Playtime! (part 2)

I message my consent to Kyle. I have decided to play with just us four. I think five will be too overwhelming, and I really want to taste and have time with the woman. I am a novice at licking a pussy, and have never touched a clit but my own, but I can feel my mouth watering at the prospect.

Kyle lets me know that he is in town on Thursday, so we will all be meeting at his hotel on Thursday evening. Jackie and Rick will meet us in the bar.

When Thursday arrives, I dress carefully, skillfully apply my makeup. I don’t want to look like a whore, but do want to look sensuous. Red heels complete my outfit of short, tight black skirt and red blouse with a plunging neckline.

As 7 pm arrives, so do I. Continue reading “Playtime! (part 2)”

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Playtime!

“hello. would you want to play with another couple? you me and a couple?” read the message.

“Hmm,” I replied. “Never done that before. It sounds interesting.”

“would you be interested then? interested in female to female or just swap males? ” he responds.

“well I’ve never done female to female before but am interested to try” is my answer.

Originally, I had met Kyle through an ad for a massage. Massage, yeah, right. We both knew what that meant. He was offering massages for both men and women, and I have been on the lookout for a third for my boyfriend Jon and me. Kyle described himself as older but good looking, and he certainly was. Quite handsome, as a matter of fact. Since he was from out of town, there was also little chance that we would cross paths in our big little town. Kyle is also quite bi. I had a fabulous scenario of having him fuck my boyfriend in the ass next time he was in town. I would direct the action, and enjoy the results. But it looks like a different scenario might play out.

The only question is, do I ask for Jon to play as well, or just enjoy myself for a night out? We have an open relationship, so it’s not a problem.

Either way, I win! 🙂

 

Dinner and drinks

She invites me over, this time along with some girlfriends. We bond, as mothers do, but we are of different generations. She and I are near the end of our parenting tenure; the other two are young and fairly new to this adventure. We have girl time, talking and sharing stories, not just about husbands or kids or recipes, but about things that matter in our hearts, our minds, our personal perceptions. We drink and smoke, have fun with just ourselves. We take a poll about who enjoys giving blow jobs. She and I both do; we love the power. The others do not.

We talk about how we have changed, and the young ones are still naive. We share our bodily differences, and She shows her nipples to the one without boobs, Ms Flatness. Ms Flatness shows hers, and complains about her nipple dropping into her areola. Be happy with yourself, they tell her. NO! I say, if you want a boob job, get one. In the end, you have to be happy, and if you are miserable being flat, then do something. It’s okay to want to change, to grow, to be different than you are, I tell them all. Probably the pot speaking. I am open. I want to be different.We could spend hours talking, and we almost do. Laughing, grouping and regrouping, it is nice to be just us women.

Later, the men and children arrive. The tone changes, even though they do not interfere. But suddenly we are mothers again. Some of them are wives. Their roles are clear. Right now, they cannot change, to redefine, because they cannot lose what they have.

In the kitchen, She wants to tempt me. Close your eyes, she directs, and bring the smell into you. I lean forward into her open legs, as she is sitting on the counter. I place my hands on either leg, holding them, as I obey her, willing my body to stay still. I caress her knee where her jeans are oh-so-artfully torn. She passes the cooked meat below my nose, and I breathe deep. I hear her guttural laugh, know that She knows that I know that She has all the power. Take in the essence, She commands. I laugh nervously and open my eyes to look at her. Ms Flatness is my witness. I turn to see, but She says to close my eyes again. I turn back, and do as I am told. Again she passes the meat under my nose, and I breathe. I can smell her beyond the meat. I take in the essence as well. Open your mouth and take it in, taste it, She orders, and of course I do. She shoves it in aggressively. There! She is victorious. Once again, She has made me do what she wants.

A beautiful day

She invited me to swim. It was her idea, so I said yes. She has no idea what I have in mind.

I arrive, frozen low-fat, organic pizza in hand. She is already in her bikini, on her second glass of wine. While the oven heats, we share a few hits off a pipe. A nice glow, that. We catch up, who is seeing who, why her last relationship failed, where mine is going.

The pot is pretty strong, and I’m beginning to feel it. Giddy, happy, funny, laughing, she is too. We talk some more, I tell her about the job, and she explains what her kids are doing. Ordinary chit-chat, but it’s on a Wednesday. She asks me to play hooky next week, so I can come over and spend more time with her. She misses me, and other women don’t tend to like her. I certainly do, more than she knows, or understands yet. She is sex on a stick, delivered to my door. Big tits, luscious curves. Hetero.

Pizza is ready, but she doesn’t have any. Wheat bothers her, she says. I get it. I always do.

Wine is poured and we eat. I change into my suit so that we can swim. I have a bikini for you, if you want it. Yes, I want it. I change in front of her. Fellow women, we have no shame. I put on the top, and she reaches inside to fix my boobs. She pulls my nipples up to a higher part of the suit, giving me prominent cleavage. I feel her grab my nipples, I feel the light pinch. I tingle.

I hope you go in the pool, she says. Of course I do. The cool water gently laps my skin as she swims back and forth, and the dog follows her strokes. I duck under, and hold my breath, trying hard to become one with the water.

I can’t, the water beats me as I must have air.

When I come back up, there she is, next to me, and she reaches out to help me stand.  I take her hand and stand, getting closer to her. Close enough to count every freckle on her shoulder, every eyebrow hair that glistens with the pool water. I run my hand down her arm, from those gorgeous freckles, to her hand. Her eyes widen, her lips part. I can tell she is thinking, the gears are trying to play catch-up to the sensory. So I slide my fingers up her arm, feather-light touches, I know she barely feels them, but feels them too much. I have touched him in this way, but never a her.

I am unsure, but I am determined. I am brave, but I am trembling. I move her hair off her shoulder, and look into her eyes. Her brain in doing double duty, switching into a sexual mode that she has never explored. Neither have I. We are bi-virgins.

She smiles, as if she is wondering if this is a joke, hoping it is, hoping it isn’t. I slide both fingers up her arms to her shoulders, and then lightly down the front. I hear her gasp but do not see her lips move. Our eyes are locked on one another. She gives me permission through the widening of her pupils. I slide one finger over her nipple, sheathed in that bikini, then the other hand over her perfect hard nipple. I can feel the wetness as my pussy starts the swell. It is immediate. As I move my hands on her breasts, she starts to explore my body. She touches my arms, and then moves her hands into my hair. She doesn’t know what to do, but neither do I. We shall figure it out together.