This story involves sex between adult females. If that's not your thing, or if it is illegal in any way, then stop reading. Otherwise, enjoy!
"Bit smaller than I expected," I murmured politely, my eyes scanning around the few sparse rooms of Flat 12. I pondered whether or not it would be legal to keep a pet cat in this poky, though well-decorated sliver of property, and swinging it would be absolutely out of the question. However, needs must, and I signed the paperwork with a surprising degree of optimism.
A brightly-lit exterior and an air of merriment wafting out through open doors amused my senses and lifted my spirits as I approached my closest hostelry. Little did I know that had I walked on I would have spared myself misery, heartache and desperation that came to fill my every waking moment. I would also have denied myself an intense sexual and emotional relationship that not so much ebbed and flowed as raged between the spring and neap tides of interpersonal relationships. Should I have bypassed the welcoming entrance to The Queen's Head' and instead followed an alternate destiny via the Crown and Sceptre'? Who knows?
"Pint of smooth, please," I said pleasantly whilst gazing around at my surroundings. Like all pubs I have ever experienced there sat a motley collection of (mostly old) men in one area close to the bar, but the remaining two-thirds of customers were dotted around the spacious tavern and looked to be a mixture of old and young, men and women and several children. I noticed that the three young bar staff were all female and all pleasing to the eye of this thirty-something gay woman. One in particular stood out, but unfortunately remained away from the area where I waited to receive my drink. On doing so I chose a table not far from the bar with a good view of the length of the pub.
Business proceeded as usual the following morning, the location altered but my work as routine and uninspiring as ever. "Fuck you," I whispered at my computer screen, for my laptop and I were engaged in a constant battle of wits I was losing as the days progressed. Giving up, I decided it was time for the deployment of my small-time electrical WMD (the off switch) and stabbed at it with some relish. A colleague at the next desk, Boring Dave, shot me a brief look of pity before turning back to what I presumed was a spreadsheet he was working on but for all I know it could have been his new fetish-themed `blog. I grinned at the back of his head and called it a day.
"Oh God, Jesus, oohhhhh," I moaned as I lay writhing on my double bed, panting with ecstasy as each wave of orgasm built upon the last until it broke with full force. The pleasure spread like fire through my body, up and down to the very tips of my toes and fingers, my neck stretched out as I continued to buck and jerk with the waves slowly subsiding, incredibly slowly, feeling like a ten-minute ride of intense and wonderful orgasmic thrill. I had recently discovered a new masturbation technique, only a slight variation on any I have used before but one that has altered my perception of the female climax. With my right had resting gently against my right inner thigh, fingers pointing down towards my feet, the only movement is from my right thumb, and only the end part of it. Slowly bending my thumb I stroke my clitoris from left to right, gently and evenly, then unbend my thumb and trace the path back from right to left. A steady pace leads to the heights of pleasure I have just experienced, and a slower rhythm brings an even higher intensity of orgasm that is almost unbearable.
Later that night, for my sexual release was an early evening treat, I found myself yet again at the doors of "The Queen's". This time I took a moment to compose myself after the brisk twenty-minute walk that separated my accommodation from my "local". I felt my heart skip a beat as I saw the same faces behind the bar as on my previous visit and my eyes were drawn to the one in particular whose individual yet somehow irresistible looks had attracted my interest. These were paired with a delightfully charming manner, exquisite politeness and a hint of wit and intelligence I suspected may match or even surpass my own. We had exchanged pleases and thankyous, no more, and yet there was a spark, a frisson I could feel from the first time I saw her. I did not know this woman's name, but I knew that I loved her.
Not one phrase from "What can I get you?" or "Yes please?" or "Hello, what would you like?" or indeed any instigation of the future transaction was forthcoming from the young woman as she inclined her head and raised dark eyebrows in question. It seems to be the way things are done in these parts, a far cry from my old stomping grounds, and I accepted the lack of conversation as such.
"Good evening, may I have a pint of Grolsch, please?" My manner was formal, matching that of this intriguing character with her cropped black hair and rounded face that carried an impassive, neutral expression. I had seen her smile and laugh with her colleagues when I was last here, and I thought then that when she smiled it lit up not only her face but her whole persona, as if a magic wand-waving fairy godmother were practising her art from behind the fruit machine. My drink appeared at my elbow and I held my money, waiting. Finding it hard to look people in the eye in any situation, I had not raised my eyes to hers and could not do so again. I fumbled with my money as she spoke clearly, with confidence in herself but a pitch rather higher than my own voice, conveying a gentle youthfulness.
"That's two pounds seventy-five, please." I placed the coins in her hand, thanking her again and as she turned I stole a glance at the object of my desire. Her look was slightly athletic, with the obligatory uniform white shirt covering a well-rounded chest and strong shoulders. She was almost half a foot taller than me (and I am no pixie) and, coupled with the slightly raised height of the bar floor, my eyes were level with her breasts. Most conveniently, I thought.
I learned one simple fact that night. Her name is Hannah.
When I left the pub that night, staying until the last of the regulars had finally shuffled out, my clitoris ached with longing, built up over the course of the evening with increasing throbbing with every heartbeat. I had not attempted conversation or shown any interest in Hannah but merely observed her and the other staff going about their work. She was by far the most professional and competent, enjoying a laugh and engaging in playful banter (strictly with colleagues only) but always with a watchful eye scanning for waiting customers. The effort put in by this woman was top-rate and her manner, as ever, unfailingly polite. Every time she passed by my table I felt a jolt from between my legs and knew that I would find my underwear soaked with my juices.
My collection of porn is small, and I chose my favourite lesbian short film to see me through another session of self- pleasure. As the cute blonde waitress chatted to a suited-and- booted lawyer, the lights dimmed and the characters slowly shed their clothes and their inhibitions. Blondie kissed Boots with a fiery passion, grasping her head and probing with a wanting tongue. The kissing continued as the two slowly eased down onto a sheepskin rug that covered the bare stone floor. I slid my hand inside my pants. Earlier I had wanted it slow and sensual, but this time was all about speed. Blondie eased her mouth downwards, covering her partner with kisses as she slid towards that waiting crack, exposed and slick. As her tongue flicked against the swollen clit, Boots shuddered. This film is known for its real-life partners and true orgasms, and as I watched one building on-screen I pumped two fingers inside me, furiously stroking my large, reddened clit with my other hand. I could feel the orgasm rising quickly within me and just as I reached bursting point the scene finale came to a climax with Boots grabbing her partner's hair and crying out with ecstasy. My orgasm came suddenly, a brief yet intense sensation that left me breathing hard and satisfied, for the moment.
"Morning, Dave," I greeted my co-worker automatically as I strolled past his freakily clean desk to my own cluttered workspace. Overnight, somehow, piles of reports had appeared in one corner, dumped on top of the other piles of paper I was supposed to be working on. I filed them in a handy bin and opened my laptop. The company, though anally-retentive about the little things like tea breaks and tidiness, seemed not to monitor personal emails sent during work hours, or if they did they didn't care very much. I read the latest update from my friend Adam, who would be visiting at the weekend, and scanned the BBC News website to see if anything exciting was happening. It wasn't, so I reluctantly opened Excel and began work.
I made lots of mistakes that day, extremely unusual for me. My mind just wasn't on the task. Thoughts of Hannah were invading my daydreams as I imagined cuddling up to her on a walk through the woods or kissing her after a romantic dinner by the sea. I would run my hand through her short hair, stroke her shoulders as I placed my lips on hers and caress those firm breasts, watching her face as she enjoys my touch. Almost instinctively my hand wandered down towards my crotch before I remembered where I was and, after a brief squeeze, I pulled my hand away. I needed relief, and quickly, as the throbbing continued from my nether regions, and I knew exactly where I could get it.
The offices here were fairly large, each one housing five or six workers, and seemed fairly open-plan. I was searching for a colleague and casual sex partner whom I knew had also been temporarily relocated here. I soon found her, busily scribbling away on a notepad at her desk. I sneaked up behind her and placed both arms on her shoulders.
"Hey there, stranger," I whispered, planting a quick kiss on the top of her head. I had always loved her ginger curls, not too long with a deep red tinge, and Laura looked better than ever. She spun around and stood, hugging me tightly for a few seconds before letting go and frowning. Not one of the other people in the office looked up from their work and I wondered if the company had started to employ robots to keep costs down.
"Hello my dear, what brings you over to our warm and cosy Marketing office?" asked Laura with a grin. My face was flushed from my earlier imaginings, a fact which had not escaped my friend's attention.
"Come on," I said, and without explanation grabbed her by the hand and led her to the ladies' down the corridor. Not just a toilet, this refreshment area boasted a cloakroom, changing room, showers and a sitting room in addition to the necessary conveniences. Locking the door to the sitting room I pulled Laura down onto a large leather couch in one corner of the comfortable room. Sensing my need, my friend spent no time in unfastening my black shirt and grey trousers, slipping her hands up my back to unfasten my plain black bra. Breathing hard, I lay back and let those dainty, pale hands work their magic. My whole body was on fire and I let myself go, imagining that it was not Laura but Hannah who was making love to me tenderly yet urgently. As one hand tweaked my sensitive nipples I felt another sliding down over my stomach and over my wet slit, fingers parting the flesh to expose that tender sweet spot. I almost climaxed then, such was my heightened state of arousal, but forced myself to breathe more calmly and let Laura do her stuff. One finger slipped inside me and began to move slowly in and out, over no more than a centimetre. The tip of Laura's finger must have been hooked expertly upwards, for I felt my insides burning with the pleasure from my oft-neglected G-spot. I arched my back, silently begging for more, and I got it. Laura's practised tongue caressed my clit, one side then the other, up and down then side to side, and my breaths came quickly as the pressure built. With a rhythmic, circular motion her tongue moved in time with her finger inside me, and it was only seconds before my orgasm erupted along with involuntary moans of ecstasy. In my mind it was Hannah licking and fingering me and giving me this wonderful pleasure. It would be interesting in the pub tonight, I thought as the waves subsided. I pulled Laura towards me and whispered in her ear.
"Thank you".
If you like what you've read, email me, sam_c02uk@yahoo.co.uk If you don't, also email me, bearing in mind that I'm not a professional writer. Cheers!