After the lewd display they’d put on in the car of the train and the mess they’d left behind, you might expect both Kat and Diane to be embarrassed, or at the very least experiencing the post-orgasmic let down that often follows such an intense experience. Both had cum violently, and it wasn’t only the anticipation of this particular day, but of the past few months that built in both of them.
Strangely enough, neither felt embarrassed nor let down by the amazing experience. Diane was bi, she had come to grips with that a long time ago, her long time boyfriend introduced her none too slowly to sex with other women. He was an amazing lover, kinky in all the right ways and he always did his best to ensure her climax. He was unhinged in the bedroom, the basement, in public and wherever and whenever the urge took him. The sad fact though was that he was a bastard in all other aspects of their relationship. What he had left her with though was an unabashed love for sex, and a confidence in herself sexually that she carries with her to this very day. What he did not leave her with were feelings of guilt for this love of sex; man woman or any combination of the two, she loved it all. Her demure exterior belied the fact that she was confident in this, not prudish about it.
She had enough sense to know that her love of woman as well as man was neither unusual nor dirty. Neither was her love of all things kinky. She had experienced things during her time with Theodore and since, that she never would have dreamed of, and she planned on showing this woman who she has relentlessly drawn into her dark web. She was as patient as a black widow but as gentle as a moth, the irony of that statement, pertaining to her and further to her sexuality was not lost on her. She had to walk a tightrope of desire, neither the spider nor the moth should have the upper hand, or one would surely consume the other; the powdery wings of the moth choking the spider, or the spider liquefying the butterfly and taking over her life.
She did not hate him, nor did she hate all men. The stereotype of the meek woman dominated by the strong man and then running to the arms of woman was laughable to her. She was no weakling, in spirit, body or stamina.
Kat, now beaming from the encounter, was lost in her own reverie, wondering what her girlfriend, her lover and soul mate, would say to this a new piece of the puzzle of their already complicated lives. Jennifer was a classic beauty; Kat was a tough girl, not a Dyke. She hated that word, to her the thing it described did not exist; she was queer, gay, a lover of woman and the (very) occasional man. She possessed not a single quality that could be identified as “boyish” even in black jeans, a spiked chain wrapped around her waist and a tight black tee-shirt, she was all woman. She had admirers across the sexual spectrum, one of her gay male friends (after an exhaustive lovemaking session) once remarked that if she had ever happened across the notoriously “sexually ambivalent” pop star Morrissey, he would have fallen to his knees and begged to feast on her tangy perma-wet (but never sated) pussy.
Jennifer was a marvelous specimen of a human being, kind, tolerant and patient and an unbridled sexual animal. They met through the usual means and had the usual frictions, nothing too unusual. What was unusual was the berth, the latitude given by her to her lover. She was as jealous as any person connected to another but she was also well aware that Kat lover her deeply, completely and that Kat and only Kat would be at her bedside in her dying hour. What worried Kat was the fact that this woman walking with her, wafting the scent of piss and continuing arousal, affected her in much the same way. Jenn would see right through this as any person who one half of a whole, her reaction would determine the direction of not only the rest of the night, but the rest of her life.
Silence is golden, funny how that cliché translates and transforms now. They both had drifted away for a few minutes, the intensity of the evening and what was to come bringing up both current and former shadows. Some looming large like dark clouds above them, others supporting them as would a tightly secured but tenuous bridge to the future beneath them.
“Lover?” Diane called, clearing the clouds, her voice breaking them like the sunlight through storm clouds.
Kat broke through and saw her stepping out; “yes?” she smiled.
“A penny?”
Kat suddenly laughed, “I’m afraid I’ve spent my last one dear, for now that is.”
Diane laughed a hearty laugh, her still piss-wet breasts jiggling slightly under her nearly transparent white shirt. “Why, I may have found myself a punny pisser here.”
Kat pulled her tight, they had managed to walk about a quarter mile into the 2 mile distance from the station to her and Jenn’s home. Kat aggressively pulled her lover to her, kissing her deeply and wetly. Her nipples, once again had become enraged, eagerly pushing her shirt away from her chest. She groped Diane without restraint, un-tucking her shirt and roughly shoving her hand under her skirt. Suddenly seized by a possession of the ghost of the person she had always wanted to become. Pushing her fingers into the damp crease of her panty-covered sex. Roughly fingering her, forcing her to orgasm.
Diane moaned, long had she waited another lover who would take her like this. Theodore was relentlessly brutal in his lust, not violent, as violence would be assuming she did not want to be handled in this manner. She did, she longed for it. Not to be dominated, but to be TAKEN. Possessed by a lover for a time and pushed over the edge, as Kat was doing to her now. She shook with the realization that Kat was, for better or worse, a permanent part of her life, as long as they both shall live.
Kat pushed past her panties, through them, into Diane’s slippery box. She could no longer determine whether there was any material there. The heat and the utter torrent of fluid coming from Diane’s pussy left her wondering if there had ever been any material hindrance at all. There was certainly no hindrance of spirit residing in the body of the woman she finger-fucked under the streetlight. She was willing and eager to be taken, and she was pissing a river down the hand shoved halfway up her cunt.
“Oh my fucking GOD,” she blasphemed. “I’m pissing!” “Soaking your fucking hand you hot BITCH!” “Fuck my cunt!”
Kat heard no words, only guttural deeply sexual sounds from Diane. Pleading, demanding words of sexual power, a shared power that would nearly knock her down as she… came…
“Fuuuuucccckkkkk!”
Apparently they were not as far from home as they thought, standing on the steps of the brownstone behind them was a familiar figure. Hands at her side, mouth agape with shock and too many other emotions to enumerate, stood Jennifer.