We’re loading up the kids and heading to Hot Springs this morning because, at last, we have time to catch a showing of the latest Thor. So this will be quick!
F/f fun isn’t to everyone’s taste, I understand this, but I have a story in this collection about a very happily married woman whose husband very generously allows his wife to have a sexy adventure with the boss’s wife. So you’ll get snippets of the m/f along with, I hope, a funny bit of f/f play.
Post a comment today and you’ll be entered to win a free download of this collection!
Single-sex liaisons that make straight women curious and drive men wild. Including original fiction from Delilah Devlin, Valerie Grey, Primula Bond, Elizabeth Coldwell and Chrissie Bentley.
Sapphic love has proven to be one of the most enduring forms of erotic pleasure since the first frolicking nymphs were painted upon the side of amphorae. But the secret love of women, without male participation, will never be old hat, because there will always be something deliciously forbidden and titillatingly taboo about the seductions, indiscretions and trysts of one woman with another. And Mischief wouldn’t be a leading publisher of erotica if it didn’t explore, update and let loose these very special feminine lusts of one girl for another.
From “MARMALADE” in GIRLS GIRLS GIRLS
Dressed in a silk robe I’d found on a hook behind the bathroom door, I sat at the breakfast table with Tess. We waved through the window at the men as they climbed into Bob’s Beemer. The men smiled. Greg gave a waggle of his eyebrows, and then they were gone.
When my gaze returned to her, she smiled like the Cheshire cat. “This is nice,” she said peering at me over the rim of her tea cup. “Just us girls. How ever will we entertain ourselves?”
I bit the corner of my lip, a blush beginning to heat my cheeks because she looked like a movie star, and her robe had parted, revealing a deep, luscious décolletage. I had a weakness for lovely bosoms, something Greg indulged with the porno flicks he brought home, featuring generously endowed women.
Tess set her cup in her saucer and leaned over the table. “Do you mind doing something for me?”
My glance darted up from her chest. Since Greg had been so adamant about his suspicions, I already had an inkling what would happen this day. I nodded, hoping my husband hadn’t been dead wrong. “What do you have in mind, Tess?” I asked, keeping my expression open and innocent.
Her lush mouth pursed. “I thought we might get to know each other. You’re really very lovely. So petite. I couldn’t help noticing. Do you mind opening your robe, my dear. I’ve been dying to see your breasts.”
I cleared my throat. “My breasts. You want to see them?”
“Yes, dear. Now.”
My nipples tingled, beginning to slowly ripen. “Um, is my husband’s job at risk?” I asked, my voice small and breathy. I glanced up from beneath my eyelashes, letting her know this was part of the game, something that pleased me, pretending reluctance because I wanted my sexual partner to be in charge.
Her mouth twitched then flattened. Her chin rose to a haughty angle. “You don’t have to do a thing, my dear. However, you should know that when I’m pleased, so is Bob.”
“Oh,” I sank my teeth into my lower lip and let my gaze slide away. Then holding my breath, I leaned back in my seat and eased aside the lapels of the floral silk robe, one side at a time, holding the belt closed to preclude a view of anything farther south. The lapels framed my breasts. “They’re small,” I said, feeling like I should apologize.
“Your nipples aren’t.” She rose in her seat and reached across to tug on a lengthening stem.
I hadn’t expected her to be quite that bold. I drew in a deep, jagged breath. Arousal bloomed, dampening my pussy and likely leaving a wet spot beneath me. By her hard challenging stare, I didn’t think she’d mind.
Her fingertips tightened painfully on my nipple, and she pulled, drawing me off my chair and around the table until I bent over her, breasts level with her mouth. She turned her seat to face me, then leaned forward and tongued the other nipple which already protruded.
Everything was happening so fast, all I could do was react. All thoughts of how I must look or sound flew out of my head. I gasped and whimpered as she twisted the one nipple and lavished its twin with succulent tugs and wicked flicks. My nipples drew tighter, dimpling, the tips elongating. Glancing down, I loved the way her mouth sucked on one of them like a straw, drawing so hard I felt the pull all the way to my cunt. I grasped the arms of her chair and arched my back to thrust my breasts closer, mashing the one she suckled against her face.
Her chuckle was muffled and dry. When she pulled back, she raised a brow. “It’s quite warm in here. You don’t really need that robe, do you?” she said, pinching both my nipples hard.
I glanced out the window, at the long manicured lawn and the lakeshore that rimmed the edge. There wasn’t a soul around to see me as I eagerly shimmied out of the robe, letting it puddle on the floor behind me. I clasped my hands in front of my pussy, assuming a modest stance.
Her gaze raked my body, lingering on my pussy before coming back to my face. “You’re pretty. I can see why Greg dotes. Do you lead him around by your pretty cunt?”
I was shocked by her words, but not disgusted. Pleasure melted from inside me, glazing my inner thighs. “I like him taking the lead,” I said softly, then even softer still, I added, “I like it even better when he forces me to do…things.”
She nodded crisply and let go of my tit. Her back stiffened as she faced forward again, pushed her dishes away, then tapped the table top in front of her. “Lie on the table, legs spread in front of me. I like a little marmalade on my muffin.”
Dazed by the hard, commanding note in her voice, I found myself backing up to the table, giving a little hop that jiggled my buttocks. Then I lifted my legs and scooted toward her.
Centered, I peered at her set expression through my parted legs and placed my feet on her chair’s armrests. Her features remained neutral, her eyes narrowed. Not until I was staring at the ceiling did I realize how eager I was, how completely and deliciously she dominated me.
Cool gel landed on my mound, and I glanced down to where she spooned apple jelly onto my pussy—two large spoonfuls, which she proceeded to distribute with her long, tapered fingers.
Sticky jelly cooled my swelling outer lips.
“I like that it’s bare,” she said, her voice uninflected. Then she bent and stuck out her tongue to lick at the mess she’d made. “I love jam on a hot, toasted muffin.”
My breakfast toast might never be the same again.
Thanks for sharing the snippet
I certainly will be thinking about this the next time I have apple jelly on toast.