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The first time was with Ginger, and I still feel a little guilty about
that. I’m a married woman, but throughout the five years of my
marriage I have had to have sex with other women from time to time. I
just couldn’t keep my sanity without it. I remember when it happened.
Don was at work and Ginger was over at my house. We’d been making love
most of the morning. I had just met Ginger, a tall, lovely blonde, at
the supermarket two weeks before this, and we were still at that stage
when you just can’t get enough of each other’s bodies.

I was sitting on the edge of the pool and Ginger swam over and started
fooling around. Pretty soon she had my bikini bottoms off and was
eating my pussy while I sprawled beside the pool, the sun beating down
on me, my legs dangling in the water. Something about doing it outside
like that made me twice as excited as usual, and I could feel the
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Finally, you looked up at her imploring. With the softest of nods, she
gave to leave to do for her what she wished Your hands fumbled at the
clasps of her boots; she sat on the bed, and you pulled off one, then
the other. She removes her coat as you unbutton her vest, letting it
fall. You hands could not be kept still as you undid her belt, then
the buttons on her pants, pulling them off as well. She wore only a
pure white shirt and white silk shorts, but her bearing still made it
plain: I command, you serve. Finally, as she stood again, and you did
her shirt, following each stud with a kiss on her chest. Her taste was
indescribable: the perfume of a woman with the musky undertones of
man. Finally, the shirt fell away, and you licked and sucked on her
hard nipples topping her small, perfect breasts. You could feel her
breathing grow deep and ragged, and you smiled with private victory:
yes, I can excite her.
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After examining you for a long moment, she reached out to you, but with
her riding crop, not her hand. The touch of it on your cheek brought a
gasp from you, as the cold leather stroked your skin. The leather was
soft, smooth, more like a lover’s touch than hard hide, as she caressed
you. First the face, then the neck, along the line of your arms, then
down over the corset to your legs. First the calves, then the thighs,
then (to your agony and delight) to the space between your legs. With
a sure, steady hand, she stroked you there, as you writhed and squirmed
with delight and lust. Your could feel yourself running down the
insides of your thighs as she teased, prodded, and caressed you. Then,
with a swift motion, she pulled you to her, grasping the crop in both
hands, using it like a bar to pull your body to hers. Then, after a
deep, wet, searching kiss, she pushed you down to your knees before
her. You looked up at her, loving, adoring, asking with your eyes for
her to command you.

Might it happen

Swiftly, you are both through the door. A bedroom lay within, spare by
the late Victorian standards of the house: a four-poster bed, two
chairs, a shuttered window, a washstand and basin, a dresser. She
turned and regarded you, her eyes boring into you, stripping your soul

With trembling hands, you started to undress, although nothing was
spoken. Part of you wondered what in the world you had done, what were
you doing, why were you so willingly submitting to this strange woman.
But the desire within you overwhelmed any ability to think, to resist,
and your hands reached up the buttons on your blouse. One by one, they
were undone, until it fell in a pool to the ground. Then your skirt,
and petticoat, and the chemise, and you stand before her in your corset
and bloomers, your hands clasped behind you, your head bowed in
submission. Why am I standing this way? You stopped to think for a
moment, but another voice within you answered: Because this is the way
slaves stand for their master. The thought was shocking, what, I am
her slave? you though, but it was thrilling as well. Then, you
realized the truth: Yes, I am her slave, you thought, and the thought
made you happier than you knew you could be.

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In your surprise, you could do nothing but open your lips to her. Your
mouths touched, and the touch was electric. Her tongue slid in without
resistance, meeting yours, probing, searching. Her body pressed
against yours, and through your dress and corset you could feel hers,
hard and trim. One arm was wrapped around your waist, the other
stroking your hair. You clutched at her back, devoid of thought,
writhing in her grasp. When she finally raised her head, your eyes
were closed, panting. No mere hint of arousal now: you could feel the
moisture between your legs, demanding, begging for more. After an
instant she retrieved her crop, and led you up the staircase. You
followed behind her by one pace, meek, afraid but far too lost in
desire to resist anything. Up the stairs, down a hall, through a door,
another hall, until you were lost in the maze-like mansion, until
finally you reach a door for which she produces a key. (Who is this
woman, you think, who has keys to a house she does not live in.)

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Putting the crop aside, her right hand slid into place on your back as
your left hands clasped; the band begun as if cued. Across the wood
floor, no one else around, the band sounding muffled and distant, the
two of you glided in a waltz. Your eyes were held by hers; you could
barely breathe, overwhelmed by emotion. Your body felt weak, but her
hand made it impossible to fall. And you could feel yourself growing
aroused; your nipples were erect (from the cold of the window, you told
yourself), and you feel the undefined tingling between your legs of
impending excitement. The dance was over after what seemed like an instant; she spun you at
the finale, bowing deeply as she still held your left hand. Again,
your eyes met, and her face lost any expression. You stood, gasping
for breath, wondering what would happen. Then, without haste but with
terrible determination, she pulled you to her, her arms clasped around
you, and lowered her mouth to yours.

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Just as you had regained your composure and was ready to return to the
party, you heard the sharp click of a heel coming down on the floor at
the doorway behind you. You turned, slowly, knowing that it couldn’t
be her, both hoping and fearing that it was. And, of course, it was:
she was wearing her hat and carrying her riding crop, dressed as if
ready to depart. She continued to walk up to you as you stood
motionless, your mouth dry and heart pounding so loud you were afraid
it might drowned out the band. She stopped her confident stride only
three feet from you, and then (with an ironic smile) doffed her hat in
a graceful bow.

One last dance? she asked, eyes smiling and deep, velvet over steel.

Yes, you said, so softly you were sure no one else could hear. But
from your body, your face, you knew what you were saying to her: Yes.
Please. Anything. I beg you.

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And, again, she turned away, but this time with the most delicate and
private of smiles; a smile that was kind and cruel, loving and harsh
all at once. And you could bear it no longer; as swiftly as you could
you hastened out of the room, down the long carpeted hall, across the
cold wood floor of the study to the window, casting it open and deeply
drinking the night air, feeling tears of joy? shame? rage? well up on
your face.

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Until, at the end of a particularly energetic polka, you dropped a ring
you had been adjusting on your hand. Dipping to pick it up, you stood
up straight only to find yourself staring into her eyes; through the
movement of the crowd, she had end up not two feet from where you had
stooped. The moment lasted an eternity. You drank in the sight of
her, the smell of her; her eyes had paralyzed you as if you were a deer
caught in a car’s headlights. Your mind was a blank; you wanted
nothing except to look at her, give yourself to her. You could feel
your knees grow weak. You wanted to throw yourself at her feet, beg
her to do anything she wished to you, just acknowledge you, accept you

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She was tall, at least six feet. She was dressed in black, in a
perfect coachman’s uniform. She wore tight pants fit into calf-high
boots, shiny and well-polished. Her vest, cut to give her a tight
V-figure, was closed with a double row of bright silver buttons.
Those, and her white cravat, were the only thing which were not black,
black to the point of absorbing the light around her. Her hands and
fingers were long and delicate as she casually tapped the palm of one
hand with a riding crop. Her features were strong, aristocratic, not
feminine except in their beauty. Her close-cropped hair was nearly
completely concealed by a coachman’s top hat. But her eyes drew you
most of all. Large, intense, as dark as her clothing, they held to the
promise of lust, passion, power and even cruelty

The band struck up a waltz on a slightly off note, shocking you back to
reality. You dimly were aware of your partner taking your hand and
leading you onto the dance floor, and the movement gradually brought
you to earth. Occasionally as the dance progressed, you would glimpse
her dancing with women (and always leading). But after every dance,
she was someplace else, asking someone else to dance; you could never
seem to get near to her. Finally, the impression of her first
appearance faded, and the evening continued.
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The night air was pleasant, cool and slightly moist against your skin,
but it brought you no peace. As you leaned out over the balcony,
surveying the reflecting pools and gardens of the estate stretching out
into the moonlight, you tried to relax, enjoy the panorama, and ignore
the sound of the music, laughter, and dancing in the ballroom down the
hall from the study whose window you had flung open. Flung open at the
end of a mad flight from the ball, trying to escape that which you most
desired and, yet, by which you were most terrified.

The party had begun pleasantly enough. You had come unescorted,
determined you have a good time regardless of who had or had not come
with you. There were enough unattached men, or just outrageous flirts,
to more than fill a casual night. Perhaps you would meet someone
interesting, or particularly attractive, you had thought, but put the
subject from your mind: no expectations except for diversion.

Then, two hours or so after the first dancing had begun, she had
entered the room. It was between dances, and the crowd was busy with
angling through the floor, looking for someone to ask for the next
dance, or making themselves obvious to the person they wished would ask
them. When the dark figured had filled the doorway, many had turned to
look. Most had given a quick, appreciative glance, and then returned
to their partners. You had not; although you were across the room, you
stopped and stared as if turned to stone.

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“You want that repulsive thing sucked,” her sarcastic tone of hatred
was lost to Charlie, “either hook the stupid thing up to the vacuum cleaner or
put your own head between your legs and suck yourself off.”

Kathy departed the apartment without any further incident, Charlie’s
moans echoing through the house as he shot his wad onto his hairy stomach.

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It was going on seven that evening when Kathy put the remainder of her
meager possessions in the back of her car. She hadn’t given Charlie any
details other than it was over and she was leaving. Charlie had remained on
the bed, his nakedness now seeming to her to be that of a gnarled gargoyle in
some fairy tale. Charlie, good ole’ functionally illiterate Charlie, had
stayed as predictable as ever, all the way up to the end.

“Aw c’mon,” his bleating tone irritated Kathy even more, “just one more
blow job for the road.”

Kathy looked across the room to the grotesque gnome laying on the
wrinkled sheets. She never realized that she had such a capacity for being
repulsed, and Charlie was truly repulsive with his little pig sticker flailing
about between his fingers.

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Their passions spent, they hugged each other convulsively, their kisses
still eager and hungry, their prowess like sexual athletes as they surrendered
themselves to one another atop the satin coverlet of the eiderdown bed sunk in
the floor of the master bedroom. A sudden release of abundant happiness
welled up in both their breasts as they kissed each other to sleep, Kathy’s
mind filled with the erotic images of the passionate love she’d just shared
with another woman.

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Kathy’s fingers tangled themselves in the long strands covering
Stephanie’s head, her hands pulling Stephanie’s face into her, her hips
thrusting her flowing womanhood against Stephanie’s mouth, her knee working
Stephanie’s sopping mound until it exploded in a milky white flood that flowed
across her leg and puddled on the satin comforter. Stephanie’s release
holding her in the throes of Aphrodite, she dug her tongue deep into Kathy’s
overflowing goblet, her lips sucking at the overflow, her tongue capturing the
sweet fluids flowing from the depths of Kathy’s womanhood. Their individual
orgasms were multiple, their collective desires were mutually sated, their
unsolicited early-morning love making set every fiber in their bodies trembling.

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Kathy’s sensual appetite seemed to exceed even that of Stephanie as she
drove her pelvis against Stephanie’s mouth, impaling the studded surface of
Stephanie’s tongue deep inside her exploding mound. Stephanie’s skill in
sensual games was no match for the torrent of emotions Kathy unleashed during
this, her first incursion into the world of Sapho love. Kathy had fallen
headlong into the sticky, tangled web of desire, and now she wanted her reward
to be an earthquake of sudden, spasmodic passions.

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Kathy’s body was an instrument to be played on, and Stephanie was the
senior maestro for the orchestra. Kathy’s night was filled with paradise as
Stephanie kissed her way down Kathy’s body, her lips nibbling at warm flesh,
her tongue darting and tasting the womanly sweetness seeping through the pores
of Kathy’s skin. Stephanie’s own lotions began to steam and boil inside her
as she moved her mouth on Kathy’s breasts, her lips sucking in the rigid
minarets of Kathy’s nipples, her tongue plying their firmness, her sucking a vane attempt to free them from the pale pink plains which housed them. She
rubbed her swollen clit against the firmness of Kathy’s knee as she worked her
mouth and tongue over the rich smoothness of Kathy’s stomach, her tongue
playing in the little hole in the center of Kathy’s body, her lips sucking in
the pliable flesh of Kathy’s upper abdomen. She trapped Kathy’s leg against
her pulsing womanhood as her face moved into the musky warmth anxiously
awaiting her between Kathy’s legs.