Bloomsbury Circle free porn video
Gwendoline Callaghan, known to all our circle as Harry, was tall, slim and as butch as you like. She did class butch. Not for her the tight vest, torn jeans and Doc Martens. No, for Harry, it was a decent suit or classy chinos and a leather jacket. She was deep in conversation with a woman called Jess, who never seemed to do anything but was as rich as Croesus.
I was watching her at the party my friend Sylvia arranged every September – she called it Harvest Festival but there was nothing religious about it. It was, as she put it, a thoroughgoing piss up. It was always on a Friday night, often lasted until Sunday and was all girls.
We thought of ourselves as a sort of provincial Bloomsbury set. Sylvie was a writer, Harry painted abstract stuff that I found incomprehensible and the others included six lesbian musicians who played great jazz in the local bars, a poet, Isadora, and a couple of local politicians who were members of different parties but managed to get over their differing views when between the sheets. We were hedonistic and met often to drink, eat and fuck. We didn’t hold with convention and enjoyed being promiscuous.
I was lounging on a sofa with the sax player from the band. Her name was Mary and she was dressed, as all the players were, in their customary leather trousers and jackets. They liked to maintain an air of unity; it was like a brand, ‘The Sapphonic Jazz Sex-Tet.’ That was the legend on the front of the largest of the drummer’s drums and emblazoned across the T-shirts they wore under their leather jackets. Mary was running her hand idly up the leg of her colleague, the bass guitarist called Loo, as she spoke to me.
“Harry’s looking good,” said Mary.
“Oh?”
“Fuck's sake Beth. You haven’t taken your eyes off her all evening. It could make a girl lose her self-confidence.”
“You seem to have your hands full.”
“Oh, Loo just likes being handled, don’t you girl?”
Loo had full lips, and large breasts and I suspected had foregone the T-shirt under her leather jacket. “Mhmm,” she murmured but she was busy kissing the keyboard player, Saskia, so it may have been because of that.
“Why don’t you just go over there and ask her to fuck you? You know you want to.”
She wasn’t wrong. I’d fancied Gwendoline forever. She never seemed to really notice me even when we spoke. I mean, she was friendly but whenever I was with her I felt her eyes were looking over my shoulder at someone else.
Sylvie, fifty years old, in great shape and a long skirt slashed to the waist wafted past. “Come on girls, time you did a set for us.”
“Fuck it,” said Mary but she got to her feet, dragged Loo and Saskia apart. “Separating you two is like separating my bloody spaniels. Come on, bitches, time to make music.”
Their instruments were set up in the large hall of Sylvie’s huge house and we let them wander off to tune up or whatever it is musicians do. I joined Alice Tremayne and her lover Jill Pennant, the two MPs. They were arguing about something as always.
“Be nice, ladies, remember it’s a democracy.”
“Tell her that, Beth. She’s the fucking Nazi here,” Jill didn’t look as if she was totally joking.
Alice looked momentarily angry but then smiled and said, “Sieg Heil.” They both burst out laughing. They say opposites attract and whilst politically that was clearly true in their case, physically they could have been sisters. Both were my height, five foot five, both fairly slim, brown hair, brown eyes, good cheeks, classy dressers and both graduates of one of our finest universities and one if its finest colleges.
When the band started playing we all moved into the hall. I was carrying a glass of wine and I’d decided to wear something that Sylvie called ‘pulling power in fabric.’ It was a long black sheath, silk naturally and the top of it was in the form of a collar that clipped at my throat, bare shoulders and back and just fell over me. It felt fabulous, cost a fucking fortune and made me feel a million dollars. Being naked under it didn’t hurt either.
I felt breath on my ear. “You look good!”
I turned and had to look up into Gwendoline’s eyes. “Hi, Gwen. Looking pretty sharp yourself.”
‘Thanks – they are a good band, no?”
‘Brilliant. I just wish they weren’t so deep in the closet.”
Gwen guffawed at that because Loo had proved my suspicions correct by opening her jacket to reveal her lovely girls, one of which was receiving the keyboard player’s attention. It didn’t seem to stop them from playing well.
Gwen’s hand rested on my right shoulder, her chin near my left ear. “You chose the dress for me?”
“No, handsome, for me.”
She had a throaty laugh and there it was again. “Liar. You’ve been staring at me all evening.”
“I’ve been staring at almost everyone all evening. It’s what I do.”
She patted my shoulder. “Keep telling yourself that, sweetheart.” She moved away and I drew breath again. Fuck her, why did she always make me want her and never deliver? Sylvie stopped at my side.
“You and Harry going to get together?”
“Doubt it. She seems immune to my charms.”
“You like ‘em butch, don’t you?”
“I have eclectic tastes as you may remember, unless you’ve forgotten Nassau.”
Her arm slipped around me and cupped my right breast. “I do vaguely remember it. Wasn’t that where we fucked the hotel manageress?”
“No, it was where you fucked me and the manageress.”
“Oh yes, I remember now. She was hot.”
“Thanks a bunch.”
“You are hot, silly.” She squeezed my nipple and nibbled my earlobe. “I was just wondering if you’ve met the new addition to the band?”
“No, I haven’t. Is she the one playing the twelve string?”
“Mhmm. She’s called, appropriately, Les and in her professional life, she’s a rugby player. Fit as a flea and, shall I say, fits into our group terribly well. And when I say ‘fits in,’ there is a definite emphasis on the ‘in.’ Get Mary to introduce you.”
“Why aren’t you pursuing her?” Sylvie had an enormous sexual appetite and the events in Nassau had been fantastic. We’d gone away together because I sometimes help her when she’s writing. I do research for her and that particular story had been about a Russian oligarch and his financial shenanigans. Part of it was set in the tax havens of the Caribbean and I had interviewed a load of people, feeding information back to Sylvie who turned it into part of her book.
We had stayed at a fabulous boutique hotel she’d found set up and run by the daughter of an ageing billionaire. She was mixed race, pale coffee skin, beautiful black hair but startling blue eyes. Sylvie had flirted with her outrageously from the moment we arrived and bedded her on the second night. For the rest of our stay she, Molly, had shared the huge suite with us.
I remember it so clearly. I’d gone to our suite to discover Sylvie wasn’t there. I went to the bar then to the pool, then to the restaurant. No Sylvie. Eventually, I’d gone to bed alone and a little pissed off but knew that if she’d found what she’d call a ‘challenge’ she wouldn’t rest until she’d conquered.
The following morning I’d gone for a swim only to find Sylvia in the pool already, naked.
“Morning, darling,” she’d said cheerily and I knew instantly that she’d been with someone else.
“Who was it?”
“Guess.” Her face had a distinctly victorious smile.
“My god, you shagged the manageress!”
“Molly, darling, her name’s Molly.” She said with a huge grin.
“You might have said.”
“Well, it all happened a bit swiftly, sorry and all that.” It was no good getting cross with Sylvie, she’d have simply told me to piss off so I slipped into the pool and did a few lengths. I had a few appointments that day and didn’t get back to the hotel until about seven. I went straight to our suite and found Sylvie and Molly recreating the passion of the previous night.
“Have a shower and join us,” Sylvia had said over her shoulder as she vigorously fucked her bedmate.
The sight of the thirty-year-old Molly, legs akimbo, knees raised and with Sylvia above her, naked but the structure of her strapless dildo clearly visible between her thighs and most obviously deep inside Molly was enough to get my libido going so I showered and slipped into bed beside them.
A few moments later and Molly and I were on our knees, our heads side by side on the pillow and with Sylvie behind us giving us both a serious fucking. That basically became the pattern of the rest of our eight-day stay. I don’t remember eating a lot except pussy but I am not complaining.
Molly was great fun, incredibly adventurous and a thorough delight whether she was using the dildo, getting it, eating or being eaten. Particularly memorable was the night when Sylvia had bought a second dildo and she’d fucked Molly, while Molly fucked me. I’d been bent over the back of a soft sofa with Molly standing behind me when Sylvie had come out of the shower, strapless in situ and she went behind Molly. Her thrusts into Molly became Molly’s into me. Fucking amazing. I cannot remember a period so charged with sex. I couldn’t wait to get back to the hotel each day and continue.
Sylvie kissed my ear again. “I’m not pursuing her because I have another plan tonight. I intend to bed the representatives of two great political parties.”
“But they don’t put themselves about.”
“Balls, darling, utter balls. They don’t like people to know they do but they also know our little group is nothing if not discreet. Watch and learn, darling.”
The band finished their set and I found Mary as she propped her Sax back on its stand. “Brilliant, thank you.”
“Mediocre. Bloody Loo can't stop herself and Saskia was a bit distracted.”
“So was I.”
Mary patted my arse. “I want you to meet our new twelve-string, Les. She’s right up your street.”
“Everyone else seems to know what’s up my street.”
She looked at me as if I had puzzled her then beamed. “Well, of course we do, sweets, come and meet Les.”
Les had gone back into the small room where the drinks and food were laid out. She wore the same as her five colleagues and I confirmed my first impressions of her, formed as I’d watched the band playing. Long, very long fingers, very short ash blonde hair, dark blue, almost black eyes, turned up nose, good cheekbones, fairly tall, firm braless tits visible under her T now that she’d undone her jacket. Nice. She had a small bag looped onto her belt at the left side of her waist.
“Les, meet Beth.”
She turned around from the table where she had picked up a huge glass of wine and stared at me, appraising me, studying me.
“Love the frock.”
“Love the band.”
“All of us?”
“Not so far.”
“Any of us?”
“Not so far.” She grinned at that.
“Want a drink?” I asked her for a wine and she poured some into a glass and handed it to me.
“Let’s go outside, I need a fag.” I did too although I only smoke about three per year so I followed her, watching her arse move rather deliciously in the leather. We stood on a small terrace and she took a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from the bag at her waist, lit a cigarette and put it between my lips then lit one for herself.
“I’m surprised a pro rugby player smokes.”
“Keep it between us.”
“Sure.” She had a way of looking at you that felt like you were under a microscope. She had taken her jacket off and I saw she had powerful arms and shoulders. “What position do you play? I don’t think I’ve seen you.”
“You like rugby?” I told her I loved it and had watched it since a child, explaining it was a Dad thing. “I play wing forward.” Hence, I thought, the strong arms and I suspected her legs would be powerful too.
“You play guitar beautifully to my untutored ear.”
Her response was to kiss me, her hand behind my head, her mouth firm against mine and her body pressed against me. When we broke she smiled. “I do, actually. Mary tells me you like butch girls.”
“I like girls, well, women to be more accurate.”
“Does that mean you’re not fussy?”
“No, it means I like women and if the one I like a lot happens to be butch I am always rather pleased.”
“Are you naked under that dress?”
I thought about that for a second or two. “Do you know, I can’t remember.”
She grinned a wolfish grin. “Perhaps someone should check if you’re memory is failing?”
“Knowing this lot, somebody will.”
She threw her cigarette side and moved closer to me. She leant down to kiss me and her hands began to roam over me, first my back, then my chest, then my arse. The kiss deepened as she explored me with her hands and it was obvious that aside from kissing me she was trying to discover if I was or was not naked under the dress.
“Someone came out looking to get fucked.”
“You think anyone here doesn’t want to get fucked?”
“I don’t.” I must have looked disappointed. “I don’t want to be fucked, I want to fuck.”
“Have you chosen anyone yet?”
“Yep. Come on, let’s get another drink.”
She took my hand and led me back into the room and straight to the bar where she poured two more glasses of wine. As we drank she nodded her head towards a corner where Sylvia was sitting between the to politicos. The slit in her skirt revealed her long thigh and Jill Pennant’s hand firmly on it. Alice was licking Sylvia’s mouth so it seemed her plan was going well.
“You like a threesome?”
“Not the first time.”
“Not the first time?”
“No, the first time with someone new I like to be able to concentrate on her, focus on learning what she likes.”
“Supposing she likes a threesome.” Her smile was impish and her eyebrow lifted.
“Then she’ll have to wait until the second time.”
The grin widened. “Assuming there is a second time.”
It’s not just butch girls who can take the initiative. I took her glass from her and, holding her hand, I led her out of the room and up the stairs to the bedroom that Sylvia had given me. She followed me in and I leant back against the door, reaching behind me to lock it.
“Not one for public viewing then?” That eyebrow again.
“Not the first time.” We both smiled and then she moved in close. Her mouth almost touched mine, then retreated. She did that a few times and each time I wanted the contact more. She knew that of course. Finally, thank God, her lips made contact with mine. It was a hungry, deep kiss and her hands moved over my breasts, gently fondling my, squeezing my nipples and rolling them between her fingertips through the thin fabric of my dress.
I would have loved to do the same to her but her body had sort of pinned my arms to my sides and the wall against my back prevented me from moving freely. Eventually, she broke the kiss.
Squatting a little, she reached down to the hem of my dress and in one swift movement she lifted it and, as I had raised my arms helpfully, the dress came right off me rather easily until the collar resisted her attempts and there was a brief farcical moment as she worked out how to undo it. She smiled and, casting the dress aside, whipped off her own T-shirt and then pounced again, hands firm on my arse, mouth hard against mine. But at least by then, my arms were free and I gripped her arse and pulled her to me, my mound pressed against the warm leather of her trousers.
“Get on the bed, baby, and wait.”
She wandered off to the en-suite and I pulled back the satin sheets and lay back on the bed, savouring the sensation of the material against my bare body. My hand was at my cunt, stroking myself when she reappeared naked and with a strappy poking proudly forward.
“Never go anywhere without the right equipment,” she said, smiling and stroking her cock. She knelt between my feet and lowered herself until her mouth was close to the hand that was stroking myself. “Couldn’t wait for me, huh?”
I pulled my hand away and she pressed against me, her tongue lashing my already wet cunt.
She licked up me until her mouth was on mine and I felt the sweet intrusion of the head of her strappy. She lifted her head.
“Ask me.”
“Please, Les.”
“Please what?”
“Please fuck me.” That’s seemed to do the trick. With a slow, gentle push of her hips, the dildo pushed easily, comfortable inside me. I groaned and lifted my heels around her back, drawing her into me. With her face just above mine, she began to fuck me, rocking and circling her hips. I stroked her flanks, her breasts and her face, encouraging her to bring her mouth down to mine again. Suddenly she pulled out.
“Turn over.” I did. “Lift your arse.” I did that too and was rewarded by the return of the dildo into me, harder this time, faster, her body curled over mine and one hand under me, gripping my breast. She fucked me, hard and fast. It was beautiful. She whispered words of encouragement.
“Take it, baby. Let me in. Fuck, you feel good.”
The weight of her left my back and she knelt behind me and fucked me. I somehow sensed she was about to come when she gripped my hair and said something like, “ohhh, fuckkk, yesss.”
That did it for me and my own orgasm burst out of me, unexpected, unforced, explosive. I writhed, arched, screamed.
Later we lay together, facing each other. “You always go off like that?” I smiled and said I didn’t. “I wasn’t sure I’d be able to stay on, like a bloody bolting horse you were.”
“Well, you shouldn’t be so good.”
“And there was me thinking I needed more practice.”
“Oh, you do!”
So she did.
Louise
- 01.04.2022
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- Category:
- Lesbian
