Lovers

Alison laughs. "Yes, very much."

"Good."

"Now I'll ask a personal question. Do you live alone?"

"No, I'm living with someone. Her name is Valerie and we've been together almost two years."

Alison seems unruffled, her eyes once again meeting Frankie's. "All right, I won't ask any more questions."

"Don't be silly, I don't mind it."

But Alison rises and she goes to the kitchen. When she returns, she says: "Before I moved into this apartment, I lived with a woman nearly three months."

"Do you still see her?"

Alison shakes her head. "She's in Paris. She's French. She was here at the consulate. No, it's finished. It was never meant to be anything anyway. I'm telling you about it because I want you to know there was nothing before it and nothing after it. I'm not very experienced, you see."

* * *

They stand at the window. Alison faces the lake, and Frankie stands beside her with her head turned as she kisses Alison's ear. The kiss is light, grazing, indefinite. Now Frankie's left arm slides around Alison's waist, and she moves behind her to kiss the side of her neck. Alison shivers, but she does not pull away. Frankie kisses her neck again, a longer kiss, her wet lips sliding down to the soft place where Alison's neck joins her shoulder.

Now Alison shifts her body to the side as if to pull away. As she does this, she turns her head toward Frankie and Frankie immediately kisses her mouth.

The kiss seems to freeze Alison, and her body remains motionless as their lips press together. Frankie's mouth is open, her tongue mobile, aggressive, pushing between Alison's lips as Alison gradually yields to the kiss. Frankie's hand now slides upward to gently stroke Alison's breasts through the front of her silk dress. Alison moans against Frankie's mouth, her body bending backward against the support of Frankie's left arm.

Her hand leaving Alison's breasts, Frankie slips a shoulder strap down over Alison's shoulder. She does the same to the other shoulder strap, the front of the dress falling, Frankie's fingers tugging the silk downward until the lace cups of Alison's white bra are exposed, the cups almost demi-cups, the naked upper part of each breast offered up like a ripe fruit. Frankie frees Alison's left breast completely, and she bends her head to take the full pink nipple in her mouth.

Alison makes a sound of pleasure in her throat. She lifts her head back as Frankie takes her breast. Frankie sucks at the nipple, flutters her tongue over it. At the same time she gathers the front of Alison's silk dress with her right hand and she quickly raises it and she slides her hand between Alison's thighs. The blonde moans again, and then her legs part and Frankie's fingers glide into the warm crotch of Alison's pantyhose.

Anxious to get beyond the first crisis, Frankie is insistent with her hand. Of course the reinforced nylon crotch of the pantyhose is a nuisance, but she does her best with it, her fingers rubbing everywhere over the lush vulva until she's able to find the top of the groove and then finally the stiff little promontory of Alison's clitoris. At this moment there is no time for niceties, and so Frankie uses her hand to rub all of Alison's cunt without favoring any part of it, a vigorous and relentless rubbing that soon has Alison gasping as she comes against Frankie's palm.

Frankie is thrilled at the gushing wetness of Alison's cunt, the total yielding. Her hand remaining cupped over Alison's crotch, Frankie waits until the orgasm is finished before she says: "Let's go to the bedroom."

Alison opens her eyes, groaning. "Frankie, please..."

Frankie tells Alison she wants to suck her, but Alison pleads no, she's had enough for now, it's not possible.

"That's absurd," Frankie says.

But Alison insists. She's expecting a business associate. She can't take any more now anyway. She promises to see Frankie again soon. "I promise," she says.

After a while Frankie leaves her.

In the elevator, Frankie sniffs at her fingers and she almost has an orgasm as she catches Alison's scent.

* * *

Midnight.

Frankie lies in the bed in the dark.

She has her knees up under the sheet, her eyes open as she peers through the darkness at the ceiling. Her body feels sweaty, her pubic hair damp. Valerie is asleep beside her, turned on her side, her back to Frankie.

Frankie thinks about Alison. She feels a sudden burst of sexual heat in her belly as she remembers what happened with Alison in Alison's living room. She recalls the feel of Alison's breasts in her hands, the spongy stiffness of Alison's nipples in her mouth. Dropping her knees, Frankie crosses her legs and she flexes her thigh muscles to apply pressure against cunt. No, it's no good. She raises her knees again, shifting her buttocks on the bed.

The most exciting memory is the memory of Alison's cunt responding to her fingers. And Alison's long blonde eyelashes as she kept her eyes closed. Frankie remembers the sweetness of her victory as she watched Alison come, as she watched Alison's lips open, Alison exposed.

The memories have now aroused Frankie to an unbearable restlessness. She continues to evoke erotic images as she slides a hand between her legs. But no matter how vulnerable Alison seemed at the moment of her orgasm, she is still an enigma to Frankie, a mystery unfathomed.

Frankie finds her clitoris and she slowly rubs it. She stifles a soft groan as Valerie continues sleeping beside her. The hot desire in Frankie's belly demands its due. She rubs her clitoris with her fingers, applying more pressure as the orgasm approaches.

You're lost, she thinks. She understands she hasn't a glimmer of reality about Alison. Her mind is filled with Alison, filled to a point of bursting. All she can think of is Alison's wet cunt.

Frankie comes. She does her best to control the shaking of her body as a fury of passion overwhelms her.

Valerie sleeps on.

* * *

Frankie is in the bathtub.

It's nine o'clock in the evening and she's having a bath after a long day at court. Her body is extended, soaking in the warm water. Earlier, Valerie seemed puzzled by Frankie's fatigue and suggested that Frankie might be sick. But Frankie replied she was only tired.

At this moment Frankie feels the bathroom is a refuge. Poor Valerie. How awful it must be to live with me, Frankie thinks. Does Valerie understand anything at all about her? What she thinks, why she does certain things? Frankie strokes her body under the water, the firm flesh of her thighs. She looks at her hands, at the slender fingers that she wishes were stronger. She has always wanted to be physically strong.

The air in the bathroom is filled with moisture, the light in the ceiling scintillating through the mist. Frankie wipes away the sweat that has gathered on the bridge of her nose. She has a sudden memory of Alison's ass in that silk dress she wore when they had lunch, Alison's buttocks shimmering under the silk as she walked back and forth between the kitchen and the dining room. Frankie is annoyed because so little really happened that day, not as much as she wanted, not as much as she'd imagined. She'd had hot fantasies about the first time with Alison, searing images of herself doing things to Alison, kissing her everywhere, her cunt, her clitoris, her ass, rimming her little anus with the tip of her tongue and hearing Alison cry out with pleasure.

Frankie looks at her arms now, wondering if she ought to add more bath oil to the water. She wipes her chin with a wet cloth. What fascinates her about Alison is the hunt, the scheming seduction of a woman as intelligent as herself. Oh god, how juicy she was! Frankie quivers as she remembers Alison's wet sex gushing on her fingertips.

Frankie hears a knock on the bathroom door, and then Valerie's voice. "Is it all right if I come in?"

Frankie says yes, and the door opens and Valerie enters the bathroom. "Aren't you wilting?" Valerie says.

"No, I like it this way."

Valerie sniffs at the perfumed oil in the bath. She wears a blue robe that Frankie thinks would look better on a blonde. But she loves Valerie, she does love her. A cherished love. She's always happy to see Valerie's mouth spread in an open smile. She watches Valerie as she turns to look at herself in the mirror over the bathroom sink. The blue robe is thin enough to reveal the shape of Valerie's buttocks, and Frankie feels a tingling in her cunt as she remembers their last lovemaking when Valerie was particularly responsive, her clitoris like a stiff little pod between Frankie's lips.

Without turning from the mirror, Valerie says: "Would you like me to wash your back?"

Frankie feels a sudden desire for her. "Sure, why not?"

Valerie's turns and smiles, her happiness evident, her pretty face reminding Frankie how perfect Valerie is for her sometimes. So feminine. It was Valerie's easy femininity that attracted Frankie so strongly in the beginning, her delight in the feminine trappings, garter belts, makeup, endless jewelry. When they met, Frankie thought Valerie a lovely young woman with a sweet heart, breasts like ripe mangoes in her hands.

Their eyes meet and Valerie blushes, her lower lip pouting seductively. "I'll take my robe off so I won't get it wet."

Frankie nods. She wants Valerie more than ever now, her fingers itching for it as she watches Valerie pull her hair back before slipping out of her blue robe.

Under the robe, Valerie is quite naked. For a moment she stands there without moving as if she's on the edge of a chasm between them. Then finally she steps forward to approach the tub where Frankie is half immersed in the soapy water.

Frankie's eyes are riveted on Valerie's gently bobbing breasts. She feels a great desire to take one of the tender nipples in her mouth and bite it until Valerie moans.

Now Frankie sits up in the water as Valerie crouches beside the tub to wash her back. As Valerie slides the soap over Frankie's shoulders, Frankie drops her right arm over the side of the tub and she curls it around Valerie's thigh to fondle her ass.

Valerie giggles. "You'll make me drop the soap."

"Darling, this was your idea."

Frankie wants her in bed, but that can wait until later. She slides her hand down over Valerie's ass to find Valerie's cunt with her fingers. From long habit, she knows exactly how Valerie needs to be opened this way, how to get the proper angle from the rear to make penetration into the tight vaginal canal easy.

Valerie groans. Her eyes closed, she no longer bothers moving the soap over Frankie's back.

"Stand up," Frankie says. "It'll be easier when you're standing."

Valerie rises. Her face flushed, she stands with her legs apart as Frankie penetrates her vagina again. This time Frankie has her thumb on Valerie's clitoris, the ball of her thumb massaging the pearl as her fingers churn in the wet opening.

Valerie groans. "Oh Frankie." As the orgasm approaches, she begins moving her hips, humping her pelvis at Frankie's hand.

Frankie gazes up at Valerie's face, watching the climax, watching Valerie's pleasure. "Sweet pet," Frankie says. She keeps her fingers working, thrusting, churning in the hot opening.

ELEVEN: FRANKIE

Frankie waits three days before she telephones Alison. The blonde's voice is cool, uncommitted. "I don't know about this afternoon."

Frankie says: "What about tomorrow?"

"I don't know."

"All right, forget it. I'm getting the picture."

"No, this afternoon is all right."

"Are you sure?"

Alison says yes, she's sure, and they agree Frankie will visit her at three o'clock.

After Frankie hangs up the phone, she sits in her office simmering with expectation, memories of her hands on Alison's body. Maybe it's a mirage. Maybe none of it is real. Does that lovely blonde really want her? Frankie slides a hand under her grey flannel skirt to hold her crotch through her panty hose. She can feel the dampness, the heat of her cunt. Alison is truly a miracle, a vision who suddenly walked into her life, a ripe fantasy. So ripe. Frankie tells herself she has never seen anyone so ripe for it.

She has work on her desk, but now after talking to Alison she's unable to concentrate. She wants Alison in her arms, the fabric of Alison's dress rubbing against her skin, Alison's firm ass beneath her hands. That blonde skin. Frankie quivers as she remembers the softness of Alison's breasts, the feel of Alison's wet cunt. She remembers Alison's slender hips, the soft curves, the pink shells of Alison's ears. Christ, you're in love, Frankie thinks. She rises from the swivel chair and she walks to the wall between the two windows where a small mirror is centered on the wall. Her face looks flushed. Is it Alison or is the room too warm? She wishes she had on a real suit instead of this grey tailored hybrid. How nice it would be to go to Alison in drag. The idea amuses Frankie.

* * *

With a view of the lake in front of them, Frankie kisses Alison.

They stand at the window in Alison's living room, Alison facing the lake but her head turned to accept Frankie's kiss. Then Alison pulls away and she smiles. "You ought see the view here at night. When the moon is full."

"All right, I'll stay this evening."

Alison laughs softly. "No, you can't, I'm going out this evening. Anyhow, I don't think there's a full moon until the end of the month."

Frankie imagines Alison as a scamp when she was a girl, blonde Alison mischievous and laughing. But the present moment has more impact. Frankie kisses her again, this time her tongue more insistent as it pushes between Alison's lips to find her teeth. Is she wet? Frankie wants to feel the moisture with her fingertips, but she restrains herself. No savage lust this time. She wants more than last time, a more definite possession. She strokes Alison's breasts through her blouse, remembering how she nursed on Alison's nipples. The light in the living room is so bright because of the wide windows overlooking the vast lake. And here, in this apartment, the two women stand in their own special world.

She wants to saturate herself with Alison, feast on Alison while Alison's nerves vibrate with happiness. She kisses Alison's lips again. As Alison turns her body, Frankie hears the rustling of nylon. She drops a hand to Alison's belly, feeling an imperative need to ravish her. Alison protests with a soft laugh, but Frankie's hand is already beneath the linen skirt, her fingers already stroking the blonde puffy sex through the nylon crotch of her panty hose.

"We'll cause a crash on the Outer Drive," Alison says, laughing again as she attempts to pull away.

Yes, maybe someone in a car on the expressway down there will look up and see two women at a window, one woman with her hand beneath the other woman's skirt. Alison wants to pull away but Frankie prevents it. Frankie holds her in place, her left arm wrapped around Alison's narrow pliant waist as her right hand does its work between Alison's legs. Alison closes her eyes, her hips moving, a delicate flush beginning to suffuse her face as the volcano nears eruption. Frankie's fingers are relentless, her middle finger extending underneath to rub the nylon protecting Alison's sweet little anus. Does she feel it? What a vision she must be without clothes. Frankie imagines Alison naked, her pink nipples erected, her lovely virtuous face twisted by passion. She kisses Alison again, rubbing her cunt with the heel of her palm.

It's a violation, a possession by her fingers. Pity she lacks another hand to take those delicious breasts. If only she could pinch Alison's nipples at the same time. Instead she bends her head to kiss Alison's throat. She imagines she can feel Alison's clitoris against her palm and she rubs it with more vigor. Certainly the wetness is there, the syrup seeping through the nylon into Frankie's sliding hand. Now she drops her left hand, and she gets it under Alison's skirt in the rear to fondle Alison's buttocks through her panty hose. Alison groans, her thighs buckling.

"Please . . . "

"Let's go to the bedroom."

Alison groans again. "Yes."

* * *

The bedroom is decorated in pink. Frankie is astounded because she expected something different, but it's all pink, the walls pink, the bedspread pink satin, the lamp shades of pink silk. A pink room. Frankie looks at the pink bed and she imagines Alison writhing on it, her legs shaking in an ecstatic release, her ripe breasts jiggling. Is Alison always on this bed alone?

Frankie kisses Alison and she starts undressing her. Alison remains passive, pliant, with a look of faint amusement as she watches Frankie's hands working to get her clothes off.

"You're very forceful," Alison says.

"Don't you like it?"

Alison laughs. "I'm not answering that."

"What sort of girl were you? Were you rebellious?"

"Yes, very."

"I thought so."

Frankie's hands tremble as she unhooks Alison's brassiere. The blonde's breasts are full, heavy enough to show a slight droop, the stiffness of the pink nipples quite evident. With deliberate restraint, Frankie does no more than rub a fingertip over one of the turgid points. "You're beautiful."

Alison laughs. "My breasts?"

"All of you."

"When I was a girl, I was always afraid my breasts would be too small. Now I'm sorry they aren't."

"No, they're perfect."

"My swinging tits."

Frankie smiles. "Quite perfect."

"You make me feel nasty when you look at me like that."

"Then I won't look, I'll just finish undressing you."

Frankie is thrilled. Having Alison gradually become naked like this is a delightful treat. Alison supports herself with a hand on Frankie's shoulder as Frankie tugs her panty hose down her thighs and off her feet. The closeness of the blonde's belly tantalizes Frankie, and her excitement becomes intense as she imagines she can smell Alison's heat, smell her sweet cunt hidden by those soft blonde curls.

When Frankie rises again, she whispers in Alison's ear. "I'm going to suck you dry."

Alison shudders. "Tell me more."

"On the bed, girl."

With a moan of passion, Alison throws herself on the bed. She rolls her naked body from side to side, and then finally she settles on her back with her legs open. "I like what you do to me."

Her eyes on Alison's blonde cunt, Frankie quickly drops her clothes. When she's down to her underpants, she climbs onto the bed and she immediately drops her head to run her tongue over Alison's belly. Alison moans, raises her knees and opens her thighs in a definite invitation. Frankie's tongue leaves a wet trail of saliva as she slides her mouth down into the blonde bush. When she glances up at Alison's face, she finds Alison watching her, Alison's blue eyes fixed on her mouth, Alison waiting.

Returning her attention to the pink flower directly under her chin, Frankie extends her tongue for the first touch. Alison groans, raising her knees further and holding them up with her hands. "Don't tease me."

That's what they all say, Frankie thinks. Don't tease me. But they love it anyway. Frankie blows her warm breath on Alison's open cunt, grazing the flesh with her mouth, teasing her. She flutters her tongue along the outer lips, up and down, inside the wet socket and then up to the pink little clit. Her own cunt tingles. She slides her hands under Alison's ass and she lifts the lower part of Alison's body to feast on her. Alison groans, her mouth open, her neck craned as she over her belly to watch Frankie's mouth take possession of her cunt. When Alison comes it's like a fine dessert for Frankie, a sweet cake spiked with brandy, the juices gushing out thick enough to be a definite turn-on. Oh, how she adores a gushing pussy!

* * *

Frankie lies on her back. She still wears her Jockey underpants, the cotton crotch soaked by her leaking cunt. She keeps her legs closed, listening to Alison as Alison talks about her college days at Northwestern. Rich man's daughter at a rich girl's school. Frankie turns on her side to watch the shadows fall across Alison's breasts. She understands Alison better now. Alison likes to maintain decorum. Alison is a woman who adored ruffles as a ten-year-old. Alison favors the luster of the upper class. Frankie is surprised the old judge is that rich, but apparently he has millions. Property everywhere. She wants Alison again. She wants to lunge at her, take her forcefully, but instead she tells Alison to come on top of her. "On my face," Frankie says.