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It was mid-afternoon the next day, we had been out of bed for about an hour, she had on her usual attire, jeans and bulky shirt, only this time I knew what she had on underneath. I was in the chair in the living room with a magazine but I wasn’t reading it, I was watching her, really, I was sort of seeing her for the first time.
She was at the stove when I said, “I want pictures of you … like the ones you took of me.”
She looked over her shoulder at me and laughed, a little nervously, “Not a chance.”
I knew she’d object but I also knew she didn’t have much of a choice. “You took mine.”
“You told me to.”
“And I asked for them back, but you didn’t give them, did you? You kept a set — for the same reasons I want a set of you.” She didn’t say anything so I upped the ante. “How often have you looked at them?” She didn’t respond, she just kept fidgeting at the stove. “Once a day?” Nothing. “Twice a day?” Nothing. “You do, don’t you: you look at them when you come home from work and before going to bed. Do you look at them when we talk on the phone, too? Do you sniff my panties when you look at them?” Still nothing. “Next weekend when I come over, you will have the lights, the camera and you will be prepared for some action. Got it?”
We talked every night all week but never for very long: I told her before I left her apartment that I had a lot of thinking to do and I didn’t want to talk about what we had done together — I had found it really surreal, I told her that and I told her I wanted to let it all sink in; we would talk about it next weekend.
And I wasn’t lying, I did find it surreal. And why wouldn’t I? I’d had sex with a woman, my best friend for god sake. What did it mean? Were we just fucking around or did it mean something more? I mean, it didn’t make a lot of sense to me that one day I was having lurid photos taken of me so I could lure in a man and the next I was wiping a woman’s cum from my lips — reluctantly, I mean, it just shocked me that I would do such a thing, and it stunned me that I loved it so much, that I couldn’t get her out of my mind, that I couldn’t wait for Friday to come around again so I could get back at her body. Am I a lesbian? Do I want to be? I mean, what’s going on here?
As I’ve said, Annie and I had been best friends for years but we had never been particularly good for each other, or to each other for that matter. For instance, we never acknowledged each others’ birthdays; we never gave presents for each other; we never went shopping together; we never went to the movies together and we never really talked about anything important; we just hung out when we had the time, that was about it — so she didn’t really know how to handle the flowers I handed her when she opened the door and I brushed by her heading for the kitchen and some much needed wine.
As I sat in the only chair in the living room Annie sat on the couch, “Cheers,” I said lifting my glass to her before drinking. She lifted hers and when she drank from it and put it on the table I asked her, “So, why are you so nervous?” She clearly was.
“Ya, right. Look, for once in our lives let’s have a real conversation.” I hesitated for a moment to queue up the question that had been on my mind all week, “What do you want out of me?” She wasn’t looking at me and wasn’t going to answer so I said, “Do you just want a fuck buddy, is that it?”
“No,” she said, emphatically — she seemed a little shocked at the suggestion.
She still wasn’t looking at me and she was slow in answering, “I told you last weekend.”
“Told me what?” But she wasn’t going to respond. “Look Annie, I’m having a tough time with this.”
“Well, so am I,” she said, combatively, looking up for the first time.
“Why are YOU having a tough time?” I said, equally combatively, “You’re the fucking lesbian.”
“Because you aren’t!” She took a quick drink from her glass.
“How do you know I’m not?” I tried to be calmer now because I wanted her to calm down.
“Because if you were, you’d be feeling like I am right now and there’s no way the last five nights could have gone by without us being in each other’s arms.”
The confusion I had been feeling all week came tumbling back. “Is lesbianism just about sex?” That’s one of the things I was having a lot of trouble with, I honestly didn’t know, but I sure as hell knew that sex played a huge part, I had been unbelievably horny all week, hornier than I’ve ever been in my life.
“No, of course not, but it is about strong feelings and … “
She didn’t complete the thought and wasn’t going to, and, anyway, I wanted to get off a topic that wasn’t going anywhere so I asked, with an objective in mind — I had thought of this moment all week, “Why are you wearing jeans and a sweat shirt?”
She looked at me curiously, “That’s what I always wear.”
“I know, but what did you WANT to wear tonight, I mean, did you think of putting something else on, like you said you did last week?”
She free spin nodded, meekly, “I almost always do.”
“So what did you want to wear?”
“Something cute.” Her words were pathetically whispered.
“So go put it on.”
She looked up at me like an excited child, “Do you want me to?”
“Put on something cute … for me.”
She wasn’t gone very long, about five minutes, time enough for me to beat up on myself again. As usual, I had been thinking only about myself all week, what all this had meant to me, my constant horniness — I had barely given her a thought. But obviously it had been a tough week for her, too, far tougher than for me because she knew exactly what she wanted … me, and she seemed terrified of not getting it.
I had filled our wine glasses and moved to the couch when she came back in. She stopped in the middle of the room; she was so anxious for approval it hurt me. “Come here, Annie.”
She came over and stood in front of me so close I could feel her heat and when I put my hands on her hips I felt a jolt of exhilaration as I realized just how badly I wanted what was inside that little black dress, “You look beautiful.”
She reached out, cupped my head and as I forced my face into her stomach she pressed herself against me and we were motionless for a moment and then she clutched my hair, pulling me in tighter and my hands went from her hips to her bottom and I could feel her try to push away. “Stay still, I want to touch you.” And she did, she stayed absolutely still as my hands travelled around her strong, smooth ass and then slowly down her sensuously slick nylons to her ankles and then slowly, very slowly my fingers travelled back up the backs of her legs with my fingers lightly tracing a straight line along her inner thigh and then they were under her dress which rose up with my hands as I felt the tops of her stocking give way to the hot flesh of her groin and then I forced my fingers under her panties as my thumbs dug into her. “Annie?”
“Yes?” Her voice was weak, almost hoarse.
“Tell me how much you love me. I need to hear that.” And I did: this was the crux of the whole thing to me. I could see in her eyes that she loved me — and in her actions. I believed she loved me, now I felt an irresistible urge to hear say the words.
She didn’t hesitated, “I don’t know how much I love you, Bets, I have no way of knowing. I didn’t think I could love you more, then last week you got in bed with me. I thought I couldn’t love you more, then tonight you gave me flowers. I thought I couldn’t love you more, then you ask me to dress for you tonight. I thought I couldn’t love you more, then you pressed your face into me and put your hands on me. I don’t know how much I love you, Bets, how can I know? I love you more every moment.”
She tried to pull me up but I continued to press my face into her — her words had stunned me, for their meaning but as much for their sadness. “When we made love last week, was it what you wanted, Annie, was it the way you wanted it?” I hadn’t cared about this until this moment, but now it really mattered to me.
“I want to be better for you, Bets. I need that, I need to know I’m giving you everything you want, everything I can give you.”
I had never thought about sex much, mainly because I never really had the opportunity to experiment with it — I’ve never had a steady boy friend. But I’ve masturbated a lot, I really get into it and I’ve been going online for the pictures and to post my stories, like I’ve said. But throughout this past week I’ve thought of nothing but sex, exploring Annie’s body, seeing her, feeling her, smelling her, tasting her and I’ve been constantly, I mean constantly, horny and constantly wet and constantly confused because what turned me on the most, and this really shocked me, because what turned me on the most was her doing what I told her to do — me bossing her around and her quick response to make me happy. I found that unbelievably exciting, as if I absolutely controlled her, sexually, and her words reminded me of that — ‘I want to be better for you, Bets. I need that, I need to know I’m giving you everything you want, everything I can give you.’ The moment she uttered those words I felt unbelievably empowered, I felt a sudden unshakeable urge to dominate her, to push her around — to make her prove to me that she would give her body to me. “Lift up your dress.” My words sounded fierce to me, insistent, demanding — foreign.
As she obeyed, I studied the black panties that slowly emerged. They were tight against her hips, black against her white belly, elegantly smooth against her course skin, shockingly erotic for the thick hairy sex I knew they concealed. I pressed my face into her where her panties met her skin, feeling the exotic fabric with my lips, smelling her intimate heat, feeling with my thumbs the hot moisture in the creases of her crotch and I dug my fingers into her cheeks, squeezing her, then twisting, allowing my fingers to explore deep bonus veren siteler into the wet crevice of her ass but when the tips touched her bud I couldn’t take it any more, I pulled my hands away, fumbled with my belt and buttons but when I sat down on the floor to kick off my pants and panties, she tried to move away. “Stay there, Annie.,” I said, coldly. “Pull your dress up higher, I need to see your belly.”
I sat up as she lifted her dress high above her hips and I quickly leaned forward and pressed my face into the focus of my thoughts all week, her hot, fleshy belly, but I sucked on it only for a moment because almost as soon as I did a flood of cum that must have been building all week washed over my fingers and I slumped forward on my hands and knees, too weakened to kneel.
She waited until my last shudder before helping me up, helping me over to the couch and sat down beside me, pulling me into her.
I pressed my cheek into her chest, “Do you know what’s going on here, Annie, because I sure as fuck don’t. I’m constantly horny now, constantly — ever since I notice you flagged those fucking pictures of me I’ve been creaming myself, I mean constantly, 24 fucking 7.”
“I know what’s going on with me.”
“I’m in love with you, Bets, I always have been — this is all a dream to me. I’m not horny … well, ya, I am but mostly I’m just in love with you.” I was going to say something, to try to fend her off but she continued, “I love it when you tell me what to do; I love it when your fingers and lips are on me; I loved it when you asked me to dress up for you, I mean, I really love that, I really love looking pretty for you.”
“Come on, Annie.”
“I do, I know it sounds stupid to you, but it isn’t for me, I’ve thought about it for years.”
I didn’t know what to say, or do, so I decided on, “Let me look at you again. I don’t think I’ve seen you in a dress since Jill’s wedding.”
She quickly wriggled out from under me and when she stood a few feet away, smoothing down her dress with a look of child-like excitement I could feel my eyes welling-up. She was like a little puppy anxious for approval, to my eyes a really sexy little puppy, but I didn’t give her the complement she expected … and deserved — it was still all about me: with the sight of her standing there in front of me, wanting my approval, I could feel the juices start to build in me again. “I just don’t get this, Annie, why am I always so fucking horny … jeez, I’m constantly fucking soaked.”
Her sparkling excitement changed into an encouraging smile, “So be horny. I love that you’re horny, ecstatic you’re horny.”
“Take off your dress.”
She seemed cress-fallen at this. “Don’t you like it?”
“Take it off,” I demanded, more insistently as I felt a panic building inside of me which I knew was sexual desire. “Take it off.”
She didn’t move, she seemed shocked at my demand so I quickly got off the couch and went over to her, “I told you I was horny,” I said, as I unzipped her and pushed her dress to the floor. “Now just stand there, I want to look at you.”
I know I haven’t described Annie very well, probably because up until now I hadn’t really seen her, never really looked at her, but I see her now, God knows, I see her now.
Annie has quite a round face with straight brown hair that contours to her cheeks like parenthesis. She has kind, brown eyes, a pretty nose, a wide attractive mouth and a weak, rounded chin — the effect is on the pretty side of homely but she has a warm, generous look about her, too. I knew all this without even looking at her face which is just as well because my quick peek at her showed nothing but shame. But I was way too far gone to care. I lay back, put my fingers between my legs and tried to absorb the woman in front of me.
Dressed in some version of jeans and sweat shirt, as she always is, Annie looks quite squat and dumpy but take those clothes off and to my eye she seems to positively drip with sensuality. She has very large, very round breasts, as I’ve said, with an entirely luscious cleavage but it’s her belly that really gets to me. Dressed, she appears over-weight, but nearly nude, like now, it’s obvious she isn’t, not really, she’s just strong and stocky with just a little flab on her belly which is slightly rounded and white and soft and … for some reason, and I have no way of explaining this, I just love my face in it; I love to stick my nose in her navel and push hard into her, sucking noisily, I mean, I love that even more than I love resting my cheek on it while sucking her breast.
“Pull your shoulders back.” She had been slouching forward, drooping in modesty with her legs squeezed together. She didn’t move at my demand … which made me mad, “Look, you started this, you got me onto your bed, you fucked me, now I want to look at you so do as you’re told or you’ve fucked me for the last time.” I waited for her to move but she didn’t. “Do it. Stand up straight, open your legs or deneme bonusu veren siteler I’m out of here.” And I think I meant it.
And she did, too because she did as directed but she looked so pathetic I just lost it, I jumped to my feet and grabbed my panties from the floor, “I’m not interested in your fucking games, Annie.”
“What do you want?” There was panic in her eyes as she wrestled the panties from my hand.
“I want you to do what you’re told and I want you to look like you’re glad I’m telling you what I want.”
She went back to where she had been and turned and faced me, my panties still in her hand, “Tell me what you want, Bets and I’ll do it.” Her shame was replaced now with a determined resolve.
Which was a huge turn-off. I sat back down on the couch and leaned forward on my knees, “I want you to turn me on and I want you to look like you want to.”
“I do want to, Bets, tell me what you want.” She looked a lot more willing now so I took my top and bra off and slouched back into the couch with my hands on my breasts and my legs wide open. “Push your panties down … no, not off, just down to … yes, there. Now feel your belly with both hands, all around it,” she did, but strangely, she still had my panties in her hand, “let your fingers sneak under your panties … now up again and squeeze your fat, really squeeze it.” I couldn’t get this damn belly of hers out of my mind: why would I get off on it, that just didn’t make any sense to me.
But something else was making sense to me now, a feeling I’d had before, while online and while masturbating: I loved feeling like a dirty slut, I was loving the filthy feeling of squeezing my tits in front of Annie, humping my naked pussy at her, it felt disgustingly lewd, deliciously filthy — I just loved being out there, my nipples stiff, my pussy wet and her looking at me.
“Take your bra off.” She obeyed, quickly. “Now your panties.” I guess she had a sense of what I wanted because the moment she kicked them away she brought her fingers back to her belly, my panties still in her hand, and she squeezed at her fat but there was no excitement in her eyes, she only sought approval. “Do you want to make me happy, Annie?”
“Yes.” She did, I could feel she was scared she wouldn’t.
I lay down on the couch and pulled a pillow under my head. “Pull the table back,” I eyed the coffee table beside the couch, “and stand here, beside me.” She did as ordered. “Closer, and really squeeze, Annie and lean over so your breasts are … yes,” and there it was, the second really great moment in my wonderfully emerging lesbian life, a woman was leaning awkwardly over me, dangling her tits while squeezing her belly and she was doing it all for one solitary reason: because I demanded she do it. When my orgasm hit my hips were thrashing my pussy at my fingers, my cries could probably be heard in the street, my mouth was open and wet with sex inspired drool and my mind was just fucking spinning because I was getting off, not just on the sight of Annie’s belly and breasts but mostly I was getting off on knowing that a woman was sexually degrading herself at my demand and I felt exquisitely dirty and I knew I loved it.
“Where’s your camera?” We had been lounging about all Saturday morning, me now in a borrowed nightie.
“Come on, Bets.”
“That was the deal,” I said, getting up. “Set the lighting stuff up,” I demanded. “I’m going to have a shower.”
I took a long one, long and, for the first time all week, frigless, and after I dried myself I was about to put my clothes on when I realized that my panties were still disgustingly soaked, just like they always were these days, so I walked into her bedroom, went to her pillow and took back the ones I had left there last week. When I sat on her bed to slip them on I noticed that the ones she had been wearing last night were on the floor by her dresser. “Do you mind?” I had picked them up and was dangling them on my finger, “Mine are soaked.”
She almost grimaced, she wasn’t in a very good mood now. “They may be damp.”
When I put them on and admired myself in the mirror behind the door — they were the most elegant panties I’d ever worn, and the sexiest, she handed me the camera and told me, curtly, how to use it, basically what button to push and how to use the zoom and then she said, “Five minutes, max. OK?”
But it was going to be five minutes of absolute hell for her, that was obvious. She was wearing a yellow bra and panty set — and a sullen frown that was a real turn-off so I took a little compassion on her and said, “I’ll make a deal with you. I want 20 pictures of you so I’ll tell you how to pose. Give me those and we’ll cut this short, OK?”
She had been on all fours and I had been photographing her ass when I made the offer; she quickly fell on her back and looked at me with undisguised relief, “OK.”
“Pull your panties down, just to the top of your pubic hair like before,” I waited for her to comply, ” … ya.” I leaned over her, framed and pressed the autodrive as I made a circular motion all around her. “Now the tits,” I took some close-ups and said, “Take off your bra.” She did. “Hold them.” I clicked away, “press your thumbs into your nipples …, ya, get them really stiff, now smile at me as if they were stiff for me.”
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