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Odyssey of Submission #2
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
BEDTIME2.TXT A Writer's Choice Bedtime Story
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--ALL RIGHTS RESERVED--
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SPECIAL FRIENDS
by Stephanie Donovan
The note tucked into Jenni's Christmas card was only long
enough to spring two surprises: that she was divorced, and that
she was gay. The former she treated as news, the latter as a
confession.
It was a toss-up which was the bigger eye-opener. She and Tim
had given every outward sign of being happy with their two-car
two-child two-job life. But on the topic of divorce I was well
enlightened, having gone through it myself.
When it came to "gay sisters," though, my consciousness was
far from raised. I only knew two kinds: hard-looking women
explaining to Phil Donahue how men had screwed up their lives, and
jaded porno queens playing out a parody of real sex at the whim of
a male director.
Jenni didn't fit either category. I'd shared her grass and
bedroom during high school sleepovers, cruised the bars with her
after graduation, enjoyed endless lunchtimes of gossip and griping
until she married Tim and moved. Had she been gay even then? I
didn't want to think so.
But even if her preference was something new, it added an
unwelcome dimension to our relationship. What did she expect from
me? To be open to a pass? Or, God forbid, make one myself?
It took me a few days to persuade myself that maybe all Jenni
meant to say was that she could use an understanding ear.
And I had to admit that I was curious -- not about the sex
itself, but about how long she'd felt that way and how it changed
things for her. Assuming girlhood best-friend crushes didn't
count, I had no glimmer of how she felt or how it would affect the
way she looked at the world -- or for that matter, looked at me.
So I steeled myself against my anxieties and called her,
inviting myself up for the next weekend. She sounded just the
same, brash and cheery, and neither of us mentioned her note
except to say that we'd have lots to talk about.
And that hardly needed saying.
#
The night before I was to visit Jenni, I settled into bed with
one of my favorite diddle books: a well-thumbed bestseller of
women's fantasies and sexual experiences. I usually skipped the
long chapter on lesbians, but that night I was looking for insight
more than inspiration.
I passed over stories from women who said their fathers had
abused them or that they'd never liked men. Jenni's father was an
angel, the one everyone else wanted to trade theirs in for. And
too many times we'd sat together on my bed or in a little booth at
the drugstore and entertained each other with the steamy details
of our explorations with our dates -- and later our husbands --
the night before.
But I did read about Greta, who had her first woman-woman
experience at age 16 while staying the night at her friend's
house, and her first orgasm from nothing more than having her
breasts gently sucked.
...and about Karen, who liked to sit in a chair across the
room from her lady lover, hike her skirt and put on a masturbation
show with fingers and candle before they moved to the carpet
together.
...and about Marti and Marni, the twins who discovered at a
group-sex party that making love to their own mirror-image was
more fulfilling than anything they had done separately.
...and about Cynthia, who as a forty-year old executive could
afford to hire a twenty-year old to live in as a housekeeper and
love mate. Her favorite game was to have her `pussy slave' cook
her a sumptuous meal and then crawl under the table to eat her
while she enjoyed it.
Closing the book, I played with the idea of going down on
another woman. I liked it when my lovers kissed their way down to
my pussy and then stayed there. The scent of my overheated
loveslit always excited me more. I had licked my own juices off a
cock fresh from inside me.
Thinking about it, I slipped my hand between my legs. I
stroked my wet slit for a few moments, then licked my fingers
experimentally.
The taste did nothing for me, but the familiar touch of my
fingers did. Burrowing deeper into my blankets, I closed my eyes
and worked on my own fantasy.
I was sleeping not in my bed but in the big four-poster
I had seen in Tim and Jenni's house the last time I visited. As
always, I slept naked, the soft coolness of the sheets a balm to
my hot skin.
I was oblivious to the arrival of a second person, who slipped
under the blankets and cuddled up against me spoon-fashion. The
warmth of the visitor's skin matched my own, and smooth
hands and a soft touch on my hips and belly and breasts stimulated
me without stirring me. My chest rose and fell with the rhythm of
the warm breath on my neck, and I pressed myself back against the
rounded fullness of my visitor's body.
In time I squirmed onto my back, my thighs parting, and the
wandering fingers of my visitor eagerly probed the dew-slicked
opening to my pussy. I drank in my own scent and opened my legs
wider to the probings. My seducer found my swelling clitoris with
feather-light circular strokes. My breath came in short panting
gasps as I raised my hips up to the teasing touch.
The sheets now thrown back, I spread my legs wide, and my
silent visitor moved to lay between them. Long hair brushed my
face, soft rounded breasts pressed against my own, and I opened my
eyes to see Jenni poised above me.
"No, you can't," I moaned, but she smiled and grasped my
wrists and held me there. A swelling hardness pierced me, and I
raised my head to see a smooth, curved penis slide deep into my
pussy. I closed my eyes again and squirmed underneath her assault,
a sinuous motion that soon had her gasping as well. Our bellies
became slick with perspiration and slid against each other with
sucking sounds, and my nipples were needle-hard points grazing her
flesh.
As our fever rose, Jenni lowered herself on me and pressed her
lips to mine. Our tongues locked in love-combat and we drove our
bodies against each other. In the last moments before my body
convulsed in an explosive orgasm, her hungry mouth was replaced by
her fragrant slit, and she rode my tongue to her own peak of
pleasure.
Of course it was my own fingers between my legs, my silver
vibrator that pierced me, but in the darkness imagination is a
powerful magic. I always slept better after a good orgasm, and
that night I slept wonderfully. If sex with another woman could
come closer to that feeling then most sex with men had, maybe,
just maybe it would be worth taking a chance --
In the morning I realized how I had shaped my fantasy --
making it necessary for her to deceive me, then to force me,
taking the decision out of my hands, and to take me not as a woman
but as a man. With the blinds up and the sunlight streaming
through the windows, that seemed pretty fantastic indeed.
#
Jenni greeted me at her apartment door with her traditional
exuberant hug, and I hadn't thought ahead enough to be ready for
it. I went stiff in her embrace, and she laughed and released me.
"Let's get something straight now," she said, grasping my
hands in hers. "I told you because I thought you'd be the least
likely of the girls to freak out. I'm not looking for partners.
And the last thing I want to do is scare a good friend away. I'm
not going to start anything, Steph. If you ever want to, you're
going to have to say so in no uncertain terms. I won't take hints.
Okay?"
I told her, nicely, that there wasn't much chance of that.
"But then, you didn't think you had any lesbian friends,
either, did you," she said with a quick smile. "Just teasing," she
added quickly. "I can still tease you, can't I?"
Suddenly all my nervousness seemed silly. Jenni was still
Jenni; an old gem with a new facet. I hugged her.
"That's better," she said.
#
That night we found ourselves in a comfortably familiar
position, her cross-legged at the foot of the bed, me on my
elbows, heels in the air, at the head.
"Now ask," she said. "You were biting back questions all
through dinner."
I threw a pillow at her. "I didn't realize I was so obvious."
We talked our way through two magnums of white wine and most
of a box of chocolates. She gave me a complicated explanation,
part girlhood crushes that didn't go away, part undefined feelings
brought into focus by fantasy -- a fantasy that she shared with
her husband.
"Once he heard that he couldn't wait to make it come true --
with him watching. So one night when a girlfriend from work was
over and there'd been a lot of drinking she and I ended up in bed
together with him telling us what to do."
"So that was the first time?"
She nodded. "I hated it. But later I figured out what I'd
hated -- that we were drunk, that we were putting on a show. So we
tried it again without Tom or the tequila. That was a lot better."
"Better how?"
"Having too many of these organs or not enough of these
doesn't make sex something completely foreign. It was still
hugging and touching and sharing, still meant to give pleasure --
only more so, because the pleasure didn't have to be over so
quick." She leaned forward, a childishly self-satisfied smile on
her face. "Steph, I had three Eights in the first hour."
It was the old code we'd used to talk about how excited we'd
gotten and, later, for how good the orgasm had been. I threw
another pillow. "Bragger."
She caught the pillow and flung it back. "Then I relaxed and
started to enjoy myself."
With a mock-growl, I launched myself at her, and we thrashed
about on the bed in a rediscovery of the gleeful, playful
wrestling matches we once enjoyed. This one carried us off the bed
and onto the floor, bringing most of the bedding with us.
Jenni had been the unchallenged champion of the pajama party.
This time, though, I gained the advantage and she ended up on her
back with me straddling her waist. I grabbed her wrists and pinned
her arms against the floor, and she stopped struggling.
The laughter forgotten, our eyes met in a frank exchange that
brought back my fantasy of the night before, except this time I
was on top. My nightgown was up around my hips and I felt the
warmth of her body against my bare thighs. The rapid rate of my
breathing was only partly due to our exertions.
We stayed like that for a long frozen moment. Then I bent down
and kissed her, on the lips, tenderly.
"Are you sure?" she asked softly when the kiss ended.
"I'm sure," I said, and the next kiss was wet and hungry. In
the middle of it, I released her wrists and her arms went around
me. She stroked my hips, the curve of my buttocks, with a touch
that seemed to bring my skin alive.
I sat up and together we pulled my nightgown over my head. I
cradled my own breasts in my crossed arms for a moment, amazed at
their sensitivity. Her fingertips glided over my skin and teased
the fine hair at the apex of my thighs.
Jenni began to undo the top buttons of her nightshirt and I
took over, pulling it open to reveal her erect nipples, round and
crinkled. I wet my fingers between my thighs and used the moisture
to draw slick circles around her aureolae. She grasped my hand and
brought it to her mouth, licking the flavor from my fingers.
Still straddling her waist, I reached behind me and pulled up
her nightshirt to explore between her legs. She parted her knees
to allow me access to the slick folds and fragrant damps of her
special place. It was excitingly different from my own.
Closing her eyes, she began to rock gently in rhythm with my
attentions. "I'm so selfish," she murmered, and slid her hands up
my thighs to my pussy. It was an electric circle of erotic
feeling, from the tips of my fingers to the tip of her clitoris to
the tip of her thumb to the tip of my clitoris, and we moved
together in unhurried but ever-building passion.
Whether less inhibited or more experienced, Jenni got ahead of
me and relinquished my body for her own. She took each of her
nipples between a thumb and forefinger, alternately rolling and
squeezing them, teasing herself.
I watched her, captivated by her pleasure and my part in it.
So that's what I look like, I thought, watching her face contort
with the rising curve of her emotion. I plunged a finger into her
dark canal and felt its shivery contractions, and a moment later
she rose up under me, twisted from side to side, and let out her
breath with a little cry.
We kissed lovingly, then disengaged long enough for her to
strip off her nightshirt.
"Your turn," she said, leading me to the bed. I stretched out
on my back and pulled my knees up to my chest, and she knelt
between my thighs. She kissed and nibbled her way to my pussy and
parted the lips with her tongue, slowly, deliberately,
tantalizingly.
"Hold yourself open for me," she whispered, and I complied. I
felt her hair brush my fingers as her tongue danced over the
aroused flesh of my inner lips. She knew when to go slow and when
to hasten me along, when to use her tongue as a stroking feather
and when to assault me with her hungry mouth. She drew my clitoris
between her lips and sucked it gently, and the whole room seemed
centered on that spot between my legs.
"You taste so sweet," she said, pausing to look up at me and
smile.
I knew I didn't need much help to finish, and touched her
cheek. "I want to hold you. Please. Now."
Jenni climbed up onto the bed and pressed her smooth rounded
body full length against mine, our breasts rubbing, lips and
tongues eager. I went over the top sliding my mound against her
leg, and hugged her tight as the sensations ebbed.
"I'm feeling guilty," she said at my ear, tracing a circle on
my breast with a fingertip. "Are you all right?"
I snuggled closer. "You promised me an Eight. That was only a
Five. But we can practice some more, can't we?"
For her answer, she shifted position and brought her mouth to
my nipple.
"Not right away," I protested half-heartedly. "I need a little
time to come down--"
"Whoever told you that?" she asked with a knowing smile, and
returned to her ministrations. Her tongue coaxed my nipples back
into erection, and the fire that had been dying began to rage
anew. Pleased but surprised, I lay back, stretched my arms over my
head, closed my eyes, and invited it to consume me.
Jenni nibbled her way down my belly and I parted my thighs for
her. Her knowing tongue traced the outlines of my lips, darted
deep between them, but only brushed tantalizingly the engorged
focus of the sensations she brought me. I drove my hips up at her
but she would not be rushed, touching and teasing and pushing me
higher and higher.
Then she swung her leg across to straddle my body and offer
herself to me. I threw my arms around her and buried my mouth in
her fragrant love-sweetened wetness. At that moment, she took my
clit between her lips and her tongue swirled over it, and release
came, sudden, magical, explosive, delicious.
"You were right," I told her as we cuddled sleepily afterward.
"It's different, but a good different."
"One of the nicest things friends can do for each other," she
replied, and I had to agree.
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A version of this story was published by VARIATIONS in May, 1985
as WHAT ARE GOOD FRIENDS FOR? by Niki Carter. This is the original
unedited text, as the author meant it to be read.
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If you enjoyed this story and would like to help inspire the
author in his creative endeavors or his personal life, you're
welcome to send something erotic--a favorite photo, a hot letter
or story, an explicit GIF or two--to:
Mike Hudson
P.O. Box 22066
Lansing, MI 48909-2066
My tastes are diverse--don't be afraid to be as wild as your own
fantasies (or your own experiences) allow. And please let me know
where you found this file...I'm curious to see how far these
stories will wander through the BBS world.
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The Writer's Choice Bedtime Story Series:
BEDTIME1 -- Odyssey of Submission (B&D)
BEDTIME2 -- Special Friends (lesbian)
BEDTIME3 -- A Memory of Three (two women/one man)
BEDTIME4 -- A Wife Buys A Mistress (female domination)
BEDTIME5 -- The Gift of Pleasure (open relationship)
BEDTIME6 -- The Mistress's Secret (female domination)
BEDTIME7 -- Sweet Slave (B&D)
BEDTIME8 -- Turnabout (bisexual/dildo play)
====================Posting Date: July 1, 1992====================
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