Title: SWING
Author: R Schultz ( cousindream@MSN.com )
Series: VOY
Code: F/M, F/F
Pairing: B'Elanna/f
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: Fifteen Terran years since "Endgame"
Disclaimer: Trek belongs to Paramount and ViaBorgCom. They are quite rich, especially adding in their off-shore accounts. They'll get no richer suing me. This story is mine under Berne Laws, and is dedicated to subjecting a small half-Klingon mother to a lot of depraved, debauched and intensely satisfying sex. After a good hot shower and a few fluffy towels, she'll be spanking fresh. If you're into that. Aug. 2003, 5000 words.
Summary: In the fifteen years since VOYAGER returned to Alpha space, B'Elanna has become a patient mother and wife, as proof of which she takes a lot of crap from hubby Tom. Now Paris wants them to go (in costume) to a Halloween party at the School Hall.
Warning: Lust between (fictional) adult consenting people is part of this story. If this burns through your warp chassis, why not read something else? Those who are underage humanoids according to USA law are not welcome here. Nor is this a place for those living in nations or locales which disapprove of TrekSmut. Shove off. Go write to Pat Robertson or some other hypocrite. Adios.
Written for Round XII of the Femme Fuh-Q Fest -- http://www.oocities.org/femme_fuhq_fest/
Posted to the FFF, and later to the ASCEM. May be archived, but please notify.
Comments to: cousindream@MSN.com
by R Schultz
"No Way. Absolutely not. I refuse to wear that costume."
"It looks fantabulous on you, 'Lana!" Tom said. He worked his face into one of his most sincere smiles and laid a hand on my collar bone prior to caressing my neck. Tom's velvet assault was begun yet again. Same as it ever was. Male rituals.
Inwardly I already knew I was going to succumb to his wiles once more. If not, I would never have put on this ridiculous outfit. I tuned him half-way out, as I could do easily. Fifteen years since we'd returned to the Alpha Quadrant, and I'd gotten the knack of not quite hearing him. As I already knew, and now admitted to myself, I was going to do what he wanted. Yet it harmed nothing now to cease hearing him. Let me play his word games. He had already won, as usual.
Actually, now that the shock was wearing off, I did present an interesting image in the mirror. I was bedecked all in a garish bright canary yellow skirt, with a frilly white blouse.
Suspender straps held up the short skirt, yellow pumps were on my feet, and I was encased in yellow-tinted hosiery held up by a yellow garter belt. Once I got past the bizarre aspect, I realized I was looking pretty hot.
Two kids and an average embattled motherhood later and I needed all the image as sexy female I could find.
I loved Miral and Johan, but at times like this I also recalled the thrill of being a Chief Engineer. A new lover every week or so, not all of them male, and a position of importance.
Now I was a Hausfrau as much as I was a designer for AmbGau Energy GMBH. AmbGau was the big design and projections outfit on the Pacific side of the peninsula. For them I purposely worked commissions for two reasons. It allowed me to stay home a lot, and this way I never quite earned more money than Tom.
Tom was in a good mood, of course. He'd been asking for a posting in the active Fleet for years. He needed ship time to get his next rank. Last month he'd been informed he was finally going out as Second on the PASTEUR next month. Stepping on board he was finally making Lt. Commander. Not bad for an ex-Bad Boy.
Tom was still celebrating. Tonight I was going to a party organized mostly by Tom, even though it was supposedly a full PGSG function, for all the school's parents.
It was a costume Gala, and the period was "Swing", actually identifying a form of music of circa 1940 Terran Calendar of the time, or 1980, or something ancient like that.
We were going to the damned Party as denizens known as 'jitterbuggers'. Which meant paired couples engaged in insanely frantic dance maneuvers. Such as throwing the female partner into the air or onto the floor or simply away. Then catching her before anything terminal occurred to the female.
That pattern of dancing was dangerous, which didn't bother me much. Us Klingons are tough, even half-breeds. But I knew from Canopus how to jitterbug dance. I was dressed for it, but I couldn't perform the intricate pre-mating rituals involved. Not if a Disruptor was stuck up my ass could I do a jitterbug.
I looked hot enough to self-destruct and I admitted Tom was going to dance with someone else. Tom was still being Tom and still showing off.
I shouldn't complain. Since he learned of his new posting his enthusiasm had bled into his sex life as well, and this petite half-Klingon had happily gotten the benefit of it.
Once he got Out There I knew he'd snag some willing crew member who hadn't already heard all his jokes or roll-on lines. Part of the unwritten costs of StarFleet. Those who stayed on-planet, any planet, knew their mates strayed.
I'd strayed plenty when I was in Space.
I wondered if he was cheating on me locally? Terrible thing for me to wonder. The question should be; Who?
He kept chattering and I stared at myself and wished about thirty minutes to myself right now. Me and one of my longer dildos. Me spread wide in the wing chair and everything still on. Just ease those yellow panties over and admire myself in the most emphatic way possible.
Tom didn't know why I loved having that padded wing chair in our bedroom. The obscene daydreams of a StarFleet wife.
Tom might have finally risen to Lt. Commander, but I wonder what I'd be now if I'd stayed in the Fleet? Privately I thought full Commander at least.
I sighed and made appropriate noises at Tom at the appropriate moment and accepted Tom's enthusiasm. I thought about massaging him stiff for a quickie, but why settle for a quickie? Tonight I would be enjoying HelmBoy's full banquet. Tom never gave a hurried love if he could make it a gourmand's feast.
It was Showtime. Mrs. Porta next door had the kids and Mama Paris, me, was going off to mingle and perhaps dream of having sex with twenty or thirty of the other participants of this re-enactment extravaganza. Whooppee.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Certainly the music was loud, and the singers and band musicians, those who weren't holograms, seemed convincing. However the zoot suits on the males were ludicrous, especially Tom's model.
I ask you, honestly, trousers with the belts under the armpits, a flat-topped hat so wide it could keep rain off a small farm, and white-and-brown shoes so long and pointy I could have sex with them, and a long gold chain from fob to watch.
Dressed for the Swing era, though, the women were sexy and nice to look at. Quite a few were dressed as I was, only in differing colors. All those legs in essentially fetishist hosiery out there for everyone to admire.
Fetishist stuff was more than okay. Megan (and sister Jenny) had both had wardrobes including leg hosiery and garter belts. This little half-Klingon had learned to appreciate hosiery way back then. With that background to draw upon I could now stand by the punch bowl and admire large quantities of female 'gams' in hose. Meanwhile letting everyone admire MY legs. I may be petite, but I've always known I had long legs that seemed to begin at my shoulders. Probably my most attractive attribute.
Feeling better about myself, I decided to enjoy. To do that I had to ignore seeing Tom's hands welded to some other female's rump. At least I've still got a Galaxy-class ass. It's small, but it's tight and round. Tom likes it. It's a wonder we ever had any kids, he's always liked my butt so much.
So I imbibed a little real ethanaol punch and let my mind wander back to VOYAGER. Janeway had a prime backside when she was in command, back then. I saw her lots of times in the Gym showers, and she always awakened something sparkly in me whenever she worked soap over her wet frame. Nice bod.
I had tried to get close to her a number of times. She always seemed responsive ... to a point. Yet she always broke it off before we ever got anywhere.
I should find out where she disappeared to.
There was one tall blonde on the sidelines next to me who also didn't dance. She had great legs, and she was showing all of them. She reminded me of Seven of Nine in many ways. Another beautiful busty gal who always barely turned away from a little female to female loving. Yet I had still daydreamed about all those curves in my hands. In reality, I suppose, as I was going with Tom at the time, I wouldn't have cheated. The thought had crossed my mind, once or twenty times. Annika Hansen was one admirable female. Also, Seven of Nine always fought me tooth and nail. I loved that. She bit me once, on the throat. She drew blood. I fell in instantaneous love.
A few times I ended an argument by kissing her. She never quite responded, but Seven enjoyed my touching her. Best of all, she was a fighter through and through. She could have had any man on the ship, and most of the women. She could have had me even after Miral was born, I think. One crook of her finger and I would have followed.
I went out for some air. I was mentally undressing all the women. None of the men. Bad sign. Time to switch lines of thought.
The outside of the school was shadowed in a subdued twilight, thanks to strategic lighting posts.
There was a playground here for the younger children. I vaguely noticed a few swings and wandered over to sit down. Swings had been an outlet for me when I was a kid. I could always swing higher and jump off with more risk than anyone else in school.
One swing was occupied.
The person wore a pattern of men's coat, well dressed for the 1940's probably, but not a jitterbugging costume. Something told me from a hundred meters away that this was a female. Her legs were tucked under her, allowing the swing to move back and forth in a slow decreasing rhythm. She looked at me in my costume, smiled, then pushed off for another spell of swinging.
It seemed natural to sit in a swing alongside and push off into a long-remembered pattern. Nothing in the universe but the night and this swing and the stranger next to me. Soon I was letting myself relax into the insect-noise silence. I could turn my head and see the lights of the Bay bridges, and the spire of the Women's Temple on Gea Island, out there in San Francisco Bay. Tom said it was once a prison called Alcatraz.
"I'm dressed as Marlene Dietrich," the stranger said out of nowhere. I had wondered a little. "Marlene was a
media star of the Swing era. Beautiful, graceful, rich, a mother and a lesbian.
"You're B'Elanna Torres, from the VOYAGER, aren't you", the woman asked.
"That was a long time ago," I said back. Immediately dreading some fool fawning all over me for something that was already ancient twelve years ago. I said nothing more, hoping she would take the hint.
"You were full of doubts and unease back then, still not at all positive the Federation meant what it had said about an Amnesty for all Maquis activities. First thing you did on Deep Space Nine was find someplace to hide, you and your girl." I looked closer, trying to remember if I knew this female.
"She a student here?" the stranger asked.
"My boy has one more year to go here. My girl has moved on to Advanced years ago. She's doing four days a week, going into next form next month. Computer says she's a good bet for the Academy, if she wants it.
"Yours are here too, I suppose," I said. Making conversation, finally loosening up a little.
"Just visiting, and judging missed opportunities," she said.
"Came to see an old flame of mine, but she's off on a Fleet task at the moment. The one I came to visit, she has a pair of twins here I am intensely interested in. Both young girls are going to look a lot like their other mother when they're full-grown. Her and her sister. Deanna, the full mother, she works for StarFleet as a consultant, a counselor, actually. She off-planet, or she'd be here tonight."
Suddenly alert, I realized my swing-mate was stating she was a lesbian, or at least bi.
"I know you," I finally said.
"Captain-Doctor Beverly Crusher at your service."
"The Betazoid who interviewed me on Deep Space Nine," I said, "the one with all that curly black hair, that was Troi. She the mother? You're married to her?"
"We lived together," the Doctor admitted. "Off and on." She nodded again, I think she was smiling in the uneven light.
"Ninth of next month I'm due to command the PASTEUR. Dear Deanna is staying on Terra, and is raising her children. Natasha and Ishara. If you meet either one of her kids you'll know it, they're the blond hell-raisers. You meet their mother you'll find she's still a very busy person and still likes Chocolate."
"That's a nice pair of names, Natasha, Ishara," I offered.
"It's their donor Mother's name, that and her sister."
"And the donor Mother is?"
"Natasha Yar died in harm's way many years ago. She was my first real female lover, and became Deanna's lover after me. She died without children, but she laid down eggs in one of the Bay CryoBanks before she shipped out after the Academy. As do we all.
"Perhaps some day I also will carry one of Deanna's eggs, or Natasha's, with donations from my own DNA-RNA. I'd like to have a child with Deanna. Enjoy my retirement years with another child, a girl this time. Our long-dead lover is half the donor of each part-Betazoid child in this school. Nothing from me. But I feel protective and envious. Ishara and Natasha belong entirely to Deanna and Tasha Yar. Deanna carried them both. Both her daughters will be tall and beautiful, as well as near-geniuses, they predict."
The things that were revealed to you sometime when talking to strangers, or near-strangers.
Beverly rose and stretched, trying to endure her way through stiff muscles.
"You're still quite extraordinarily beautiful," Beverly supplied. "You probably have girls lined up all the way to Russian River and back. Seattle and back."
"I'm married," I quickly added to the conversation.
"I'll bet she's young and pretty," Bev returned.
"To Tom Paris, the helmsman on VOYAGER. Remember him? We have a child here at the school." Why the hell was I feeling defensive?
"You stayed with him?" she asked.
An unexpected insult always makes the moment. I sat there for a minute trying to find something to say. If she hadn't echoed my own frequent musings, it wouldn't have bothered me, I'm sure.
This bothered me. Why the hell HAD I stayed with Tom?
"Does that surprise you?" I retorted.
"It shouldn't," she said. "Everyone knows how stubborn and faithful Klingons are." She sighed. "I'm being an obnoxious ass.
"I'm sorry," she apologized. "It's coming this far and finding no ex-girlfriend that's made me irritable."
She stood and came the few paces to be in front of me. She crouched, bringing us to eye level, bringing us
closer. She took off her brimmed hat, exposing a strong handsome face cruelly lined with more years than
I've managed.
"You're pretty," I said. "I remember you now. You're a red-head, aren't you?" I asked. Were. Mostly gray now.
"When I first passed through DS9 to join the Maquis, you were going with that red-headed Bajoran girl for a while, the one who ran DS9, weren't you? The whole station talked about the fights you two had."
"Major Kira," Beverly replied, only centimeters away. "That was short and fiery. Everything they say about mixing red-heads with red-heads is true. Fierce, fun and short-lived." She sighed, keeping her face a breath away.
"It was doomed to be short-lived anyways. She had a Space Station to run and I had to go where StarFleet sent me." I saw lights in her eyes. I hoped they were green. "I still go where Fleet sends me," she admitted.
"Kira and I turned out to be a volcanic one-night stand that lasted six days, and that was that."
She was smiling at me. This old woman with the mostly gray hair was coming on to me, putting the roll to me. She was staying right where she was, daring me to do something, anything.
She had only to extend her hand and she could have me in my crotch. Why did that particular thought come unbidden to me? She had only to bend down and she could bite my breasts through my bra and blouse. She had only to lean to me to invite me to kiss her.
I was enjoying this Fleet Captain's attentions or I wouldn't be thinking along this avenue of possibilities.
She was seeing an old alien with her hair already beginning to gray. She was seeing a mother and a wife, but she was seeing something else. She was seeing a woman. A, to her, desirable woman. This old woman wanted me.
I hadn't REALLY been a desired woman for quite a while. I was convenient for Tom. End of story.
"It must be awful to have come so far..." I began. "You DID come far, didn't you? To reach here?"
"In a manner of speaking I haven't come at all."
That was pretty straight-forward. I wondered if it was her or advancing years that was speaking? I could feel a lot of civilized veneer dropping from myself as time had her wicked and depressing way with me. Maybe it's the years.
"I'm going to lean forward," she said. "We'll kiss. The kiss will be exciting. You'll appreciate the gentleness and patience of my kissing. I like to kiss and I've put a lot of practice into kissing women. Years and years of practice.
"You're a fierce kisser, and I don't say that just because you're Klingon. You're hungry. I don't need to be a betazoid to tell that. I watched you scoping out the girls back in there. Not the men. The girls.
"I watched you visually devour some of the women in there. You're so hungry for a kiss from a woman that wants you that you're ready to spill blood to get it. Your own. Anyone else's."
Pause. "I'm hungry as well. When VOYAGER returned, when I saw you on DS9, I wanted to throw you down on that cold depressing metal deck and strip you naked. I wanted to lick that small strong body and make love to you until you weren't worried about the future any more. I wanted to make love to you until you were my slave for eternity.
"I've been hungry for you for fifteen years."
She licked her lips before speaking again.
"I'm leaning forward now."
I closed my eyes for the kiss.
She lied.
It was full of fire and passion and evoked growls from deep in my throat.
This old woman had her lips on mine and her tongue barely prodding my mouth. Her tongue is moving and it's inviting me to open and let her enter. I open my eyes and I notice the heavy lines about her eyes where time has attacked her. I smell the clean of her hair and the light sweetness of her perfume. Her neck still feels girlish, soft and smooth. Klingon skin roughens with age.
I can taste the wet flavor of her mouth and feel the thin strength of her fingers when they finally find their way to my hair. I moan a little as I open my lips and she probes my teeth with a tentative gesture of her tongue tip. I bite down on that tip. She moans and I warm to hear her accepting my ability to hurt and rule.
I bit down a little harder, feeling second-hand the sharpness of my half-Klingon incisors. Her eyes squint in pain but she makes no move to escape. Her hand is on the back of my neck now, and I can taste the wet of her mouth.
I let go the tongue and she twists in a more aggressive kiss, our tongues pushing and sparring in the hot confines of our heads.
Soon both of her hands are behind me, on my shoulders and arms, my spine and my head again. She leaves my mouth and trails her lips to my chin and thence to my neck.
I turn to her neck, letting my teeth firmly grasp the flesh of her neck, anticipating the flow of blood into my mouth, onto my tongue. As soon as I bite down. I need only bite a little harder.
I felt Beverly stiffen, her hands shake, her body shiver. Waiting for my bite, my claim of passion, waiting to freely give her blood to me.
She knew the Klingon ways and did not pull back, though I would have allowed her that choice.
The point where I could have spurned this woman's lust had long since passed me by.
"You know what the protocols are, don't you?" I asked.
"I know," she said, shivering again under my one gliding hand behind her head.
"Then also know I do not decline." My head bent, my tongue enjoyed the scent, the talc, the faint sweatiness of human female on her neck's skin. "I merely postpone."
Her hand found me again, stopping suddenly when I grasped one hand by the wrist. She searched my face, then allowed herself a visible smile and relaxation as I brought that hand to my body.
She found my breasts behind the blouse and bra, her tongue found my ears. Her hand followed my body down my waist to below my skirt as her tongue enjoyed the hollow of my throat. Her fingers pushed between the yellow panties and my yellow garter belt to find my belly, soft and taut, waiting for her. I could smell my wet heat as soon as her fingers discovered my growth of luxuriant pubic hair. I had to growl once her fingers wallowed in me and my juices. Nothing less was possible.
It was difficult for her to enter me with her fingers, because I was seated on the swing, but with effort and cries of despair Beverly found her way.
My legs straightened and froze as I came on her lovely fingers. Beverly pushed her tongue onto mine as I whimpered in my first female-given come in nearly two decades.
It was perfect. Somehow, there, in that playground, it was perfect. With my clothes still on, with hers still covering her, with none of the adjuncts I had grown accustomed to of pleasurable sex, it was perfect. No soft bed, no real darkness, nothing but the broken night and insects loud as a chorus.
Her turn. I loved the image. I must study Marlene Dietrich.
My hand urged her forward, my hand urged Beverly to straighten on her knees in front of me, closer, her body heat warm against my hands. She came to me on her knees, accepting whatever I could give her. I gave her a hand down the front of her lovely woman's form. Her belt and trousers and soft belly gave to my intrusions. Her belly skin felt feverish, her abdomen heavenly, her triangle hairy and not-quite coarse and inviting. My mind gave me vision as two fingers began to work her clit, rolling on a layer of female butter. Somehow she spread her legs further as I somehow curved my hand and fingers to the point where I could enter her. I gave her a busy frantic pair of fingers, I gave Beverly as much love as nearly twenty years of denial would allow.
We held each other for the longest time afterwards. Caressing, licking, kissing, enjoying.
It was virtually impossible for either of us to rise.
With a great deal of mutual complaining and grasping of swing cables, we finally levered each other erect and moving again. We took the opportunity to kiss again and again, both of us out of breath from the shock of our sudden meeting.
Her hands cupped my butt, then she nuzzled unsuccessfully at my securely covered breasts. Hers were more than adequately protected as well. I growled in frustration.
"Will you see me tomorrow?" I asked. Already anticipating countless acts of sex and love with this woman. She agreed immediately. There was a small pocket in one side of the skirt, and her iso-card went in there. Bev was carrying an archaic man's wallet in her inside breast pocket.
I loved the image of man she wore, coupled with the scent and feel of woman. I hoped Beverly could be butch enough to dominate me. When I wished to be dominated. I must learn more about this Marlene Dietrich person. I licked her lips as she re-seated her hat on her head.
"What about Tom?" Beverly asked.
"I'll go take care of that right now," I said. In promise I bit down on her neck, barely short of drawing blood. I helped Beverly re-arrange her shirt collar to hide the mark.
Once back inside I couldn't spot Tom. Eventually I saw a woman in a man's costume enter by another nearby door. We smiled at each other, playing a game. The game of "I-don't-know-you".
Marlene Dietrich.
For once my growing conviction that Tom was off with some willing female didn't make me mad and sick at the same time.
Tom was as Tom was. As well complain when a star went Supernova.
Actually I felt good about his Tomfoolery. After a desperately needed female-driven orgasm, I could comprehend his needs a little better.
I felt as if a hundred kilos were no longer weighing my shoulders.
Far off in one wing of the school, far from the noise, there was a Teachers Lounge. They had living teachers in this school as well as holographic ones. I approached the entrance carefully, opening it silently.
An archaic and probably threadbare couch filled one side of the small room. It was probably comfortable enough for the couple coupling upon it.
I stood watching the pair for some seconds, being amazed at my lack of either surprise or dismay. Actually the scene was rather hot, exciting.
I carefully began removing my clothes, beginning with my shoes. All the time admiring not Tom, I'd seen him naked once or twice, thank you. Instead admiring the tall leggy blonde. Lots of burgundy-tinted hose-clad leg moving desperately in the air and spasmodically forcing Tom deeper inside.
I would have enjoyed watching her breasts flow and move under the act of loving, those nice big adornments of hers. But Tom had gotten her panties off and that was sufficient, I guess.
Needs must when the Devil drives.
I was tapping my bra off when the blonde finally noticed me. As it was after she'd come good, and was reawakening her senses to include her immediate surroundings, I didn't feel guilty about depriving her of anything. She was a high-pitched squealer, like an infant tarq, or piglet Her cries of coming sent chills up and down my spine. I relished the taste and scent of sex in the air.
I shivered as my memory bra rolled down my arms, my nipples spiking hard in the cooler air as well as the anticipation. By this time Tom had turned to discover my intrusion on his little fuck nest.
Nothing on but my garter belt and hose, I knew I presented a sight Tom must find irresistible. I ran my fingers through my dripping groin as I admired the tableaux.
"Tom," I asked in a conversational tone of voice, "do you remember all those times you've asked whether I'd ever thought about bringing someone else to our bed? Particularly a woman? Hasn't the mere thought of myself and a pretty gal, with you present, always made you hard and hot?
"Swing. Swinging was a term you've used."
I knelt in front of Tom, my hands out to support me as I dipped my head in his groin. I licked the head of his dick, allowing myself to forgive all his past infidelities. I could detect no trace of blond when my mouth took him in. Just the old Tom juice that I loved so well.
"Well, sweet straying husband of mine," I said, "you've just got your wish."
I took him in hand and squeezed. Each time I squeezed his prick wept another tear, another trace of Tom sperm. I licked each droplet up with my tongue tip. Eventually I deep throated him, feeling him re-stiffening in response to my involuntary clamping throat muscles. I'd gotten over my gag reflex thirty years ago and more.
Satisfied that Tom would respond when needed, I raised up and calmly viewed an astounded Tom Paris and an equally mesmerized blonde.
I rose, inviting the leggy human woman to stand as well. She made no protests as I began undressing her. I got her blouse and bra off early and bent to feast on her plentiful soft breasts and astonishingly large aueroles and nipples. She was smiling after I'd nibbled and suckled on them a few minutes. The feel of their undersides in my hands was incredible.
She got herself undressed the rest of the way quickly. She now understood what was to occur here. No screaming, no yelling (except for me, if it was good). Just pleasure. At my insistence she left her garter belt and hose on those long bewitching legs. As I said, the Delaney sisters broadened my horizons.
She laid back on the couch, opening herself for my hands and mouth. As expected, her hosiery felt wonderful on my shoulders, and eventually ears, as she wriggled in anticipation.
"Watch carefully, Tom," I said. "This is how it's done when a sexy Klingon does it."
The first few dozen lickings tasted of rich Creme de' la Tom Paris, which was expected. Eventually she began to taste of woman, and that was what made me purr in enjoyment.
When she came, she was a choice banquet of female, a feast, a cellar of aged wines. It had been too many years. I needed this.
Tom had me from the rear, and I came happily on him.
Tom was rapturous, ecstatic, elated. He was having a three-way. He hadn't yet realized he was going off on a Fleet mission and I was going to be all alone, back here on Terra. A planet full of enticing women.
First off I was going to learn more about Doctor Beverly Crusher. Close and intimate. I'd just been liberated and I intended to enjoy myself. It was sort of ironic that she and Tom would be gallivanting all over the Galaxy on the PASTEUR together. Poor Tom was about to discover he was going to be journeying with another female Captain he couldn't have in his bed.
But then maybe she'd join him anyways. More power to them both.
The tall lovely blonde's name was Magerie, and she was presently a single mother. When it was my turn, Tom had her from the rear as well. Bully for Tom. Her enthusiasm for cunnilingus more than made up for a total lack of skill. She said I was delicious, so she obviously had learned the first lesson superbly.
She was more than a little unsure as to how she should proceed when she was with another woman. Not just the sexual thing, but all the other societal protocols. That was fine with me. I'd have years to teach her.
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