a wet dream come true... 

I opened my mouth and almost choked as the next burst violently released itself. Then another. God, how much did she have? 

Her sharp manicured nails dug into my scalp as I frantically swallowed and then twisted my head in an attempt to catch it all. Yet even in this moment of absolute sexual bliss, one thing was very clear to me. 

My life was never going to be the same again.

EPILOGUE

I had walked back and forward along the seafront for over an hour. My phone had rung several times but I hadn't answered. It would be Brooke, I knew, wondering where I was. What could I tell her?

Mischelle had instructed me to return to the hotel and pack my belongings. I was to remain in Brighton, she told me. She said she had a place where I could stay until I had written the story. It wasn't a request, it was an instruction. She'd also told me that she had some other friends she wanted me to 'meet'. And so did Brooke. Ammunition, she suggested, to enhance my storytelling.

That left me in a strange place. Having my sexual fantasies brought to life was as scary as it was arousing. Putting them on paper, writing stories around them, was safe. It avoided any uncomfortable repercussions. But in real life, there were always consequences. 

I had already stepped way beyond my comfort zone and this was just the start. Mischelle's words and the look on her face suggested there would be moments of uncontrollable ecstasy and ... more sexual humiliation.

The arousal those thoughts evoked shocked my very being. This wasn't me. Was it? And yet, I felt more alive, more sexually liberated, than ever before.

I finally dragged myself away from the coastline and back to my car. My packed suitcase was already in the boot. The only remaining question was whether I drove North or West. Return home or to my new destiny.

Decision made, my heart began to pound. There would be no changing my mind...



One Weekend Stand



Friday

It was supposed to be a cottage, but it didn't deserve such an evocative title. For one thing, a cottage should be perched on a hill, with a lake or babbling brook flowing nearby, soothing everyone with the swoosh, swoosh, swoosh of water on rock. For another, a cottage should be brightly painted, with a proper wooden porch and pegs near the door to hang up sweaters or swim toys or fish caught in the nearby babbling brook. A cottage should be welcoming, with big windows and several doors and room to move about and get away from it all, even if "it all" included the person who brought you there.

This place had none of those expected features. No, it sat at the bottom of a hill, in a valley between some hills in fact, hunched down like a small child hiding from his mother. There was no water to be seen or heard. And it was painted a dark, drab brown, a color indistinguishable from the pine tree trunks that towered all around it, the kind that were bare of branches until you looked thirty feet up, and even those were sparse and filled with painful-looking needles. And, on this side at least, there were no windows and only a single door, without a window, a metal one like the kind you'd find on the filling station rest room. With two deadbolts. 

She tried to decide how to describe it. Not a shack, because the roof appeared sound and there was a stone-crafted chimney rising up to the peak. Not a hunting lodge or even lodgette, because it looked as though someone at sometime had attempted to create stone edging for a garden around the perimeter. Not a writer's retreat, because writers needed windows and things to gaze at thoughtlessly while waiting for the words to come together, and here all a writer would be gazing at was the bottom of some generic pine trees, sans branches, needles or cute woodland animals. 

A cabin would be the closest, best description. One room, probably, unless some sadist had decided to put walls in what was probably only a 20 foot by 20 foot space. A cabin carefully secured from hunters, writers and other riff-raff by deadbolts on the steel door and tightly locked window shutters, the kind you see in hurricane country. A square cabin, plopped on a square foundation, sitting at the bottom of a non-scenic valley, surrounded by towering pine trees, hidden from direct sunlight, unporched, unremarkable, unwelcoming. 

This is where he brought her? If privacy was what they sought, then privacy was what they'd gotten. It was, he'd explained, a favor given by a friend who owed. He hadn't explained what he'd done to get the favor. Nor who the friend was. Nor why said friend would have a cabin hidden in the woods, at the bottom of a valley, literally five miles from the nearest pavement that could even be considered a road. It's off the beaten track, he'd said. Yeah. They'd turned down one of those unpaved dirt tracks that the telephone workers use to repair the lines that cut through the woods. The kind that aren't maintained, aren't flat and aren't ever traveled by anyone other than telephone workers. Then, they'd turned down a path that was a path only because its existence was marked by a very small reflector nailed to a birch tree. He'd used a compass – a compass! – to navigate due south from the reflector, in between the towering trees, picking his own path for the 4x4, until by some miracle they'd spotted the chimney poking up from the valley. Then came some intricate maneuvering to drive the 4x4 to the entrance to the little valley so they could park next to the cottage/shack/cabin. 

She stood, carrying her small overnight case while he struggled to find the right key to unlock the brown metal door, and assessed the trip so far. The story she'd concocted for her husband was messy and complicated. A combination of a girls' weekend away for a reunion with college girlfriends – no, he wouldn't know any – at a cottage one of them owned on a lake to the north. Probably out of cell phone range. Certainly not the kind of place a husband could or should pop in for a visit. Only girls allowed. She'd even set up multiple contingency stories in case that one didn't hold up, which she was sure it wouldn't. Her husband was as prying as he was insecure. He always needed to know everything about her plans. 

The lock clicked open, accompanied by a small shout of success. His cover story was everything hers was not; elegant in its simplicity. As far as his wife knew, he was traveling up to a cottage deep in the woods to write a draft for a story. He might not have cell phone reception. And he'd call her when he got back to civilization. That was it. That was all. No questions. No prying. No calls to the National Guard. And to give his tale full credence, he'd already written a story draft, which he'd simply give to her to read when he returned home. 

For her part, she was unsure how she would act if faced with that much trust from her husband. Somehow, his distrust made this act of rebellion easier to contemplate, and less likely to create a guilty conscience. She glanced over at her friend as he propped open the door. She'd wondered on the trip up what he thought of all of this. He'd never second-guessed their plans. Never warned her of what would happen if she revealed their secret. In fact, he trusted her the way she wanted her husband to trust her. But then, if her husband trusted her that much, she might not even be standing here. But then... ah, shit, a person could go crazy over thinking like that. 

Shaking her head, she headed over to the now open door. After seeing the outside, she could barely wait to see what the inside looked like. 

He waited by the door for her, wondering for the hundredth time that day what was going through her head. Even after ten years of friendship, they knew so little about each other. Yet he would bet money that he knew more about her than her husband, who, once he'd captured her, seemed to have little interest in getting to know more about her. One man's loss was another man's gain, he though wryly. But that was only a cynical way to look at it. He was, to use an old-fashioned term, enraptured of her. And it wasn't hard to see why. Curious eyes set in delicate features gave her the look of a quizzical cat, the kind of animal that could be playful, serious and exasperating, all within the blink of an eye. She was quick to smile and radiant when she did, her smile as sunlit as her short blond hair. Thin, lean, lithe, athletic, maybe even skinny, her angular limbs only served to accentuate her full breasts and curvaceous hips. On the ride to the cabin, he'd had to physically force himself to concentrate on the road; his eyes kept straying to her cleavage, where the seatbelt strap neatly divided her breasts and pressed her sundress down against her, giving them even more prominence. 

Not that she minded the attention. He'd flirted with her the whole ride up, and she flirted back, a lot more freely than during their previous times together. It had been a very pleasant ride, except for those times when her husband had called. And called. And called. He'd been tempted to disparage the man's insecurity, but that would only be stating the obvious. And it wouldn't stop the calls from coming. 

Finally, in the last semi-civilized town, the cell reception began to fade, just as the cabin's owner had warned. He stopped the car at the local Starbucks – the damn places were everywhere – and bought her a latte frappe café flaffe banaffe, or whatever it was that she liked. And paid for extra whipped cream, until it towered almost as high as the cup itself. Then, back in the car, spoon-feeding whipped cream to each other as well as can be done in a moving vehicle, he'd driven around town until they found a live, actual pay phone, complete with the little blue phone symbol, so she could call her husband and once again reassure him of...whatever it was he was worried about this time. 

He'd waited out the phone call, far enough from her to not seem eavesdropping, but close enough to share her smiles and grimaces as she spoke to him. Finally she hung up the phone, her "Love you's" sounding a little forced. Her eyes had flashed as she began to gripe about him again. This time, though, he was ready for her, and as she came near he pulled her close, kissing her soundly. Her lips fluttered against his as she continued to talk. When her lips snapped shut, he was sure he'd made a fatal mistake. But then they softly parted and she leaned closer against him, not so much kissing him as allowing him to kiss her. He could feel her breasts against his chest, her thighs just barely straddling his right leg, her shoulders beneath his fingertips. He released her reluctantly, his lips leaving hers only after their bodies had parted. 

It had been their first real kiss, and hopefully had left no doubt as to his intentions, in case she didn't share them, and what could or shouldn't be discussed from then on. She'd recovered quickly, climbing back in the car, all smiles and sparkling eyes. Right away she moved her purse to the floor from the seat next to her where it had sat between them all drive. And didn't bother to straighten her sundress, leaving her legs bare and exposed right up to her thighs. As they made their way out of town, he rested his hand on her thigh. And wondered, completely unromantically, just when would be the right time to let his hand drift a bit farther upward. But that was a part of him that he didn't want to reveal, just yet.

The rest of the drive they'd talked only of the scenery out the window, the rolling hills, the deer most certainly hiding in the trees. She wasn't all that surprised when they turned down the telephone pole path; he'd warned her of that. Nor did she react much when he told her they were electric lines, not telephone lines. She seemed almost relieved not to have access to a phone. Only when he'd pulled out the compass and turned into the woods did she begin to show some consternation, pulling her bare feet up under her on the passenger's seat. Maneuvering through the woods took all of his concentration, so only after they finally spotted the chimney and he'd found a way into the valley, did he get a chance to gauge her reaction to their lodgings for the next two nights. 

While she didn't jump for joy, she didn't look disgusted either. He could see that she was curious to see what the inside was like. Was it as rustic as the outside? As primitive? So unlivable that they'd have to sleep in the car? He knew the answers from pictures his friend had already sent him, and from the written tour he'd received via email. But he wanted it to be a surprise for her.

In thinking about this trip, he'd imagined how they'd go from friends to something more. He had planned to ease into it, always testing the waters, making sure he wasn't forcing her to do something she didn't want to. But that first kiss had left him breathless. He liked to kiss. Liked it, at times, more than actually having sex. Liked drawing passion directly from the other person. Liked the intimacy. Liked the closeness. 

Capitulating to his desires, he'd pulled her close again, kissing her deeply, passionately, letting his tongue slide inside her mouth, mentally urging her to respond. When she did, when she pressed her lips back against his, pulled him closer and kissed him deeper, he knew he could let another curtain pull back and open himself to greater possibilities without fear. 

She prepared to enter the cabin, as she'd decided to call it, with an anticipation that made her tingle. It wasn't just wondering what kind of furnishings she'd find inside. No, it felt as though she was about to take a more momentous step. Walking across the transom leading to... what? That, she realized, was the best part. She didn't know what she was walking into. It was the first time in a long time that her future didn't seem scripted. 

And she wasn't even sure what man would be waiting for her once she got inside. She'd imagined, as they started planning this excursion, how things would go. A little flirting. Friendly touches. An awkward meeting of lips. And later, much later, a move to more intimate pursuits, all soft and slow and, yes, hedged. His kiss in town had caught her off guard. And the one on arrival here had definite undertones of passion in it. Something she'd often sensed in him, but that he'd never really allowed her to see. He'd always covered it in self-deprecating humor, or looked at her as though he was testing her, wondering how far he could press her. She'd always been careful to not respond too approvingly of his advances, so he wouldn't get the wrong idea at the wrong time. But now, she had to wonder who had been playing who?

Setting aside those thoughts, she stepped into the cabin and looked around in wonder. The interior wasn't nearly what she'd expected after seeing the ramshackle exterior. Oh, it was only one room. But much better appointed than anyone would have guessed. Dominating the room, in the corner opposite the door, sat a huge queen-size brass bed, with a white comforter decorated with calla lilies strewn across the top. At the foot of the bed was a large wooden trunk, with black iron edges and hasp. To her right, and directly opposite the foot of the bed was a small fireplace, situated so you could lay in bed and watch the fire crackling in the hearth. Not that they'd need it now, in the middle of the summer, but it looked welcoming nonetheless. 

Incongruously perched on a shelf to her left was a large screen plasma TV, a strangely modern touch in a cabin where all four walls featured wood paneling. Below it, behind glass doors, sat a stack of audio and video components, with names she didn't know and couldn't pronounce. Which meant very expensive stuff. No sign of any DVDs to watch, though. In the final corner lay the kitchen, with its high-end green laminate cabinets a perfect contrast to the wooden walls. Two large windows met at the corner, shafts of light leaking through the still-closed shutters. There was a small refrigerator, it's door currently open, though the light wasn't on. 

The floors were highly polished oak, protected by a scattering of patterned rugs. Up above, the wooden ceiling followed the contours of the roof, with four huge crossbeams helping to give the whole room the feel of a much grander lodge. 

"Let's get this place set up," he said, pulling a folded sheet of paper from his pocket. "Keys, keys, keys..." he mumbled, reading off the paper. "Ah!"

Opening the trunk by the bed, he felt along the top and pulled out a key. "The key to the kingdom," he declared, smiling as if at a hidden joke. "C'mon!"

She allowed herself to be pulled along, resolving to search through that trunk, indeed, the whole cabin, as soon as she had a chance. There was more here than she could see. She was sure of it. 

A few feet from the side of the house stood a small shed. The bathroom and shower, she supposed. He'd warned her of the lack of indoor facilities, like he was testing to see if that would throw her. Fortunately, it didn't look as bad as she'd imagined. The toilet closet was spotless, and even had a small cabinet with a mirror. They had to walk around the side of the shed to find the shower. It consisted of little more than a hose with a shower head on the end, suspended over a small cement slab. There were no walls or privacy screens. She walked over and stepped under the shower, then turned to face the cabin. It was as she thought. One of the large windows in the kitchen faced right out to the shower area. So anyone inside could watch someone shower, with no obstructions in the way at all. She smiled inwardly. Privacy was probably not the number one concern for anyone staying at this cabin. At least none of the neighbors would see her, she thought as she surveyed the surrounding, tree-studded hills. And the nearest ones probably lived over five miles away, as the crow flies. A woman could indulge her nudist tendencies out here.

She followed him into the shed, letting her eyes adjust to the gloom. Covering one wall were padlocked lockers, numbered one through four. The other wall held a couple of breaker boxes. At the end was some machinery, probably the water pump and a water softener. A couple of lawn chairs were leaning against the wall. She'd come back for those. And in baskets on the floor were... well, she didn't know quite what it was. A hammock, maybe? Or a collapsed tent?

He'd stopped to look when she did, then turned to her expectantly. 

"Ah. You don't know what that is?"

He said it like it was a challenge, and it felt kind of condescending. For a moment, she thought to dispute him. But then he'd challenge her to identify it, and she wouldn't be able to, and that would be worse. So she just shook her head, daring him to say something insulting.

"We'll get it out tomorrow, then. It's not something you see everyday," he simply replied, without even a hint of superiority. She felt kind of deflated and then realized why. She'd been girding for a confrontation, which would've happened with her husband. But there hadn't been one, and now she felt off-balance. Weird.

With a flick of a few switches the power was on, and immediately the water pump growled to life. For the next half hour they busied themselves getting the cabin fit for habitation. They both carried their bags and groceries in, and she set about storing the food while he unlocked the window shutters, letting the light stream into the cabin. Funny how they both settled into typical domestic roles, she thought. But maybe they just needed a typical routine to help them feel secure during what both expected to be a very atypical day. 

Finally all the windows were open and the groceries stored and the lamps positioned just so, in case one or the other would be inclined to read in bed. And they stood, somewhat awkwardly in the middle of the room, their busywork exhausted, knowing what could come next, but neither moving toward it. I should kiss him, she thought. I should take the initiative, so he doesn't think that he dragged me here. And, she realized, so it wouldn't feel like she was giving up all her power for the weekend. 

I should, she thought. And then, suddenly emboldened, she did. Stepping up to him, she reached up and pulled his head down to hers, pressing her lips against his, holding him hostage and kissing him with feigned passion, which quickly and somewhat amazingly turned to real passion. Where was this coming from, she had time to think, before he responded in kind, pressing his lips against hers so fiercely that she wondered how they'd avoided this moment for so long. All coherent thoughts fled from her mind. Fragments fired her actions. She was aware only of his lips against hers. His arms as he held her close. His hands, traveling up and down her back, caressing the back of her neck, tracing her hips, cupping her butt. Tongues fencing, delightfully playing. 

She pressed herself against him, wriggling with the barely suppressed urge to mount his leg, yes, mount it and bring herself closer to him, as close as you could be without being closest, right at the edge of being completely there for him. Just in case. Just in case...

Just in case what? She wondered. There was no just in case, she knew, as soon as his hands skooched between them and cupped her breasts, the friction firing her neurons even through the layers of dress and bra. And suddenly those too were swept aside and his hand was cupping her flesh, the same place he'd been staring at the whole drive up here and now they were in his hands and she wanted nothing more than to be free of all her clothes and his too and his hands felt so good on her skin...

He still didn't release all his passion, still reined it in a little, because what if that scared her so much that she wanted to go back to where they'd been? He wouldn't be able to stand that so he'd never be able to see her again and he wouldn't be able to stand that either. So he let loose, mostly, feeding off the freshness of the experience and how playful her tongue could be and how she clung to him, her legs almost wrapped around his body. There was no mistaking that sign. Anticipating and eager, he pushed his hand between them, cupping her firm breasts, as full and sexy as he'd imagined them. Then, meeting no resistance, he pushed aside her dress and pulled down her bra – why was she even wearing one! – and caressed her soft flesh, eliciting a soft gasp and smiling at her pleasure.