Chapter 8
Marcia wanted Alyssa to stay longer, but Alyssa knew it was too dangerous. Also, even for a first time, it had been super intense and she was a little concerned that Marcia would become too attached to her too quickly. Married women were the most fun to introduce to the delights of lesbian love, but they were also the most volatile group, Alyssa had found. Marcia would need sensitive handling until she had found her feet.
After Alyssa had left, Marcia made herself a cup of hibiscus tea and sat at the kitchen table. It was past two o’clock in the morning. Connor wouldn’t be back until around noon most probably. The boys had soccer practice in the morning and she was undecided whether she’d drop them off and leave to do some errands that really needed doing or whether she’d stay. If she stayed, she knew it would only be to see Vesna. Would she have the courage to suggest they met for a coffee? Would she still find her attractive? The answer to the second question came to her in the form of a distinct feeling of light-headedness and a tingling between her legs.
When she arrived, it was raining; not hard, but steadily enough to require an umbrella. Marcia decided to leave, but Aidan begged her to stay for the first part of the practice. His group would be demonstrating some of the skills they had learned during the course so far and some of the other parents would be there. Marcia accordingly made her way to the side of the field and got into conversation with a couple of the fathers, neither of whom she liked very much, and each of whom had tried hitting on her on previous occasions.
She was about to head back to the car when Vesna appeared as if out of nowhere and asked her if she’d like to take shelter in the administration building. Her heart skipped a beat and she dithered a while (partly because that was her genuine reaction, partly because she didn’t want to appear too keen) before saying that that would be nice. Once inside, she found a place to unfurl her umbrella and let it dry, and followed Vesna into an office at the end of the building. She almost found herself asking Vesna if she wanted her to close the door before she pulled herself together and took the seat offered her by the Croatian.
The building had central heating and the room was quite warm. Vesna took off the sweatshirt she was wearing to reveal a maroon T-shirt, which was neatly tucked into her grey sweatpants. Marcia’s attention, though, was attracted by the two stud-like swellings that were straining against the cotton of the Croat’s T-shirt. Whereas before last night she would have looked away immediately with a look of embarrassment or even horror, this morning she didn’t avert her glance but took time to take in the display. She could have sworn that the nipples were growing in front of her eyes.
“Quid pro quo,” she thought, taking off her own jacket to reveal her white blouse – her sexiest white blouse – through which Vesna could clearly see the outline of Marcia’s lace bra.
They were talking about soccer (Vesna using terms she was familiar with but had no clue what they meant). Marcia, aware that time was pressing and thinking that surely they wouldn’t be alone for very much longer in the building, even though she could see that the rain was easing, secretly willed Vesna to get up, walk to the door, shut it, and then kiss her – maybe fondle her; perhaps even violate her. As if she could read her mind (“Am I so obvious?” Marcia thought), the younger woman wordlessly walked the long way to the door, avoiding Marcia, pulled the door until she heard it click, and then slowly made the short journey to where Marcia was sitting.
“Should I stand?” wondered Marcia.
“Have I misread her signals?” she asked herself.
The coach offered Marcia her hand and helped her out of her chair. Because Vesna didn’t back away at all the distance between them was minimal. In her boots, Marcia stood perhaps two inches above the younger woman. That meant that it was she who needed to bend down for the kiss. As their lips locked onto one another’s, Marcia felt Vesna’s hands cup her ass. She wriggled involuntarily and moved her hands from her sides, where they were lying idle, to Vesna’s narrow waist.
Only the elastic of the pants stood between her and the girl’s pussy. Marcia put herself on a tight hold and told herself to heed the words of Alyssa (spoken less than 12 hours before) about the need for patience. She felt so empowered that she knew she could clear the desk in one sweeping motion of her arm – sending paper and other paraphernalia flying – put Vesna onto it and take her there and then. But she wouldn’t. Not because of the danger of getting caught, but because she wanted her first time with this girl to be as good as it could be; to be as good as her first time with Alyssa.
After a minute (maybe more) Marcia stepped back and told Vesna to text her. She would be free for a few hours later in the week, and they could get together then. Marcia didn’t say where, but she imagined it would be at Vesna’s place. She didn’t know her living arrangements, but if the girl wanted her as much as she wanted the girl, then she would find a way. She left the ball in her court. Time would tell how genuine she was in her pursuit of Marcia. Whether she just wanted to notch up another soccer mom, or whether she felt the same kind of passion for her as Marcia felt for her.
By the time she’d left the coaches’ office, there was no time to run the errands before the end of practice, so Marcia decided to do it with the boys – muddy knees and all. They actually enjoyed food shopping (especially Mark), and would insist on pushing the trolley down the aisles, sometimes at a speed that wasn’t venue-appropriate, as the assistant manager of the store had once pointed out to them. By the time they got back home, Connor was there, having got a lift from one of the hotel staff, whom he knew quite well, who was going off shift at the same time that he was checking his options transport-wise in the foyer.
“My God!” said Marcia, while the boys went into the yard to play some more and thus put off the dreaded hour when they would have to have a shower. “You look as if you’ve been run over by a bus!”
“It did go on quite late,” Connor admitted, although he only had vague memories of that part of the evening that had continued in an out-of-state colleague’s room after the ballroom had finally shut down around 2.30am.
All he knew at the present moment was that he had the mother and father of all hangovers. Every sound Marcia made around the house reached him as if through an amplifier. He really wanted to sleep, but lying down made it worse, so he decided to go to the garage and tinker with his pride and joy, his light blue 1966 Ford Mustang GT convertible. He only took it out on special occasions (such as vintage car parades and sometimes on Marcia’s birthday), and it still went pretty well, but there were always things to be looking at and checking. Parts were difficult to get, but he had a number of friends who worked in the motor trade and they would generally be able to fix things in one way or another.
Marcia was touched to see that she had received a message from Alyssa. She had been very discreet and had just said that she had enjoyed looking after the kids and that Marcia should call her if she had any further need of her. She wasn’t expecting to hear from Vesna for a day or two. She couldn’t quite make the foreign girl out and she now wondered if she’d been too pushy, or too desperate, or even too aloof. She expected that Vesna had faced considerable culture shock coming to the States and she was afraid that she’d added another chapter to her book of “Strange Ways Americans Behave”.
Marcia enjoyed a quiet weekend with the children and a slowly recovering Connor.
“I’m getting too old for this kind of thing,” he said to Marcia as they lay in bed on Saturday night. “I just can’t seem to hold my liquor like I used to.”
“Maybe that’s a good thing, darling. We don’t want you succumbing to cirrhosis of the liver any time soon. It might play havoc with your life insurance!”
“It was only a year or two ago that I was one of the bright young things; well, if you can have such a thing in an accountancy firm. Now I feel more like an uncle – there are so many young guns joining from the top schools.”
“It’s the economy, I suppose,” said Marcia.
“Yup, people see the industry as a safe haven during troubled times, with the possibility of a recession around the corner, war in Europe and even the chance of us being dragged into one in the east. Accountants may still be boring, but at least they’re boring at a much lower median age these days!”
“All this drinking with the CEO there. How did that work?” asked Marcia.
“Oh, he left not long after you. Rumour has it that one of his flames lives in the state – not a million miles from here – and that he was heading there and not for the airport when he left.”
“By the way, I never asked,” Connor continued. “How did Alyssa work out? Did you two have a chat before she headed home?”
“Of course. She told me about the different things she’d done with the kids: games they played together, even one she’d invented. They had a ball. They’d like her every week if they could get the chance.”
“It’s funny, but she’s changed a lot. Grown into a very mature girl; I suppose I should say young woman. She looked so odd when she had studs stuck in every part of her body with all those black clothes and black make-up, but now she looks really attractive.”
Marcia said nothing, but she didn’t have to. Her look said everything for her.
“Oh, hun, don’t get me wrong. I’d never hit on her or anything like that. Don’t let that affect you if you’re thinking of using her again.”
Seeing that his wife was still giving him the silent treatment, he added, “Dick at church says that she’s gay…you know, a lesbian. He said her father still doesn’t know because her mother knows he’d be devastated. Apparently, her mother tried to get her to go on one of those conversion therapy courses, but Alyssa said she’s old enough to know her own body and to make up her own mind.”
“We live in a different world from the one we grew up in,” Marcia said. “One where 6-year-old boys can tell their parents to call them girls, and if they don’t they might have them taken away from them.”
“You’re right, dearest – as always,” Connor said. “You know, though, honestly I really wouldn’t try anything on with Alyssa.”
Chapter 9
Sunday was spent with Connor’s sister and her family, who lived only 15 miles away on an extensive property in what had once been in the countryside but had now been almost subsumed in the suburbs of the nearest large city. The big attraction of their place for the boys was their swimming pools – one outdoors (now all covered up) and one indoors (a good length too, at 12 meters). They also had a skeet shooting area on their property, where Connor sometimes tried his luck with Jeff, his brother-in-law, who’d made his fortune in real estate development.
It was while she was there, reclining poolside with her sister-in-law Emily, who had trained as a midwife, that she realised that she’d got a message from Vesna. Normally, she wouldn’t let Connor or herself use their phones when they had guests over or made visits, but she had made an exception on this occasion – excusing herself to Connor by saying that her mother had been unwell (which was kind of true, but no longer really applied). She decided she wouldn’t read it until she was on her own. She was about to go to the bathroom when Emily asked to be excused as she needed to put the pot roast on.
Marcia was so eager to read the message that she dropped the phone and chipped the cover.
“Damn it! I’ll have to get that replaced tomorrow,” she said to herself.
Vesna was inviting Marcia to her place on Wednesday for what she quaintly called tea. This would consist of a pot of what Vesna proudly called the world’s best chamomile tea (made from plants grown in Croatia) and “fritule”, which were apparently Croatia’s national dessert. Vesna said they were like donuts, nut filled with rum and raisins – much tastier than the American version. She didn’t mention a specific time (just the afternoon), so she obviously wanted to give Marcia as much leeway as possible, and as much time as possible to find someone to look after the boys.
Marcia decided she wouldn’t respond until the next day.
“Make that this evening, at least; otherwise it might appear that I’m being rude, and I really hate that in other people, and it would be hypocritical of me to criticise others for something when I do the same thing myself.”
With this and other thoughts she got herself quite wound up, so much so that she decided to join the boys in the pool, even though she hadn’t planned to. They enjoyed knocking a beach-ball around with their mother, and she enjoyed doing something that took her mind off her infatuation. For that’s what she suddenly decided it was.
“Who knows, by this evening I may be able to laugh at myself for getting so steamed up about something so silly, something so – yes, frothy,” she thought, looking at the bubbles pouring into the pool from one of the jets built into the side.
“If I can find someone to look after the boys, then, sure, I can go and break bread and fellowship with a stranger in our midst. If I can’t, then, no worries, we can do it another time, or I can invite her over on a Sunday to have lunch with us. She can even bring her partner with her, if she has one.”
Rationalising it in this way, Marcia felt a whole lot better and by the time dinner was served at seven o’clock she had almost completely forgotten about the funny girl with the crooked mouth. She decided she’d wait until they all got home before she answered her message, and even then it would have to be a “Maybe”, given all the circumstances.
After Marcia had run the boys to school and got her chores done on Monday morning, she called Carina to see if she could pick Aidan and Mark up on Wednesday and maybe give them tea, as she had made an appointment for that afternoon and didn’t want to cancel. Carina said she would have loved to see the boys and have them over to play with her children, but unfortunately she was taking them to the dentist after school that day.
Marcia sat down with an elderflower tea and wondered who else might be able to have them for – what, how long does tea take? she thought – maybe a couple of hours, perhaps three, to be on the safe side. She tried a couple of other parents but they too were busy, and was about to tell Vesna she wouldn’t be able to make it this week when she thought of Alyssa. Who better than her to look after the kids? But then she remembered that she had only been home from college for reading week and would now be back at Northwestern.
She had got as far as starting to text Vesna to say she wouldn’t be able to make it when she thought of the new couple at church (David and Connie), who were childless but keen to start a family according to Carina. She had Connie’s number from a women’s prayer group list and thought she’d give her a call. Connie sounded delighted to hear from Marcia and told her she would be thrilled to have the boys over. When she heard which school they attended, she said it was only five minutes drive from her place and of course she could pick them up. Even before Marcia could ask her, she had also offered to give them tea, asking her if there was anything they didn’t like. It was agreed that Marcia would collect them at half past six, so that they would all be home when Connor returned.
Marcia thanked the Lord for his provision and proceeded to tackle a particularly dirty job in the kitchen, the cleaning of the extractor fan. So elated was she that she actually whistled while she worked, like Snow White with the seven dwarfs.
With the boys taken care of, Marcia was able to firm up a time with Vesna. They settled on 3 o’ clock, which would give Vesna time to get things ready after she got back from the spa, where she worked as a masseuse on Monday, Wednesday and Friday. It would also give Marcia time to prepare something for Connor and her to have for dinner that evening.
Marcia waited until the Tuesday evening to tell Connor about the arrangements she’d made for the following day. He was delighted that she was going to have a massage (that alibi had been provided unwittingly by Vesna), as he knew how much she liked them. When he heard the boys would be staying with Connie and David, his joy was doubled, as David was someone he was getting to know through church. The boys, it had to be said, had been rather less enthusiastic about spending three whole hours with people they hardly knew – and adults! – but they came round to the idea when their mom promised them a trip to their favourite ice cream parlor the following week.
Wednesday morning seemed to drag interminably for Marcia. She made meatballs for dinner, and popped down to the local supermarket to get some vegetables and fresh fruit, but still it was only a quarter of eleven. Noticing that the wind was getting up, she staked some of the bushes in the back yard, even though they didn’t really require it, and then used the electric leaf collector to tidy up both the front and back yards.
Having built up a bit of a sweat, she then had a shower before making herself an avocado, cherry tomato and pine nut salad. By the time she’d finished the washing up, it was getting on for one o’clock. She’d never known the time to drag by so slowly. Unusually for her, she then picked up a book she’d started a few months before and started to read it. This did the trick, as she became immersed in the story of a rich girl who falls for an impoverished young man in early twentieth century Ireland, all set against the background of the fight for independence.
Suddenly, it was nearly a quarter past two and Marcia had to think seriously about what to wear. The sweatshirt and sweatpants she had changed into after her shower were rather informal, she thought, for an invitation to tea, even with someone like Vesna. She went upstairs and contemplated different combinations, before settling on her light blue sleeveless pleated mid-length dress with a scoop neckline, which buttoned up the front. It was one of Connor’s favourites.
Chapter 10
By the time she arrived at Vespa’s apartment, it was a couple of minutes before three. She rang the bell for her apartment and was buzzed in. By the time she got to the top of the stairs (her place was on the third floor), Vesna was waiting for her at the door. She was wearing a black crop top with a black mini skirt and matching cutout leather sandals. The combination was enough to send Marcia’s heart cartwheeling into the sitting room some way ahead of the rest of her body.
Once they were inside with the door shut, Vesna kissed her guest on both cheeks. As she did so, she noticed that Marcia had her eyes closed. She could tell that the woman was primed. All it would take was the slightest spark to ignite her. But she had plans for the afternoon and three hours to play with. She was determined not to rush, but to extract the maximum pleasure from their encounter.
Vesna told Marcia to take a seat while she got the chamomile tea and the fritule. She chose to sit on neither of the easy chairs but on the couch, which was big enough for three people. While Vesna was in the kitchen, Marcia looked around for signs of another person’s presence in the apartment. She knew this type of apartment block and was pretty sure there was only one bedroom, so the question was whether she shared it with someone else or not. There were only a couple of photographs in the room, and they seemed to be of Vesna’s family back in Croatia – one in the summer at a lake, the other in the snow, presumably in their yard.
The fritule were delicate and delicious, and Marcia complimented the younger woman on her culinary skills. She brushed it off by saying a six-year-old could make them. She had taken a seat next to Marcia, quite close to her, close enough to touch her knee if she so wished. For the moment, though, they just talked, each turning to face the other when they took their turn to speak. Vesna spoke about her life in Croatia and the dreams she wanted to fulfil in her adopted home. Marcia asked her questions and asked herself, not for the first time, what she found so attractive about this girl.
During a lull in the conversation, Marcia asked Vesna how long she had been a masseuse. The Croat told her she had learned the rudiments from her mother, and had become qualified when she moved to Zagreb at the age of 21.
“Maybe you would like for me to give you one?” she said in her quaintly accented English.
“What now? Here?” said Marcia, the shakiness of her voice betraying her excitement.
“Why not?” replied Vesna simply.
“Do you have a table?” Marcia asked, quivering.
“No, but we can use my bed. It is quite suitable.”
“I mean, look, you’ve only just got back from work. I think you deserve a rest. No, I can’t impose on you like this.”
“It wouldn’t be an imposition. Here, come with me.”
Vesna took Marcia by the hand and led her into her bedroom. The bed was bare apart from the pink bedsheet and a couple of matching pillows.
“It’s okay, I changed the sheets this morning.”
“Well, okay. I guess. Shall I lie down then?”
“And ruin your beautiful dress. Here, let me help you with the buttons.”
“It’s alright, really it is. I can manage,” said Marcia, her voice shaking like a leaf, her body not far behind.
“I insist,” said Vesna. “It’s all part of the service.”
Marcia closed her eyes (almost screwing them shut like a truculent child) and stiffened as Vesna’s fingers made easy work of the large buttons. When she had gotten half way, she dropped to her knees and for a moment Marcia’s mind became full of wild fantasies. But instead of halting her progress, the girl continued at the same pace until the last button had been undone. The long dress fell open, revealing the lingerie that Marcia had bought only that week, which combined a daring lace pattern with what the salesgirl had described as a “scalloped eyelash trim”.
Marcia was concerned that Vesna would think that the purple colour didn’t match the light blue of her dress. It has to be said that Vesna’s mind was focused on other things, like helping her to step out of her sandals. Still kneeling, she lifted each foot in turn and encouraged Marcia to place her hand on her shoulder for balance as she eased her footwear off. She wanted to kiss the toes that had been so beautifully painted, but decided that this was a pleasure that would lose nothing by being delayed a while.
Vesna rose, gave the dress a push so that it slipped off Marcia’s shoulders and pooled at her feet, and told her to lie face down on the bed.
“Would you like me to use oil?” she asked.
“That would be nice,” replied Marcia, making herself comfortable in the middle of the bed.
The first thing Vesna did was to tie Marcia’s hair in a band so she wouldn’t get oil on it. Marcia felt drops of liquid land on her shoulders, swiftly followed by Vesna’s supple fingers. She worked Marcia’s shoulders expertly before moving to her neck and using exactly the right pressure, so that Marcia almost fell asleep. Noting the way in which her client was relaxing, the masseuse started to massage her arms, moving from her armpit to her wrist via her biceps and forearm.
Returning to her back, without a word to Marcia, she unclasped the bra and moved the straps out of her way. She proceeded to rub the broad expanse of her upper back, adding more oil as she went.
“I’m sorry,” she said, temporarily interrupting the massage. “I got some oil on you bra. Perhaps it is better if I put it somewhere safer?”
“Okay,” replied Marcia. “If you think that will help.”
Marcia raised herself a little so Vesna could remove the garment. As she did so, her slick fingers touched one of her breasts. Marcia was powerless to prevent a gasp escaping from her lips. What Marcia, in the state she was in, didn’t notice was the soft moan that escaped the Croat’s lips at the same time.
Vesna used more force as she worked on the middle part of Marcia’s back, checking from time to time to see if it wasn’t too much. Marcia found herself wanting to say that nothing would be too much, but contented herself with a simple “No.” As she approached the lower back, Vesna applied more oil, with the inevitable results.
“I’m sorry but I have got some oil on your beautiful new panties. I think it would be easier without them.”
“I don’t know about that,” responded Marcia, although she was thinking less about her modesty than about how the girl knew the panties were new; how she knew that they had been bought for her!
“If you like, I could take off my top,” was Vesna’s response. “It might make you feel more comfortable.
“Oh my God!” thought Marcia, wanting both things so badly.
“Okay,” she replied meekly.
She eased her ass in the air so that Vesna could take her panties off. As the masseuse did so, she saw how the fabric around the gusset stuck to Marcia’s vagina, as if glue had been applied to it. In a way, she realized, it had.
Vesna cradled the skimpy purple garment in her hand as if it was the most precious kitten. The imagery was too much for the girl, who brought the lace to her nostrils and inhaled the wondrous fragrance. After placing the panties on the bed, she took off her top, tweaking her nipples for good measure. She kicked off her shoes and got back on the bed, this time straddling Marcia’s delectable body. She could hardly wait to taste the delights it had to offer, but knew that her patience would be rewarded if she could maintain her discipline and stick to her plans.
As it happened, she tweaked her plans immediately, but not out of impatience. She decided to work on Marcia’s feet first and then make her way up to her buttocks. She turned around and sat on Marcia’s butt, the fabric of her short skirt creating friction for both of them. She thought of losing the skirt, but decided to keep it on. She wanted to drive the married woman mad with desire for her before she finally took her.
Chapter 11
Marcia was struggling to keep it together. She wasn’t sure if she could hold out any longer. Why didn’t the girl just flip her over and bring her off? But her mood soon changed as Vesna started working on her toes, even as her butt began grinding into her own.
“Oh, fuck!” murmured Marcia, as Vesna bent over and took her toes in her mouth.
Encouraged by the older woman’s response, Vesna worked her way up one leg and then the other until she had reached the sensitive area at the back of the knee. She broke off for a moment to remove her skirt, so that now it was naked flesh against naked flesh. Moving to the bottom of the bed, she eased Marcia’s legs apart and started the journey upwards from her knees, this time using her hands. She applied oil liberally to her thighs, unconcerned with the state of the bedsheets. She could see Marcia’s pussy clearly now – dark labia framing a very generously proportioned inner chamber.
As she made her way up, she saw Marcia raise her ass, begging her to invade her pussy with her fingers and her tongue. She refused, though, to be deflected from her schedule, and, tracing her fingernails over her inner thigh as close to her sex as she dared, she moved her attention to Marcia’s ass. More oil and more rubbing raised Marcia’s desire to a whole new level, especially when Vesna upended the bottle of massage oil above Marcia’s asshole and watched as it filled up the little bowl and overflowed down the short channel to her already well lubricated pussy.
“I think it’s time to flip over,” Vesna said, pleased with herself for the restraint she had shown, which would now pay a sizeable dividend.
Vesna gasped at the magnificence of Marcia’s breasts, the magnificence of her entire body. For a minute, she wasn’t sure what to do next, even though she had been in this position with many women. None of them had had the same effect on her that this woman was having. Should she oil herself up and slide up and down on top of her, mashing breasts and pussies? The thought of doing that nearly drove her crazy. Or should she lick those fabulous breasts, which were clearly desperate for attention? Or should she drive her tongue into the pussy which she had been dreaming about for so long?
In the end, her discipline prevailed, as she bent down to kiss her lover. Marcia’s frustration was released at a stroke, as she held Vesna’s slippery body in her arms while tongue played with tongue, and lips with lips. Inflamed with passion of her own, Vesna kissed Marcia’s ears and neck before descending to her breasts. She took first one nipple then the other in her mouth, eliciting all kinds of responses from Marcia – some of which you wouldn’t hear in a church.
Rather than head further south, Vesna offered her own tiny titties to Marcia. Tiny the mounds may have been, but not the nipples, which were longer yet than Marcia’s own.
“That’s so good,” Vesna said simply, as Marcia worked the whole breast, loving it for being small as she would have loved it for being bigger.
“I want to taste you,” said the Croatian girl, as if she were seeking Marcia’s permission.
“I want it too,” said Marcia, willing herself to delay her orgasm for a minute or two at least, but knowing that would never happen.
As soon as Vesna’s tongue made contact with her pussy, Marcia knew the game was up. She did well to survive the first few gentle strokes, but when the skilful lesbian began to lave her inner lips and then her vagina she buckled.
“Oh, fuck!” she cried. “I wanted you from the moment I first set my eyes on you.”
Her orgasm was like nothing she had experienced before. “Earthshattering” was the word she would use to describe it to herself later. Now, she thought, it was her turn to give pleasure to Vesna.
“How would you like it?” Marcia asked, feeling totally confident in her lovemaking prowess and her ability to make Vesna come as easily as she had come for her.
“I want you between my legs, so I can see your face while you bring me pleasure,” said the Croat.
That sounded very reasonable to Marcia, who got straight down to work, although a look at the old-fashioned alarm clock that Vesna kept on the nightstand showed that it was only just past five and that she had plenty of time. The girl’s pussy was surmounted by a triangle of dark hair, which she clearly kept trimmed. Marcia licked the dark coloured outer lips, her tongue bumping over the nickel-sized medial flap that was a distinctive feature of her physiognomy down there. She continued to lick the labia, sucking up the juices that were already escaping from inside. This flow and the awkward state of Vesna’s breathing told Marcia how incredibly aroused the girl was. Marcia knew it was her job to intensify that arousal before providing a means by which it could be released.
Peeling apart the fleshy lips with her fingers, she moved her tongue in a languorous way up and down the inner labia – the tension in Vesna communicating itself to her as her whole body tensed up around her. With confidence came calm, and Marcia was able to ignore the Croat’s repeated calls for her to finish her off, refusing to go deeper until she herself decided the time was right. Leaving her centre, she moved up to her face and engaged her in a long, lazy kiss. She sensed that Vesna had accepted that she must go at her pace if she wished to receive the satisfaction she was craving. The sense of empowerment pleased Marcia very much and energised her more than she could ever have believed.
She descended to her fried egg breasts and paid homage to them as if they were the most gorgeous pair of breasts in the world. At this moment, for Marcia, that is exactly what they were. Once again, she sensed the girl’s impatience for her to suck on her nipples and once again she declined to do so. That would be enabling her, she thought: “feeding the monster”, as a visiting preacher had memorably put it in one of his sermons.
When she was ready – and only then – did Marcia accommodate the girl’s desires, and when she did do so, she licked them vigorously, causing her to moan in pleasure. She let one hand snake down her abdomen, bringing it to a halt in her bush. Vesna raised herself up off the bed, begging Marcia to invade her with her fingers, but the older woman stood firm. Since body language was ineffective, Vesna gave voice to her frustrations, asking Marcia to finger fuck her.
“If you ask me nicely, then I’ll set what I can do,” said Marcia, relishing the control she had over the migrant soccer coach.
“Please,” she said. “Please use your finger to bring me off.”
Marcia was amused by the fact that Vesna thought it was the words “finger fuck” that she had taken exception to. But “fair’s fair”, she thought, the girls’ asked me nicely and now I must keep my promise. She placed a finger inside her pussy and couldn’t believe how wet it was. It was as if someone had actually watered it! She suddenly realized that she would probably be able to fit her whole hand in there. She decided to put it to the vote; after all, they were living in the world’s greatest democracy.
“I’m giving you a choice, Vesna. Do you want me to finger fuck you or do you want me to fuck you with my fist?”
To Vesna it was as if all her Christmases had come at once.
“Oh, please, do it. Fuck me with your fist!”
Marcia’s technique was very simple. She simply added one more finger to the mix every minute or so until she had run out of fingers, when the thumb provided the missing piece of the puzzle. Then she started to twist the hand inside the girl’s cunt. Vesna was crying out, but Marcia knew only too well that this wasn’t because she was suffering any pain.
“Do you want me to pull out?” she asked mischievously.
“No, no!” Vesna shot back, not picking up the irony and desperate for Marcia to stay inside her and finish her off.
Marcia obliged by pulling back part way before plunging deep inside her cavern, enjoying the squelchy sound that she was making. Soon that sound was drowned out, though, by the noise Vesna made as she climaxed – the sound of a wolf (no, make that a pack of wolves) howling.
“My God!” thought Marcia. “I hope that one day I too might be able to achieve that kind of release!”
A glance at the alarm clock showed it was already six o’clock and Marcia knew she must be leaving soon. She also knew that she wanted to see this girl again. Her skills as a masseuse may have been very good, but as a lover she was even better. Alyssa had opened the door to a new world, but it was this elfin Eastern European with whom she had been on a tour of its most delightful spots. Marcia wondered if she hadn’t fallen a little bit in love with her.
Before she left, Vesna said that there was more she wanted to share with her, new places she wanted to take her to. Marcia was curious and excited in equal measure, but chose not to ask her what she might mean. She knew that Connor would be travelling to the West Coast in early December for a series of meetings with clients, and they would have time then to explore further and consider which direction their relationship should take.
At the moment, Marcia couldn’t imagine life without Vesna, but, equally, on the other hand, she couldn’t imagine life without Connor either. The next few weeks would be critical, she felt. She would have the time to reflect on the momentous events of the past few days, and to set them – or at least attempt to set them – in the context of the totality of her life. She needed perspective, the perspective only time can bring.
As she got into her car and drove away, Vesna, naked as the day she was born, waved to her from the window. What Marcia couldn’t see was that in her other hand Vesna was holding an item she had just taken out of her closet: a black leather strap-on harness, out of which jutted an angry looking dildo.