Lover's Rock free porn video

Julia

The heavens decide to open when I am fifty yards from the door. With a curse, I try to move faster, but it was difficult in the heels I had somehow decided were a good idea to wear that morning.

By the time I enter the cafe, I’m soaked. The place is pretty quiet. The lunchtime rush is over and only three tables are occupied: an old man at one, a mother and toddler at another, and a schoolgirl nursing a hot drink in the corner. 

I sit down at a table by the window and try to collect my thoughts while they are still fresh in my mind. The meeting with the event planners hadn’t gone entirely smoothly, but eventually, through force of will, I had managed to persuade them that my idea was the best.

A sudden memory of an ex girlfriend telling me that I couldn't help dominating, even out of the bedroom, comes into my head as I think back to the meeting, using my height advantage, 5’9” even without the heels, to physically tower over the stubborn little man until he decided that yes, my idea did make sense after all.

“I’ll have a cappuccino please. A regular,” I reply when the waiter comes over to take my order and I watch him as he moves behind the counter, getting the coffee ready. 

I rub my temple with the fingers of my left hand, my fingertips tracing the creases in my forehead. I need a distraction. I was letting work take over my life again.

My thoughts are interrupted as the cup is placed on the table, the chocolate powder melting into a chocolate shell over the foamed milk. I know from experience the molten milk and coffee was too hot so without even lifting the cup, I let it sit and let my gaze move round the room.

I glance across at the schoolgirl as she sits playing on her phone. She reminds me of myself when I was younger. Trying to be that little bit alternative without falling foul of the archaic school dress code. I look at the names of the bands written in marker and biro on her school bag - recognising some such as ‘The Cure’ and ‘Green Day’ though others were all too modern for my music tastes which seemed to have fossilised in the late 1990s, around the time I graduated from art college.

I wonder if she was going to experience as much fun as I had during those post-school years. I find myself fantasising a little about her.  She looks very cute. Her black hair hangs down over her face, trying to create a veil or curtain to keep the world out, but I can see the freckles on her nose and cheeks against her pale, alabaster skin.

The regulation white school blouse is untucked, hanging outside her green pleated skirt. There’s not much of a swell to her chest, though the outline of a lacy bra strap was just visible through the thin material. Probably an a-cup I think, imagining the small pert breast with perhaps a bright pink nipple, swelling as my tongue flicks it.

Stop it, I think to myself. You are at least twice her age and old enough to be her mother. But, I can’t help it. My eyes continue down her body. She is petite, slim, no more than 5’2 or 3’. I smile as I looked at her shoes, Doc Martens, of course. The distinctive yellow stitching faded through wear and tear. The black tights she is wearing completing her attempt to subvert the uniform code. I watch as she wriggles her legs under the table. I imagine myself kneeling between her legs, a hand on her knees slowly spreading her legs apart.

I feel her glance in my direction. Had I been too obvious? Was I staring at her? I quickly turn back to my papers and take a drink of my cooling cappuccino.

Cici

God, I hate my life. Fucking school is such a drag, made even worse by having to wear these uniforms. I’m SIXTEEN fucking years old – shouldn’t I have learned to appropriately dress myself by now? At least they haven’t banned my boots yet. I’m pouting in my anger again, avoiding my homework, and drinking more caffeine than I should. 

I look down at the maths I’m supposed to be doing and snicker. What a joke. I’ve understood how to do these problems for months, and the promised tedium of doing more of them drives me farther away from actually getting anything done. 

Instead, I find myself looking around the café. I’d come in here as the storm was starting and found the cappuccino to be quite yummy, the wi-fi fast, and the atmosphere to be just dark and brooding enough. An old man is getting up to leave. Mother and daughter are laughing and having a seemingly splendid time over their cookies and hot chocolate. Fuck them, really… girls can turn out just fine even if their mothers are alcoholic whores. 

A woman comes in. At first I don’t give her a second thought. She’s old enough to be my mother and has an air of pompous authority about her. So, I keep playing on my phone for a while but something about that woman keeps prompting me to glance over at her. I’m noticing how immaculately she is dressed – a thin white linen shirt that she leaves unbuttoned enough to afford men the most titillating glimpse of her décolletage and the beautiful swell of her breasts. She completes the business suit with a dark, feminine jacket and matching skirt that falls below her knees. Patterned stockings (I’m guessing. She doesn’t look like the pantyhose sort) and four-inch heels that must be Italian, probably, get her close to 5’10 when she stands. 

She’s really remarkably put together for such an old bitch; she has to be in her mid thirties. Her glasses give her an air of intelligence and power. Her long, dark curls frame a face that doesn’t need makeup to look attractive, but the lipstick she’s chosen makes it even easier to look at her. I wish I had the money to afford slick clothes and a designer coif. Instead, I've settle for the cheap version of Natalie Dormer's hair in Hunger Games: Mockingjay, only in black. My mother almost shit when she saw that I'd shaved almost a third of my scalp! 

My phone buzzes and I look down to see a text from John, Mother’s most current fuck-buddy/enabler/parasite. Oh fuck… mom has been brought to the hospital again. As many times as this has happened before it doesn’t seem to get any easier. I feel anger and sadness well up as I contemplate another night at home alone wondering if I’ll be an orphan this time tomorrow.

Julia

I try to busy myself in my work, but it is no good. I feel my eyes getting drawn again and again back to the girl in the corner. There is a sense of melancholy about her. I watch as she runs her fingers through her hair, revealing the shaved side. I bet her mother had a fit, I think to myself, remembering how my own mother cried, calling me a lesbian and lamenting how she’d never have grandchildren the first time I came home with a mohawk.

The old bitch got one thing right, I thought ruefully as I scrape the chocolatey foam from the insides of the cup. Despite being married for fifteen years, I am no nearer providing grandchildren for her now than I was then. The fact I hadn’t slept with my husband for the past seven years might have had something to do with it. The fact that my sexual proclivities were directed at younger girls undoubtedly had a lot to do with it. 

As I look at this schoolgirl battling with whatever hormonal desires were racing around her system, I notice she had received a text that puts her in an even worse mood that she was in before. I've often found that anger was an amazing aphrodisiac in teenage girls. Their need to rebel against whatever middle-class traumas their parents threw at them often resulted in them needing to be taken in hand by an older, more experienced woman and, for want of a better word, fucked in a way their teenage boyfriends just couldn’t do.

This girl would be dirty, I imagine, feeling my panties dampen as I visualise her. Her blouse unbuttoned, titties scooped out of her bra, bright pink nipples hard, quivering with excitement. Her lips parted, panting with desire. Her eyes closed as I slide my hand up inside her skirt, fingers working on the elastic of her cheap cotton panties, already damp with the secretions from her pussy. I bet she’s no virgin I thought to myself as I felt my own nipples harden under my bra.

I look around the cafe. It is empty now, save for the teenage waiter playing on his phone behind the counter and the girl in the corner. The old man and the mother and daughter head in opposite directions down the alleyway. 

How does this place make any money? I wondered before turning once more to look at the object of my desire. She was taping on her phone, sending a text with an anger searching for an outlet. All I need is an in; some way to break the silence.

Cici

Well, seeing as how this day is turning out to be crap, I think to myself that it’d be nice to see if I can get the rich-looking woman to pay for my bus home. I’m pretty good at getting things, and I’ve seen her looking my way a few times; I bet I look like her daughter or niece.

I gather up my things and quickly check to make sure that I don’t have any crumbs making me look slovenly. I stand and straighten the pleated skirt and slowly approach the intriguing woman; She seems to be coming out of some sort of daydream. I see her look me up and down as I approach and notice that there is a hunger in her eyes that I’ve never really seen from a woman before. Sure, I see it all the time from guys, especially at bars and the like when I sneak in, but never from a woman.

I don’t give it a second thought as I walk up to her table and try to wear my most convincing sad face. 

“Excuse me, Miss?” I ask, as politely and demurely as possible- not easy considering my current turmoil.

“I realized that I spent my last bit of cash on a scone and I’ve got no way to pay for my bus home. I was wondering if you would be so kind as to lend me some so I can get back…. Errr, actually not so much lend as give as I won’t ever pay you back!” I smile at the last bit. The honesty always makes this sort of thing a bit less stressful and I often get lucky with the line. 

I look at her face, realizing just how feminine and beautiful it is. I feel my heart race a bit faster but have no idea why as I wait for her to reply.

Julia

I notice her getting ready to leave, brushing a stray crumb from her lap as she stands. She really is quite delicious, I think to myself as she gathers up her bag. She turns to go but suddenly I realise she is heading towards me rather than the door. 

I can’t help myself as my eyes roam over her body. I was right, I think to myself, 5’4” tops. She looks vulnerable as she approaches. Her face has a sadness about it. Maybe she isn’t the streetwise confident girl I had imagined after all. 

But, then, she opens her mouth and I have to try my hardest not to laugh as she spins the classic I-need-some-money-for-my-bus-fare line. I am, however, getting mixed signals from her. Her eyes seem to be radiating something. Not lust, but there is certainly something about this girl that intrigues and excites me.

I let her finish her tale of woe, smiling when she honestly tells me she won’t pay me back. I laugh and then playfully suggest, “Perhaps you can repay me in some other way.”

In all honesty, I have no idea why I say this or what I even mean by it. I guess I am trying to flirt with her, even though I know I shouldn’t. I can feel the tension build in the confines of the cafe. Time seems to slow down. The noise of the waiter tidying behind the counter fades away as all my senses are tuned into the girl standing in front of me in her school uniform, waiting to see what she will say. I lick my lips as I feel my stomach doing somersaults. 

I lean forward, arching an eyebrow and looking at her over the top of my glasses.

“What do you need?” I ask.

I let my eyes make one last journey from her face down to her boots and back up again. A wicked grin forms on my face as my eyes sparkle.

Cici

I wonder what she’s getting at with that comment, as there is nothing that I have that she’d want. When she smiles, her face lights up and there is something about it that draws me in and makes me want to tell her my secrets.

“Well, actually I could use a lift home and some dinner. My mother’s boyfriend just told me she’s been brought to hospital again. And NO, I don’t want to talk about it with you.” I put on my best don’t-fuck-with-me face and hope that it is enough to stop the barrage of questions that usually come with telling a stranger that your mother is in hospital.

“Of course I won’t ask you any questions about that if you don’t want me to. Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Julia”

“Hello Julia. My name is Caroline, but everybody calls me Cici.” 

I do my best impression of an adult and hold out my hand to her. She extends a hand that is perfectly manicured and probably has two thousand pounds of jewellery between a fine gold watch and a ruby ring. We shake for a moment too long before she breaks the awkward moment.

“So, how can I help you Cici? Perhaps I can take you out for some dinner and then get you home?”

“That’d be great… ummmm… Julia” 

“Wonderful. It’s been too long since I’ve had such a young and attractive dining companion. There is a great Indian place between here and my flat that we can walk to.”

As she gathers her things, I realize that she doesn’t ask if I like Indian food, which I do, nor does she ask if her plan will work for me, which it will. She seems to be one of the most decisive women I’ve ever met.

I notice the smooth and luxurious perfume Julia is wearing as we leave. She's put together in a way that I've never witnessed from any woman before.

"So how old are you, Cici? And how did you end up with that nickname? 

"I'm 16, Miss... I mean Julia."

Julia

The touch of her hand in mine sends bolts of electricity shooting to my core. She tells me she comes from a dysfunctional broken home. I think to myself that she has plenty to be angry about, and that makes my eyes sparkle as I hold her hand just that moment too long, waiting to see her reaction.

“How about I take you out for dinner and then get you home?”

"That’d be great,” she replies, stumbling, almost lost for words before saying “Julia” in a way that makes me desire her even more. Without giving her time to think I tell her that I’m taking her to a great little Indian restaurant just round the corner. 

I stand to put on my Max Mara black wool coat and gather my bag, watching her slip on her biker jacket, the black leather contrasting with the school uniform underneath. I hold the door open for her to slip past me into the gloom of a February evening. I feel a sense of relief when she tells me that she is sixteen. I smile as I follow her out.

“The restaurant is just a few minutes away," I tell her as I reach into my bag and pull out a packet of Marlboro lights. I take two out and hand her one as I light my own with my old Zippo lighter, the one with the faded DK symbol I had engraved into it during a jewelers class back in art school.

As I light Cici’s cigarette, never even bothering to ask her if she smokes, I hear her exclaim with excitement, “Oh, wow. The Dead Kennedys!”

“You really are a girl after my own heart,” I tell her. She’s so like I was back then, I think to myself as we walk in silence. I watch her trying to look sophisticated as she smokes, the exaggerated drag as she puckers her lips around it before theatrically blowing the smoke out. 

“Cici was my favourite aunt’s name,” she tells me suddenly. “Well, she was called Lucille really, but she hated that so she always called herself Cici.” She pauses for a second, staring at the ground. “She was more of a mother to me than that excuse lying in the hospital is.”

“Oh, Cici,” I whisper sympathetically.

"It’s nothing,” she replies, taking a long drag of the cigarette, tossing her head back defiantly, and walking on. “But, since I’ve always hated the name Caroline, I thought it a fitting tribute.” After a few more steps, she turns and, with a wicked smile on her face, laughs and tells me, “Plus my aunt and my mother never got on so I like the idea of it being a daily reminder of her.”

As we reach the door of the restaurant, I watch her grind the cigarette butt into the pavement with her boot while I gently stub out my cigarette against the wall, not wanting to damage my Italian shoes. 

I whisper conspiratorially to her, “They do a great prawn korma here, or maybe you’re in the mood for something spicier?” I finish with a raised eyebrow before opening the door and ushering her inside.

The interior of the restaurant is small and intimate with only a few tables surrounded by large plants.

“Miss Julia, welcome back,” the waiter exclaims happily as soon as he sees us. he picks up two menus and steers us to a corner booth, pulling our chairs out for us. 

“Can I get you ladies something to drink?” he asks us once we are seated and I tell him we will have a bottle of chardonnay as I flick through the menu. Once he leaves, I look over at Cici and smile. “I do presume you drink?” I ask. “I find you can’t really appreciate a curry with a coke, wouldn't you say?”

I don’t give her time to answer but instead tell her “I’m not going to pry into your life Cici. At sixteen I didn’t know how the world worked but I knew there was no way that some old middle-aged woman would understand what I was going through so I am not even going to attempt to offer you any advice.” I look into her eyes, gauging how quickly or how slowly to push her. 

“You can tell me as much or as little as you like and I will listen. Look on me as a sounding board. I get the feeling you are a bit mixed up,” I shrug.

“Maybe you are, maybe you aren’t. Either way, let’s enjoy our dinner.” I finish with a smile and pick up the glass of wine the waiter had poured as I was speaking. “Cheers” I say and raise the glass to my lips.

Cici

So this is maybe the third drink I’ve ever had and must admit to being a bit surprised as to how easy it goes down tonight. I find myself enjoying the cool tingle on my tongue and Julia’s presence equally. She toasts us and I find myself lost in her hazel eyes for a moment; Julia’s forceful personality, elegant manner, and striking good looks make me want to get closer and closer to her. 

I tell her just enough about my drunken mother, her health problems, and the chaotic home life to keep her from being too concerned about me. One thing I don’t need now is some stranger trying to parent me. She seems genuinely concerned, but true to her word she doesn’t offer advice and just listens, interjecting an insightful question here and there as we talk. 

The waiter comes by again and takes our orders; Julia tops up my glass and I’m wondering if I’m going to be drunk for the first time tonight. She surprises me by all but ordering for me.

“I’ll have the lamb vindaloo, and Cici, I think you’ll really love the prawn korma.” To which, I nod. 

After the waiter leaves, Julia leans over and conspiratorially whispers to me, “I love lamb. The meat is so tender and tasty when it’s young.” The way the dark curls frame her face and nearly blood-red gloss of her lips give me the impression that she is a lion waiting to savour her kill. 

She is remarkably skilled at keeping our conversation moving. We mostly talk about music – a wide-ranging conversation that ends up with both of us agreeing that Joe Strummer was much better than Mick Jones. While we eat and drink we also discuss horrible schoolgirl uniforms and fashion. It is clear that Julia is very well off and thinks nothing of dropping a large wad of cash on a spur-of-the-moment purchase of Italian heels or a French skirt. I’m awed how put-together she is. Everything about her seems to have been practiced to the point of perfection, from her diction, to her posture, to her use of makeup. 

Eventually the conversation comes around to romance and sex. My lips loosened by the three glasses of wine I’ve had, I reveal pretty much all there is to know about my limited experiences: a few make-out sessions with neighborhood boys at parties, being felt up at the movies by a bloke I’d never see again, and a hand job given to my BFF’s boyfriend’s friend. Not unexpectedly Julia is far more experienced and mentions her failing marriage and hints at a long line of lovers. Something about Julia sparks something deep inside me, which my wine-soaked mind can’t quite grasp while I sit and listen to her.

As we finish dinner Julia asks me if I’d like to come back to her flat for a bit, as she just has to get me to listen to some Irish band called Stiff Little fingers who she says influenced Green Day. Since there is nothing for me at home, I consider it a moment, then nod.

“Yeah… umm, sure.”

She smiles, “Good. That makes me very happy.”

Julia stands and offers me her hand as we walk out onto the street and start to stroll to her place. The night is heavy with moisture, but the rain has stopped and the spring night has a warmth to it that is unexpected, but very pleasant.

Julia

I don’t want the evening to end. I have a little bolt-hole flat nearby that I got on the pretext of having somewhere to stay in town on nights when I had to work late. Lately however it has been used more and more as my secret love nest. After convincing Cici that she has to come back to listen to music, I quickly pay the bill, stand, and take her hand to help her out of her seat.

Again, there is that momentary pause when we hold hands just a fraction too long. We step out onto the street and stroll back to the flat. I look down at her, our height difference even more noticeable as we walk side by side. 

I turn the key in the lock and push open the door, gesturing for Cici to enter first. “After you my dear,” I say with a mock bow. “The lounge is second door on the left,” I tell her as I pause to hang up my jacket in the hallway.

I go into the kitchen and pull another bottle of Chardonnay from the fridge and collect two glasses from the sideboard. I enter the lounge and see her sitting primly on the edge of the black leather sofa.

“Oh relax for goodness sake,” I say cheerily. “At least take off your jacket and boots,” I tell her as I pour two large glasses of wine. I kick off my shoes, walk over to the record player, and rifle through my ancient LP collection.

“It’s funny,” I say as I slide the twelve inches of black vinyl from the paper sleeve and gently place it on the turntable. “I moved all this old stuff in here so it didn’t clutter up my house and now I’ve got the perfect excuse to play it.”

I turn back to her and smile as I see her sitting more comfortably on the sofa, legs curled up under her, wearing just her school blouse, skirt, and black tights.

I pick up my glass and sit on the sofa beside her, mirroring her pose, tucking my stockinged legs underneath me. I bring the glass to my lips and savour the rich citrus taste on my tongue as I look at her over the rim of the glass.

“So Cici,” I ask in as light and airy a way as I can, “I forgot to ask you in the restaurant. Do you have a boyfriend?”

She blushes as red as anyone I have ever seen, looks at the floor, and almost inaudibley whispers, “No.”

“Really?” I ask, sitting upright to look at her. “How can someone as beautiful as you not have a boyfriend?”

She tries to give a defiant shrug but it is clear that it’s not through personal choice.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” I tell her, touching her hair softly with my hand to move it aside so I can see her face clearly. Seeing her blush excites me no end.

Cici

I don’t understand why I’m feeling all tingly as Julia brushes the hair from my face. I want to tell her that I’m lonely and want a boyfriend, but mostly can’t stand the boys I meet. I want to, but words fail me. My head is spinning from the day’s events and the wine and perhaps mostly due to Julia’s magnetic personality. This is a safe place.

Julia excuses herself to change and leaves. I drain my fourth glass of wine for the evening and enjoy the way the world is spinning.

The LP she’s put on gets to a track that I love. Without any self-consciousness I get up and start to move to the beat. I’m dancing with my eyes closed for a few moments when I sense the lights being lowered. I open them and see Julia standing in the doorway. She’s slipped out of the linen shirt and black skirt into an old and tattered Exploited tee shirt, though she’s kept her stockings on. The way that the T-shirt hugs her incredibly feminine body is enough to make anybody want to touch her. She isn’t wearing a bra under the shirt and her full breasts only magnify the hourglass shape she is lucky enough to have.

Julia is watching me as I move. I feel admired and not at all self-conscious. So, when she walks towards me, I don’t give it a second thought. She starts to move to the music with me, continuing to get closer as my perception of the world narrows to the music and her beautiful face. It just happens so organically; she takes my hands and pulls me closer as we are dancing. I’m looking up into her green-brown eyes as she leans over and kisses me softly. Our lips press together for a moment or minute – I’m not sure how long. I just feel so warm and tingly as she continues to move and pulls our bodies into a close embrace. 

I open my eyes after she breaks the kiss and wonder what will happen next. We continue to move together, slow-dancing to an old punk tune. The song ends and she takes my hand, leading me to the couch where we sit again, This time we're much closer, her thigh next to mine, her body turned to mine. Next to her, I feel small and decidedly boyish, my small a-cup breasts and narrow hips no match to her goddess-like curves. She gently touches my chin and pulls my face to meet hers in a second kiss. This time I want more of it and respond with some passion. I open my mouth a bit and she softly bites my lower lip and then slips her tongue in to my mouth. I’m expecting it… wanting it. I let our tongues play as she presses her body closer to mine – I feel her weighty breasts against my flat chest, the warmth of her body relaxing me and pushing all my problems far back into the recesses of my mind.

Julia

The first kiss as we dance blows my mind. She is everything I imagined her to be and more. When I lead her back to the sofa and we kiss again, it is clear she wants this. I press my body against hers, feeling her boyish frame press against mine.

I brush her hair away from her neck and bend my head and softly kiss her neck just below the jaw bone. In a voice somewhere between a thought and a whisper I mouth the words into her earlobe, “I want you.”

I let one hand slide down her back and slowly trace the indentations of her spine with my fingertips. My fingers traverse her back, feeling the bra strap through her blouse, then slowly heading upwards again.

My other hand drops to her thigh, fingertips touching the woolen material of her tights on her outer thigh as I move my mouth back to hers, our tongues beginning to dance together again as our lips mash against each others.

As my hand reaches the back of her neck, I run my fingers first through her hair, then over the shaved scalp. I feel the bristles rub against my fingertips before sliding again through the rich black tresses of her hair. 

Slowly I begin to cradle her head, pulling on the hair to guide her face into the position I want. I lean over her, tugging her hair to make her look up at me as we kiss harder now, more insistent. 

I move my other hand from her thigh to her breasts. My hand cups a petite little tit through the blouse. I feel the nipple harden as my thumb runs in circles over the small mound of flesh.

Never breaking the kiss, I unbutton the blouse one-handed. First the top one, then the next, then the next. Each time a button is popped open, my fingers trace a pattern of movement over the newly exposed flesh. 

She is sitting there, eyes closed, wallowing in the sensations as I kiss her and undress her. As the last button is undone, I slide my hand slowly down her torso from neck to stomach. She is so soft and toned, so young and firm. 

I break off the kiss and sit back, looking at her, sitting there, wearing a white lacy schoolgirl bra with her blouse undone and hanging open. Her long black hair hangs down like a curtain, but her eyes are gleaming, alive with want. 

Yes! She wants this; I am sure of it as I move back in again, one hand gripping her hair as the other hand scoops her left breast out of the bra. The bright pink nipple is small but already hardening under my touch. I kiss her lips, then slowly kiss my way down her jawbone and along her neck. 

I hear her making little whimpering noises as my lips kiss their way over her collarbone and down over the swell of her breast. I move my lips from her skin and softly blow my hot breath over the quivering nipple before running my tongue in a circle around it. Looking up at her, watching her eyes watch me as I flick her nipple with the tip of my tongue.

Cici

I’m having a hard time concentrating on anything but the rush of sexual energy and pleasure that is currently flooding my senses. Julia’s touch on my breasts is like nothing I’ve ever experienced before and my whole body is responding. I feel my cunny getting wetter and wetter. There is a little ball of fiery heat in my belly, and needless to say my breasts have never been this sensitive before. 

I’ve never been with a woman before- not that I have a lot of experience with guys either, but now I’ve got almost no idea about what to do as Julia moves between my thighs a little more and continues to suckle my small tits. I want her to be more aggressive with them, so I run my fingers through her hair and pull her mouth tighter against my chest. She responds and starts to gently bite at my hard pink nipples. I can’t help but moan softly as she does. 

I watch, almost helplessly, as she puts her hands on my knees and spreads my legs, forcing my skirt to ride up higher and leaving no doubt that Julia is not going to stop at my breasts. I feel her hands slide over my tights, down my thighs and then grasp the tights and pull them up and over my legs. Fuck… I wonder what undies I put on this morning – not that it matters now, I’m sure that they are thoroughly soaked.

She stops kissing my small tits to completely remove my tights and I don’t take my eyes off of hers. Normally I’d be too self-conscious and would try to hide my budding breasts but I see that Julia is lusting after me in a way I’ve never experienced before. So, I just sit back and let her do what she wants. So, she does, and reaches down and pulls my pink (uggh… why did I put on that old pair?) cotton panties off my legs. As the undies slide over my never-shaven legs I wonder if she’ll freak out; shaving my legs seems silly when I don’t care and nobody ever sees them anyway. 

“Take off your blouse, Cici”

I don’t hesitate, despite the fact that I’m now nude except for my thin little bra which has been pushed up on my chest. My thin triangle of dark pubic hair contrasts starkly with the pale flat skin of my belly. She stands up and offers me her hand, which I immediately take. She gently coaxes me up and off her sofa.

“Have you ever made love to another woman, Cici?”

Blushing, I respond by shaking my head. She takes my hand and leads me down the corridor to her bedroom. The lights are dim in there; the air is warm and I can smell some nag champa she is burning.

“Don’t worry Cici. I know you’ll enjoy this. Rrelax….”

She moves in closer to me. I stand next to her bed and she kisses me full on the lips as she presses our bodies together.

Julia

I kiss her full on the lips, pressing my body against her virtually naked flesh. As I wrap my arms around her, I swiftly undo the bra clasp and let the last piece of clothing fall to the floor. Her clothes mark the trail of seduction through the flat, from the jacket by the door, the blouse on the sofa, the tights and panties on the living room floor, to the bra discarded by the bed.

Breaking the kiss, I gently push her back so she is lying on her back on the bed, her knees bent with her feet still on the floor. I look down at her lying there, a picture of virginal bliss. She doesn’t even attempt to cover her breasts or that sweet hairy cunt as she lies there with her legs ever so slightly parted and her hands by her sides, as if unsure what she is supposed to do next.

I grip the bottom of my T-shirt and pull the material up over my head, revealing my breasts. As I drop it on the floor beside her bra I see her stare at my chest. The nipples stand proud and the raised dimples around the aureole look close to bursting as I slide my hands slowly over them, never breaking eye contact with her.

I slowly take a step closer to her until I am standing right in front of her. Her knees touch my legs as I tower over her. Without speaking, I reach down, putting a hand on each knee and slowly pull her legs apart, spreading them for me as I ease myself down onto my knees in front of her.

I run my fingers up her legs from her ankles to her knees, loving the feel of the soft downy hair on her legs before sliding my hands up over her knees and slowly, teasingly sliding my fingernails along her inner thighs.

I can see the juices glistening on her slit already as I slide my thumbs up and peel her lips apart. I can hear her making little whimpering noises as I run my mouth close to her sex and blow softly over her clit, which is already poking out of its hood as if wondering why it hasn’t felt like this before.

I let my hair rub against her inner thigh as I move my head around her crotch, never touching, teasing, letting her whimpers become more insistent before finally running my tongue slowly, longingly along the full length of her slit from her perineum to her clitoris. 

I feel her hips buck at the touch of my tongue and a noise like a low guttural wail coming from above me as I feel her juices explode on my tongue. Oh god the taste of virgin juices never ceases to amaze me and excites me beyond words. 

I curl my tongue into a point and write my name, tracing the capital letters J, U, L, I, A over her throbbing clit. My hands move to press on her hip bones to keep her in place as her gyrations became more and more extreme.

She is whimpering, pleading, making little bird-like cries as I slide my tongue down her slit and push into her love-hole. My tongue laps at the juices flowing out of it; the channel between her ass cheeks are already slick with them, as a puddle forms on the sheets. She wraps her ankles together around the back of my head and tries to pull me in deeper, trying to force my tongue deep inside her, but her maidenhead blocks my tongue’s efforts.

Cici

I can’t help but stare at Julia’s large beautiful breasts as she bares them in front of me. She is a beautiful woman in every respect and I’m really having a hard time understanding what she sees in me. With the wine blurring my senses and the tingling sensations I’m feeling over most of my body, I quickly give up trying to figure out why she is making love to me like this and just let myself go, as she sneaks up my pale, thin thighs and starts to lick me.

To say I’ve never felt anything like her tongue on me is a serious understatement. Besides my fingers, or the spray of water from the showerhead, nothing has ever touched me sexually down there. Julia’s tongue is a key, opening my experience to an overwhelming world of sexual pleasure that I never would have believed could exist. In those moments when I actually open my eyes it seems as though everything in the room is spinning.  

Glancing down between my widely spread thighs I see the top of Julia’s head as she tongues my little clit and I feel cum trickle down my ass. I hear myself moan and whimper as my older, sexier lover licks my virgin sex from end to end, holding my legs apart and devouring me as though I’m her favorite food and she hasn’t eaten in a week.  

I could go on like this for… forever. I would go on like this but Julia raises the stakes and intensifies her delicate oral assault on my clit while reaching up and finding my nipples with her fingers. Her touch on my nipples sends a bolt of electricity straight through my core, connecting my pussy to my tender pink nipples and spinning me into what I quickly realise will be the most intense orgasm I’ve ever experienced.  

My thighs squeeze together, clamping Julia’s face to my flooding vagina as I swoon into my orgasm. She tweaks my nipples, perhaps harder than I’d have liked, and I wail loudly as a wash of heat and electricity utterly flood my senses. This is an orgasm like nothing I’d have ever have thought possible. The noises I hear are my own moans and screams – seemingly not even coming from me as I lose track of where I end and the pleasure begins.  

The orgasm peaks and Julia slides her perfect curves up my body, her nipples dragging across the pale skin of my belly until she is lying in the missionary position between my thighs. I feel an unexpected rush of warmth flow from me, soaking her stocking-clad thigh, which is pressed hard against my pussy. Her pillow-like breasts mash tightly to my flat chest; her lips press to my ear where her breath melts me even farther. The weight of her body presses into me, comforting me and making me feel small and desired all at once.

I can smell my cum on her breath as she whispers into my ear something that I’d never heard before.

“You are beautiful Cici.”