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Message-ID: <35903asstr$1017292202@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Sam Cornell" <cornell525@hotmail.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} The Streets Of London (FF, anal) by Sam Cornell
Date: Thu, 28 Mar 2002 00:10:02 -0500
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

The Streets Of London

by Sam Cornell

{Author's note. This story contains scenes of what I would describe as 
primitive ass worship. There is also anal sex. While I don't particularly 
like to spell out what's going to happen, (half the fun should be not 
knowing), it's a bit of a departure from my more recent writing and I 
wouldn't want anyone to get an unpleasant shock. There's a pretty clear 
indication fairly early on, so if you think you won't like what's in store, 
farewell and please look in on my writing again soon, I'm not always this 
obsessive. I hope.

I love to get feedback. I always reply to e-mails. Whatever you have to say, 
tell me. If you want to remain anonymous, use hotmail. Of course it's fun to 
write something like this, but the real buzz is hearing from you, the 
reader. And if you've mailed me before, don't let that be an excuse. I liked 
your comments before, I'll like them again. Lecture over}.

London, this great world city, former imperial capital, and the quickest way 
to get around in 2002 is on a bike. I kid you not. Car? Forget it, the place 
is so jammed up you'll find yourself staring at the same license plate for 
hours on end. And they don't even have bumper stickers to relieve the 
boredom. Public transport? Don't make me laugh. Most of the infrastructure 
was built in the nineteenth century, and with classic Brit conservatism 
they've pretty much kept it that way. They've even brought in a Yank to run 
London's transport, but I guess because the Brits have this deep-seated 
masochistic streak they aren't letting him get on with the job. These guys 
really like to suffer. Not me. Not in a hyper-crowded super-delayed subway 
train, anyway.

Sorry, a lecture on the malaise of modern cities and/or the British psyche 
may not be your classic beginning to an erotic tale, but I had to begin 
somewhere.

Which is on a bike. After running late for a number of meetings, (and you 
don't get away with that for long in the current employment environment) I 
was persuaded by a colleague to give cycling to work a go. I live in 
Docklands, the area east of the financial district. It's where the trade of 
empire used to land, and as the Brits don't have an empire any more over the 
last twenty years or so it has been half-converted to yuppie slicker 
paradise. The other half is still run-down social housing, but we have 
security and night-porters. Sorry, I'm getting into the urban planning thing 
again.

So it's only a couple of miles to work, which on a bike shouldn't take more 
than fifteen minutes or so. And that is way quicker than any other method 
you could choose, probably even your own private helicopter. What the hell, 
I thought, give it a try, so I went to a bike shop and splashed out on a 
mountain bike, twenty gears and all. Yeah I know, a mountain bike, there 
aren't so many mountains in London, but I can be a slave to fashion 
sometimes. I also got myself all the gear, including some nice pairs of 
Lycra cycling pants.

I should maybe put in a personal opinion about cycling fashion. Men -all 
that skintight fluorescent stuff, I'm sorry they just look gay. Women, on 
the other hand - well, from the moment I looked at the curves of my ass 
sculpted in the stretched black material, I thought "honey your best asset 
just found a new display case".

And so I found it on the streets. The main thing you notice about a guy on a 
bike is his legs - if he takes the activity seriously his thighs will have 
developed to Olympic standard. Yeuk. With a girl, the only thing to look at 
is the way the saddle supports and separates the flesh of her ass cheeks. 
How convenient for my nasty little obsession.

Of course you see plenty of less than perfect examples, but usually on my 
short ride into work there were enough peaches on display for my pulse to 
quicken and the first meeting of the day to be a confusion of 
number-crunching and images of lycra being tugged down to reveal the cream 
of a young cyclist's butt.

Then, at the traffic lights near the end of The Highway, all my previous 
visions were blown away. She was stopped just in front of me, to my right. I 
had all the time of the red light to enjoy the view. It's difficult to put 
into words what makes a body, or part of it, "perfect", however hard we 
might want to in stories for this newsgroup. But I'll try. I think the 
ancillary details helped. As she balanced her stationary bike, I could 
follow her long legs up from the tips of her sneakers, past the gentle swell 
of her calves, the bend of her knees, and the slight thickening of her 
thighs, a long slow introduction and invitation to the main course. Also, 
she had long straw blonde hair, drawn back in a ponytail, reaching about a 
third of the way down her back. I had a quick, nasty image of her kneeling 
naked on all fours, her hair being tugged back as something fat and hard was 
shoved into her asshole.

Then, of course, there was her ass itself. Her body was lent slightly 
forward, say fifteen degrees off vertical, to hold the handlebars of her 
bike, meaning that her butt was to some extent being "presented" to me. But 
what possibly helped to catch my attention was the fact she was sitting 
slightly further back on the saddle than was normal, allowing me to 
appreciate the fullness of her curves. So I could see the fact that the hard 
plastic of the saddle was pulling her cheeks apart. I actually trembled as I 
thought how much I wanted to do the same thing.

I followed her. (Well the ISU meeting could wait). She was a medium speed 
cyclist, so I could keep up easily, enjoying the fact she crouched forward 
more to get her speed up. Talking angles again, her back was arched about 
thirty degrees from horizontal, an almost perfect posture if we were naked 
in bed for me to explore her behind. I also watched those legs pistoning the 
pedals of her bike, and I could see she was fit, but not athletic.

Fortunately for my career she finished her journey at an anonymous office 
block just off Lower Thames Street. I had a look at the companies listed - 
mainly accountants. Quite frankly I didn't care what she did, she could have 
designed test tubes for a living and I would still have given anything to 
snack between her cheeks.

It was a short ride on to my office. Of course I shower and change before I 
go to my desk, and in the past this had presented an opportunity for 
masturbation, an opportunity I had always previously declined because an 
orgasm usually leaves me weak and fuzzy for an hour or so. Weak and fuzzy is 
not how I like to be at work.

There was no question of abstinence this time. As I stripped off my bra my 
nipples were hard and proud as pencils. I slipped into the cubicle and 
turned the full power of the hot water onto my body.

Would you like to know how I masturbate? I guess like a lot of women I have 
something of a routine. My left hand rubs my breasts, tugging my nipples 
between my fingers. Of course this is smoother when you're soapy. My right 
hand rubs my belly and my ass, my middle finger sliding up and down my ass 
crack but not actually delving into it. A good wank is a good tease. Then I 
move my right hand round to my front, slipping my ring and middle finger 
either side of my button in a slow, slick, up-and-down motion. Sometimes, if 
I'm feeling nasty, I'll drop my left hand to my ass, and rub along my crack 
before sticking my middle finger into my butthole. That invasion is usually 
enough to bring me off.

As I stood there in the work shower that morning I knew there wouldn't be 
time for clever games, so I slid my right hand directly to my cunt, my legs 
slightly parted. My mind was full of the girl at the red light. Even the 
true image would probably have been enough to illustrate my wank, but my 
imagination added one further detail. I crouched down behind the girl, and 
tugged her cycling pants down over the flesh of her cheeks. She responded by 
moving further back for me, more of her ass suspended over the back of her 
saddle. I reached up and pressed down on the small of her back, pushing her 
ass towards me and opening it up, revealing her dark little hole winking at 
me.

Okay, here's my real perversion. I wanted her as she would have been, truly, 
honestly, on that bike. Not a sanitized version. You don't shower before you 
cycle, so the last time she cleaned down there was probably nearly twenty 
four hours ago, or maybe twelve if she liked to freshen up after work. 
Whatever, long enough. And that was what excited me, exploring the true, the 
real, dirty smelly ass of that beautiful young woman. As my imagination 
lifted my nose between her cheeks my whole body spasmed with the shockwaves 
of my orgasm, and I howled a low bass groan. Thank fuck there was no-one 
else in the room. I was still shaking a couple of minutes later.

I reckon I lost the firm two hundred grand that day I was in such a daze.

***

Most people in London work pretty regular hours, certainly the time they 
start. It didn't take rocket science for me to realize that ponytail girl 
was likely to be at the same lights, same time. To make sure the next 
morning I set out fifteen minutes early and lurked down a side alley to wait 
for her to pass. Yes, I was stalking her, but only because I wanted to do 
such nice and nasty things to her ass.

Sure enough, ten minutes later she came shooting past my hiding place. It 
wasn't easy catching up but some concentrated peddling had me in my favorite 
position, just a few feet behind her. Now I had the memory of yesterday's 
orgasm to add to the enjoyment of the view. It was a miracle I didn't crash, 
what with the things that were going through my mind.

My problem was taking things further. Sure I could strike up a conversation 
at the next red light, but was that really going to get me inside those 
pants? Even at my most charming and persuasive I'm not convinced I'm up to 
seducing a (probably heterosexual) beauty by the edge of a busy London 
street.

So when we were stopped for a particularly long change, I pulled my Mont 
Blanc pen out of my daypack and dropped it on the road just behind her.

"Excuse me," I said. She turned around. It was the first time I'd got a 
clear look at her face. I'd describe her as strikingly pretty rather than 
beautiful, and funnily enough that was so much the better as far as I was 
concerned. Her skin was pale, a little freckly, but suffused with a pinkness 
that was down to more than just the physical exertion of cycling. She 
possessed something that I've come to think of as a particularly English 
kind of prettiness, a sort of healthy glow. She also had mint green eyes 
that would have melted an iceberg.

Her expression was neutral. On the way to work the last thing you expect is 
to have a young American woman calling out to you. I pointed to the road. "I 
think you may have just dropped something." She looked down, and my Mont 
Blanc glistened in the spring sun.

"I don't think so," she said, but climbed off her bike to get a closer look. 
Maybe those beautiful eyes were a little short-sighted.

I climbed off too. We were both squatting down, only inches apart. It was my 
first taste of intimacy with her, and being so close made me desperate that 
it shouldn't be my last. "I'm sorry," I said, "I saw that on the ground and 
I thought I saw you drop it."

She picked my pen up. "This is expensive. No it's not mine." She spun the 
pen around, looking for identification.

"Well you may as well keep it," I suggested. That was three hundred dollars 
down the drain and she didn't even know it.

"Oh I couldn't," she said, still eying the pen. "Anyway, you found it."

"I've already got one," I said. Well I would have when I went to the shop 
over lunch. "Go on, keep it. It goes well with your eyes." Yeah, I know, 
crass and stupid, but she smiled anyway. That's why I like the Brits, they 
don't take anything for granted, even the beauties.

"I'd probably hand it in to the police," she said. "It could have 
sentimental value for someone." Now I'd already achieved something more than 
I might have expected - I was having a conversation with my idol - but it 
was increasingly obvious I was out of my depth. Just how do you make that 
move at eight o'clock in the morning?

"It's up to you," I said lamely, sacrificing my pen to a dusty existence in 
some police lost property locker.

"I'll drop it off at lunchtime," she said, and swung her leg over her bike, 
offering me at closer range than before a demonstration of the litheness of 
her body. "Thanks for pointing it out, anyway." You're welcome. And she was 
off. I was crushed.

***

I tried moving to a different time, a different route, but it was no use. 
Every cyclist I saw reminded me of her, and everyone seemed pale in 
comparison.

The trouble is, when I want something, I have to have it. That's great if it 
leads to ambition. I wanted to be a successful banker because I wanted to 
earn enough money and possess enough influence to get what I wanted. And I 
have the luxury apartment, the sports car, the clothes, and any other 
trapping you could care to mention. And I've fucked plenty of men and women 
most people would crawl on hands and knees to even get a sniff off. I've 
even had the kind of fucking I've wanted, most of the time.

This was different. I'd been knocked back in the past, sure, but it hadn't 
mattered before because I'd never wanted it like this. There was something 
about the nature of the ponytail girl, the way she stood, even, now, the 
sound of her voice and the way she'd smiled, that meant it was the most 
important thing in the world for me to at least get some piece of her.

Which led me on to Plan B.

***

After a little bit more stalking, I found her route home. Next evening I 
slotted in a safe distance behind her, and followed her as she headed east. 
All I needed now was a red light, a beat-up car, and a bit of space. On 
Limehouse Road my chance came. I eased up slightly behind her and to her 
right. She would have been aware of my presence, without seeing directly who 
I was. Just behind me and to my right was a nasty looking Rabbit (they call 
them Golfs here, don't ask me why) driven by a pasty faced student type who 
wasn't likely to give me any trouble. If you're confused by the layout, just 
remember they drive the wrong side of the road.

As soon as the lights went amber I could hear the car rev its engine, and I 
threw myself as hard as I could at the girl, both of us clattering to the 
ground. I'm not heavy, but as I was falling I did what I could to buckle the 
rear wheel of her bike.

We ended up, inevitably, a tangle of bodies and bikes. Actually touching her 
would have been delicious if I didn't still have so much to do. I was 
pleased to see the Rabbit/Golf heading into the distance.

"Fucking asshole!" I shouted after him, still enjoying the sensation of my 
leg pressed against hers. "You fucking asshole!" I turned to the girl. 
"Shit, are you okay?" I tried to get up, but we were still locked together 
in ways I couldn't understand. Fortunately Brit drivers are no better than 
their American cousins at stopping to help someone in trouble, even when 
they're a couple of hot young things.

"I think so," she said slowly. Mm, that clear English accent.

I decided to stop the shouting - screaming harridans aren't the most 
attractive category of women. "I'm real sorry," I said, "he went right into 
me. They just don't give a shit about cyclists." I began to extract myself 
from her bike and her body. Looking down I was delighted to see a definite 
buckle to her back wheel. Once I was free I stood up, and after resting my 
bike on the sidewalk, reached out to help her up. She took my hand, and that 
simple piece of contact sent a buzz of excitement though me. Then she was up 
beside me, and we were both looking down at her bike.

"I'm really sorry," I repeated. "He got me, but I don't think I reacted very 
well. That must have hurt." She was rubbing herself, and the sight of her 
fingers (no wedding or engagement ring, I noticed - good) stroking her body 
knocked my pulse rate up another notch or two.

"It's not your fault," she said. So I'd got away with it. We both looked 
down at her bike. "It's fucked," she said simply. Until you've heard a 
beautiful English woman say the word "fuck", you haven't heard it said 
properly. There is something deliciously inappropriate about such a 
hard-sounding Anglo-Saxon word coming from well-bred lips. It's an 
experience only beaten by the same woman saying "cunt".

"Listen," I said, "I still feel kinda responsible. I only live a couple of 
blocks away. I'm sure we can fit your bike in the back of my TT."

"I don't mind getting a bus," she said, but the implication that a lift was 
fine thrilled me.

"It's not a problem," I said, and picked my bike up.

***

"I kept the pen," she said as we walked the short distance to my apartment 
block. So she did remember me. "I guess this is my karma - you know, keep 
something I shouldn't and then you come crashing into me."

"Hey if the pen was so special to someone they wouldn't have dropped it like 
that," I said with spurious logic. "Look at it as compensation for your 
bike. It's a Cannondale, right?" I asked. I'd done a bit of research, both 
to buy my own bike and to ingratiate myself with her. She nodded 
disconsolately, the damaged article bumping unevenly beside her. I whistled. 
"Shit I'm really sorry I didn't fall better."

"It's not your fault," she repeated. We were at my apartment block. Time for 
another decisive moment.

"Look, why don't you come in and have a drink?" I asked, hoping I didn't 
sound as pleading as I felt. "You could clean yourself up a bit, and I owe 
you that at least."

I guess she weighed up the odds, and it was lucky for me she didn't have 
anything planned for the evening. "Sure, why not?"

***

My apartment is designed for seduction. A penthouse looking over the Thames, 
it's seen more than it's fair share of vulnerable young people surrendering 
their bodies to me. This time felt different, and not just because I had 
established so little control. This time it mattered.

I went to the fridge while she went to clean up her grazes. "This is going 
to sound kinda corny," I said, "but I've only got champagne. Will that do?"

She laughed. Shit, a hot body, stunning eyes, a nice smile and now a great 
laugh - when was I going to find something about this girl that wasn't 
perfect? It made it seem all the more important that I could feast myself on 
her butt when it was in its' "natural" state. Although, the way she was 
shaping up, I'd draw down her knickers and find she smelt of roses.

I handed her a glass of champagne and we walked out onto the balcony. The 
Thames immediately to the east of the City isn't the most glamorous of 
rivers - there are too many industrial remnants and poorly designed 
buildings for that. (Sorry, back on to urban planning again). But it's an 
impressive sight nonetheless, and as the reflections of the early evening 
sun glanced off the waves I knew it was having the desired effect.

"This is quite a place..." She realized she didn't know my name.

"Samantha," I said.

"Penny." She reached out her hand, and although it was the second time we 
had touched it seemed more significant than the first.

I went back to the kitchen to refill our glasses, and as I returned Penny 
was leaning over the balcony, enjoying the view. I stopped and enjoyed the 
view too. She looked a little out of place in her Lycra, but every curve of 
her body was heartstopping. Even almost upright the material snugged the 
contours of her ass, dipping slightly into the secret valley between her 
buttocks. I was so near, and yet it still seemed so far.

As I walked towards her with the refilled glasses in her hand, she slipped 
her hand inside the rear waistband of her lycras, and then pulled the top 
down three or four inches. I nearly dropped the glasses.

"I really banged my bum," she said, without even looking around. "I've 
probably got a horrible bruise." I rushed up to her, spilling champagne as I 
went. This woman needed help, and quick.

I squatted down behind her. She was still holding the material down, and an 
area at the top of her left cheek, about the size of her hand, was visible 
to me. I was inches away. Her skin was creamy, and I examined the offered 
area closely. Still perfect.

"I think you're okay," I said, sure my voice was trembling. I reached up 
gingerly with my hand. Could I really try this? I touched the skin, and she 
jumped, but only a little.

"Does that hurt?" I asked. The feel of her skin against my fingertips made 
it difficult to speak.

"Mm a little," she said. I gingerly moved my fingers over the exposed flesh.

"How about here?" I asked.

"I'm very sore," she said, rubbing her right cheek through the material.

"It'd be a pity to bruise such a fine little butt," I risked. Hey, Americans 
have no sense of shame, she knew that. Sure enough, I was answered by a 
slightly embarrassed giggle. I decided to take it a bit further. "Why don't 
I get some ice, just to make sure?" She nodded.

I was back with an ice bag before she had time to change her mind. She was 
letting me nurse her, so I gently reached for the waistband of her lycras, 
tugging them down an inch or so, revealing the top of her knickers. I 
pressed the ice against the small of her back, too high up I knew, but I 
wanted some encouragement from her. She jumped at the contact.

"Round here?" I asked, knowing the answer.

"A little lower," she replied. There was a definite tension in her voice. 
Did she want it, as I did? Did she want to show me her bum?

I hooked the tops of my fingers underneath the elastic of her knickers and 
pulled everything down a couple of inches further. The top of her crack 
peeked at me, a black shadow as the uplands of her ass began. I was choking 
with desire.

"I'll be fine," she said suddenly, and pulled the lycras and knickers back 
to their normal position with one definite move.

I had been so close. "Please..." I started.

"Honestly, I'm fine," she said, a real nervous edge to her voice. "You've 
been..." she paused for the right words, "...more than kind."

I couldn't give up. "I really think you ought to put something on it," I 
said. "I got some great cream from Selfridges." Good old Mr. Selfridge, 
another American who had performed sterling services for Londoners. But I 
knew I sounded desperate.

"Really, Samantha, thank you, but I ought to be off. The champagne and 
everything, it's been lovely, but I can't take up any more of your time."

I gave it one last throw of the dice. "Sometimes a massage can really help." 
Pathetic.

"It's nothing, really. I shouldn't have made such a fuss."

"I can give you that lift, surely?"

"No, thank you. You've done enough."

Yes, I'd done enough.

***

I was crushed. Truly. To get so near to something that I would have 
sacrificed almost anything for, and to end up with nothing, it was almost 
unbearable.

I say nothing, but the small morsel I had been given provided hours of 
aching recollection for me. I have seen and done things that you might find 
hard believe, but that few square inches of bare flesh and the sight of the 
top of her crack were the most erotic memories I had ever possessed. I was, 
at times, literally consumed by the thought of Penny's "bum". At one point, 
towards the end of a meeting, I realized my knickers were sodden through as 
I relived yet again the magic moment as I hooked my fingers inside her 
waistband.

In the evenings, at home, it was even worse. I would look out onto the 
balcony, remember precisely the way she looked, and relive the moment when 
so unselfconsciously she exposed herself to me.

And I was tortured by doubts. If I'd played it differently, maybe slower, 
more subtly, could we have gone further? Even a few more inches would have 
seemed a triumph now I'd been left with so little. I would imagine Penny 
pulling down her lycras to her thighs, showing me the full glory of her bum. 
Even the use of that word, and my memory of her saying "I really banged my 
bum" provided the soundtrack for many glorious but ultimately unfulfilling 
orgasms. Sometimes the words would change - "rub my bum, Samantha", "look at 
my bum, Samantha", "kiss my bum" - but usually the memory of her innocent 
little phrase was enough to bring me off.

I was a slave to the memory of those five minutes.

I changed my journey time to avoid Penny. The humiliation of being on my 
knees, pleading with her to show me more, was too great. And I knew I had to 
get over it, the only way being to move on. The trouble was, I couldn't, and 
every time I thought about pulling someone else, my heart replied "it isn't 
Penny".

Don't get me wrong, I wasn't in love. She was sweet, yes, and so far as I 
knew eminently loveable, but my passion wasn't so much about her 
personality, it was about the way she had come to represent an unattainable 
perfection. I knew she wasn't perfect, but somehow circumstances had 
combined to produce that indelible impression in my mind. It was a little 
like those appalling teenage crushes, that feel like love, but are actually 
far more complicated.

***

I was tempted to give up cycling, as every pretty little bottom reminded me 
of Penny, and indeed the whole physical activity of riding a bike seemed 
inextricably linked with our brief encounter. But I was hooked on the 
convenience and carried on peddling to and from the City.

About three weeks after "the incident", I was waiting at a red light on 
Cable Street, heading home. My mind was in my work - no longer were my 
journeys erotic adventures. I heard someone say something, but ignored it. 
The English do occasionally talk in public. Then they spoke again, and I 
realized it was my name, and it was Penny who was calling it.

She was just behind me, on the (presumably repaired) Cannondale. She was 
smiling, although it was easy to tell that she wasn't entirely relaxed. "I 
knew it was you, Samantha," she said. "How are you?"

It's funny how easy it is to revert to a sulky teen when matters of the 
heart are involved. I should have been delighted to see her, for her to be 
talking to me, but instead all I managed was a muffled "Fine. Thanks."

The lights went green, and I moved off. Penny came up beside me. "Listen, 
Samantha, I'm..." She trailed off. She had some difficult things to say, made 
a lot more difficult by the stream of traffic whizzing past our right ears. 
"I'm really sorry how I behaved before."

She still wasn't getting through to me, I carried on my way and without even 
turning around I said "It's okay."

"It's not okay, I was very rude. You'd been so kind...and..." she was still 
finding it difficult "...and it was unforgivable for me to walk out like 
that."

This time I turned to look at her, but I kept my expression pretty blank. 
"Like I said, Penny, it really doesn't matter. You shouldn't worry yourself 
about it." Of course everything about my tone and demeanor said it mattered 
a lot, but I like to use my forked tongue.

Penny dropped behind for a bit, as if giving up, but then came alongside me 
yet again. With the weight of traffic, it wasn't the safest thing to do.

"Please, Samantha, can we stop? Just for a second. I'd really appreciate 
it."

There was little I could do in the face of such a direct request. And 
somewhere in my bruised emotions the realization was dawning that maybe, 
somehow someway, I might get another chance. Another bite at the cherry.

I pulled over to the sidewalk, Penny following me. I tried to work out my 
best strategy. (Sam Cornell never does things without a plan). For the 
moment, playing hardball seemed to be working quite well, so I would carry 
on like that.

Penny started to speak, but a large truck came past us, and I missed it all. 
When it was clear, she said "Listen, can we go somewhere quieter? The 
Prospect is just down there." Ah, the Prospect of Whitby, one of the most 
famous pubs in London. I'm not really into pubs, they always seem dirty and 
unhygienic, and although the Prospect also seemed dirty and unhygienic, that 
all added to the Dickensian feel to the place. Looking over the river, it 
really was stepping back in time.

And Penny was asking me for a drink. I tried not to smile, too much. "Okay," 
I said.

***

She insisted on buying me my gin and tonic, and then we found a quiet table 
in a corner by the window. For such a big river, the Thames is surprisingly 
empty. That was fine, I didn't want to be distracted from the task ahead.

Penny chinked her glass against mine. "This is to say thank you," she said, 
"and sorry." It did occur to me that most people wouldn't have been so 
bothered about the whole incident, but then the Brits have some pretty 
extreme ideas about what is acceptable behavior.

"Honestly, Penny," of course I wasn't being honest at all, "you shouldn't 
worry."

"Well I do," she said. "You were very kind." It's not often I get accused of 
that. I smiled, despite myself.

"You did leave kinda quick." I decided the time was right for a little 
gentle probing.

"I know." She looked at her glass. Assuming she left because she thought I 
was coming on to her, how was she going to explain that one to me?

"I don't know, was it because I complimented you on your butt?" I decided I 
could push it a bit - she could hardly walk out a second time. "Because you 
know we Americans always say far too much. And," I took a deep breath, "you 
do have probably the most fabulous butt I've seen in my entire life. Even 
the pope would recognize that."

She blushed deep red, and continued looking at her glass, but with a 
complimented smile on her face.

"I don't know if I can explain it," she said. "I just felt completely out of 
my depth. Maybe it was the crash, the champagne, but standing there on your 
balcony..." She paused. "I felt so confused."

Confused was good. "Don't take this the wrong way," I said, "and please 
don't get up and walk out, but did you think I was coming on to you?"

She glanced at me quickly, then looked down at her glass again. She was 
running her fingers around its rim. "I thought I might have been giving off 
the wrong signals," she said, after careful consideration. It wasn't the 
answer I'd expected.

"How do you mean?"

Again she paused for thought. She wasn't finding it easy. "You know, when I 
showed you my bum." Oh god, if I got nothing else out of this meeting I'd be 
left with another deliciously telling phrase. I wished I'd brought some sort 
of concealed tape recorder. "It's just sometimes people seem to misinterpret 
what I do. It's not the first time..."

"I suspect - and you're going to blush again - that people are only 
misinterpreting you because they choose to. You're very beautiful, Penny, 
and there are plenty of unscrupulous people ready to take advantage when 
confronted by someone as..." now I was lost for words "stunning as you." I 
left it for her to figure whether I included myself as unscrupulous.

She smiled, and didn't blush. All the time she'd been looking at her glass, 
but without warning she looked me directly with those green eyes. "So were 
you coming on to me Samantha?"

It was my turn to be thrown on the defensive. "Yes," I said. "I'd admit to 
feeling pretty confused too, Penny." It's my experience that women are far 
more likely to allow themselves to be picked up if they think I'm normally 
straight but have been seduced by their unique attractiveness. I think 
there's a fear of manipulative dykes, whatever that stereotype means. "You 
talked about the champagne and the balcony. Well when I came back, and you 
were leaning away from me, and you pulled your lycras down...It was just 
stunning. It really was. I didn't think you meant anything by it, but it hit 
me like a bullet anyway. I thought `God, if only she'll keep going'. I was 
mesmerized, Penny, I have to admit." Our glasses were empty. "Same again?"

When I returned with our refills, Penny was lost in her own thoughts. I knew 
it was significant that, knowing my feelings, she hadn't left.

"I'm not a lesbian," she said suddenly, once again fixing me with her eyes.

"No," I replied. It sounded like she had a `But...'. "I wouldn't call myself a 
lesbian, either, Penny. I'm not sure any label's helpful. I sleep with men. 
Yes, I've slept with women. If you want a label for me, you can use 
bisexual, but I think it's simpler than that. I go for what turns me on. 
That afternoon, on my balcony, you turned me on more than anything I can 
think of has. So I tried, feebly, ineptly, to get you." Why was she still 
here? It couldn't really be, could it?

"Erm." I could see her hands were trembling slightly with nerves. "I did 
feel confused."

She'd already said that. "Confused?"

"Yes. When I was standing there, and you were kneeling behind me. You put 
your fingers inside my waistband. I nearly jumped through the roof."

"Maybe my hands were cold," I said softly.

"No - they felt so soft," she replied. "And as you started to pull 
everything down, my first reaction was `she's going to undress me!' I 
thought I was horrified, but then I realized I wasn't."

"What were you?" Somehow we had leaned closer across the table. I guess it 
wasn't the kind of conversation you wanted to share.

She was fidgeting very nervously, twisting her glass, staring at it. Then 
she looked directly at me again. It was an unnerving technique, if you could 
fairly describe it like that. "I wanted you to. I really, really wanted you 
to. And I just thought `Penny - what the fuck are you doing?' I just had to 
get out of there."

"But now you're here," I offered quietly.

She laughed, almost a little bitterly. "Yeah, now I'm here."

"What do you want, Penny?"

"I really don't know. I mean, I've got a lovely boyfriend, and I want to 
have kids, a Labrador, a nice house in the country. But, since the last 
time, I haven't stopped thinking. I keep going over it."

"Me too." I thought about all those lonely evenings of masturbation, and now 
here Penny was, revealing her own torment.

"It feels wrong, Samantha."

"Why?"

She struggled for words. "Because it just is."

There wasn't any point pleading with her, I already knew that, so I had to 
try a different way to cross this hurdle.

"Penny, for the last three weeks, my every waking moment has been filled 
with the thought of what happened and what nearly happened. At home, at 
night, I find myself endlessly replaying it. You know what I mean. And it 
feels good. So good, but it isn't real. At meetings I realize my mind has 
drifted and as I shift in my seat my panties are literally soaked through. 
You make me so wet, Penny. I'm wet now. Are you?"

I reached for her hand, and she didn't pull hers away. "Yes."

***

We left the pub, destination unknown, but walked our bikes along the 
riverside path. Sooner or later we would reach my apartment, and I think we 
both knew that.

"What did you think about?" I asked. Penny seemed comfortable talking, at 
least.

"Us."

"You can do better than that, surely?"

"You want me to tell you?"

"Why not? It would turn us both on. Why not be turned on?"

She carried on walking. After a few seconds, she said "I thought about what 
you were doing, about what I wanted you to do." She paused, wondering if 
that would be enough. "Reliving how I felt when you touched me, when you 
pulled my clothes down. Imagining what it would be like if you'd carried 
on."

"What did you imagine?" Our voices are low, intimate.

"I just thought about what it would have been like, for you to kneel behind 
me as I stood there, looking at the river, with you kneeling behind my bum."

"That's what I thought about. I suppose in that sense, we were together. 
What did you do?"

"You know."

"I know. But I want to hear."

"I..." Every second Penny was crossing boundaries. "I touched myself."

"So did I. Tell me what you did." We were walking very slowly as the moment 
dragged on.

"I touched my...self, until I came."

"Did you think about anything else?" I was hungry for Penny's thoughts.

"Sometimes." Was she purely shy, or was she also playing a game with me, 
drawing out my satisfaction?

"What?"

She turned and smiled at me. "I thought about kneeling behind you."

I stopped. "This is my apartment block."

***

I opened another bottle of champagne. Spring was turning into summer, and 
the air was warm. As I walked out of the kitchen, Penny was there on the 
balcony. It was if the sum of all my fantasies had materialized her there 
for me. Only this time she was looking in, waiting for me.

I handed her a glass. She looked nervous, almost frightened. "What are we 
going to do?" she asked.

"Whatever you want. Whatever we want. There doesn't have to be a set 
pattern. Although one or two obvious ideas do spring to mind."

Penny turned away from me, looking out across the Thames. "My bum's still a 
bit sore from the crash."

I knelt down. Her body was taut, stiff, a far cry from the relaxed pose I'd 
previously encountered here.

"Let me help," I said, almost whispering. I reached up, and once again 
hooked my fingers under her waistband. This time I paused. "Do you want me 
to?"

"Yes," she croaked. I pulled down and away. I wanted to leave her knickers 
in situ. A good fuck is a good tease. I pulled her lycras down as far as her 
knees. I think she was trembling. Her knickers were plain, black cotton. I 
was breathing very shallowly.

"What now?" I asked. I think she knew it was all part of the game.

She hesitated, but only for a second. "Look at me. I want you to look at 
me...at my bum." I slipped my fingers under her waistband, and slowly, ever so 
slowly, drew the material down. All the time, I avoided contact with her 
flesh. There would be plenty of time to touch her.

It was an awesome, if simple, sight. The fleshy swell of her cheeks, dipping 
into the dark vertical valley of her crack.

"You're beautiful, Penny," I whispered, rubbing my fingertips over the 
yielding flesh of her bum. "Now I want to look at you properly. I want to 
see your asshole. Can I?"

She swallowed, nervously. "Erm, well..." She stopped. The hesitation was 
magnificent, and I continued to trace delicate patterns over her bottom.

"Tell me," I whispered.

"I'm...I could go take a shower."

"Tell me what you mean, Penny. You know I want to know." My fingers drew 
ever closer to her crack.

"I may not be that clean."

"I still want to know."

"My bum...My bum may be dirty."

I was beginning to tease her crack apart, but I still wasn't quite ready. "I 
still want to know more, Penny. Just a little bit more detail, please." I 
was pleading, but this time I knew she wouldn't leave.

"Okay. You want to look at my arsehole. Well...it may be a bit shitty."

I groaned, and pulled her ass wide apart. This beautiful girl with her 
beautiful bottom was letting me feast all my senses on her dark little hole.

As I'd expected, Penny was a careful hygienic girl, but there was still 
enough evidence to know that my beauty performed raw human functions like 
everyone else. I moved in closer, my eyes devouring the soft cluster of 
downy hairs that circled the dark brown of her anal hole, my nostrils 
breathing in the faint perfume of her dirt.

I brushed the end of my nose up and down her crack, wanting her to know 
exactly what I was indulging myself in. At the same time I slid my hands 
around her body to stroke her as yet unseen pubic mound. We were preparing 
for the final act.

As I continued my gentle nuzzling, I quietly asked her one more question. 
"And now? What do you want now?"

"Lick me," she said, and I could hear the need in her voice. "Lick my smelly 
bum."

As my tongue made contact with the firmness of her dark dirty hole, I 
slipped my fingers across to dip into her slit. She was soaking. Pretty 
Penny got so turned on having her ass cleaned by my tongue. As I brushed her 
clit, she let out a little choking sound, and bucked her ass back against my 
tongue.

I stroked her clit as gently as I could as my tongue wriggled against her 
anus. I wanted to kiss her ass forever but I knew she couldn't last long, 
and sure enough I could soon feel her already rigid body tense up even more. 
I slowed my clit-stroking even further, at the same time probing even more 
deeply into her asshole, and then she was jamming her bum back against my 
face as she fought for breath, loud gasps coming out as she came in repeated 
waves. When she was finished I pulled my face and fingers away. She rested 
limply against the wall of my balcony, her ass slick from my tongue.

I'm sure I'm not the only woman who gets most of their pleasure from turning 
other people on. With men, I love going down on them, seeing the pleasure on 
their face as I take their cock in my mouth. You can't get that when they're 
fucking you. So, although Penny had climaxed and I hadn't, I was feeling 
supremely satisfied. Just as long as I didn't have to wait too long.

She turned around and slid down the wall of the balcony, ending sitting 
limply on the decking. Her eyes were heavy, and I could see she was still 
coming down from her orgasm. I took the opportunity to gaze at her neat 
triangle of blonde fuzz.

I sat, patiently, until she started to come to. Slowly Penny's eyes focused 
on me. "That was...incredible," she said. Good. Not every Sapphic newcomer is 
so positive in the confused aftermath. Particularly when their orgasm was 
provided in such an unusual and perverted way. "You still haven't," she 
stated simply.

"No." I didn't expect her to be able to do exactly the same for me. But I 
hoped she wasn't going to leave me to do it on my own.

"I...I don't think I could do the same," she said. I noticed that her nipples 
were poking at the material of her top.

"No. What can you do?"

"I don't know." She frowned. "I couldn't do the same. But it would be hot if 
it was the way I imagined it. You know, you in front of me. I'd use my 
fingers," she offered.

I decided not to say anything, just stood up and bent over the balcony 
railing. Looking over my shoulder I saw Penny move unsteadily onto her 
knees. I was pleased to see her pants still resting around her thighs. I 
liked the fact she didn't have the need to cover herself up.

When her face was in position near my ass, I quickly slid my lycras and 
knickers down to my ankles. It was a curious thrill, exposing my behind to 
this pretty young girl. Looking down again I saw she was staring unashamedly 
at my ass, and my excitement increased.

She reached up to the side of my thigh, stroking it, accustoming herself to 
the feel of another woman's skin. I wanted her to take as much time as she 
needed. Gradually her hand moved up, until she was stroking my hip. I 
stroked her fingers, encouraging her, helping her. Then, ever so 
tentatively, I felt her make the journey to my thatch. As her fingertips 
made contact with my fuzz I felt her start. She was fondling a woman's 
privates now.

I was helping her, but I didn't want to play it entirely fair. As she gently 
brushed my mound, I slowly pushed my ass back, as if encouraged by her 
attention. Soon I could feel her breath on my crack.

With every stroke her fingers were getting closer to my slit. I could almost 
countdown to the moment of contact, and when it came I groaned. At about the 
same time, I was surprised to feel the merest kiss of her lips on my butt 
cheek. She was pushing herself on.

Two of her fingers traveled carefully up and down my cunt, dipping into my 
honey. At the top, encountering the hard yet soft button of my clit, she 
lingered, maybe curious to discover the feel and touch of someone else's 
sex, after so long enjoying her own.

At the same time, I pushed the small of my back downwards, which had the 
effect of opening my ass up for her slightly. While her left hand worked my 
clit and cunt, her right hand was softly massaging my butt cheeks.

But my teasing wasn't enough. "Can I show you?" I asked. "You don't have to 
do anything."

"Okay."

I reached around and cupped a cheek in each hand, then pulled them apart, 
revealing my ass in all its intimacy.

Like Penny, I'm careful with my toilet. Shit doesn't interest me, if that's 
what you've been thinking. But I was thrilled to know that Penny's face was 
only inches away from my sweaty smelly behind. As if on cue, I could feel 
her breath on my ring.

All the time, her fingers continued their slow, gentle wanking of my clit. 
She didn't even miss a beat.

I was surprised to hear Penny ask "Shall I talk?" I hoped I knew what she 
meant.

"Yes." I was so turned on I could barely get the word out.

"I frigged myself thinking about this, Samantha. Kneeling behind your bum. 
My cunt got so wet when I thought about your bum. I'm wet now, looking at 
it." Looking over my shoulder I could see that her gaze was indeed fixed on 
my dirty hole. "But I didn't think it would be like this, Samantha. I didn't 
know I'd be so turned on by your bum, your smelly bum, Samantha, your smelly 
shitty bum."

I howled as I came, but I could hear Penny moaning "Yes, yes," triumphant in 
the climax she had given me. I shook and shook until eventually the 
aftershocks subsided. Then I turned and dropped to the decking so Penny and 
I were facing. She had a look of almost childish delight on her face.

"Next time," she said, "I think I'd like to go further."

***

Like a lot of young women I've converted, Penny was all for moving onto the 
next course. (The other type are out of the door in tears. I'll admit that 
turns me on too). But having waited so long, I wanted to draw out the 
pleasure of getting to know her. I was teasing us again.

"Let's eat," I suggested. "We can talk."

"Talk?"

"I thought you liked talking."

"Oh, that. My boyfriend likes it. He says it helps him come." I looked at 
this stunning, sensual woman, and wondered what kind of man needed any 
additional stimulus. I was beginning to understand her enthusiasm for what 
we'd done.

"Can I shower?" she asked. I liked the way she was letting me suggest 
things. It boded well for the future.

"Sure, why not?"

"I thought you might like me, you know, dirty."

"I'm not sure there's much dirt left, Penny. No, a shower's fine." I decided 
not to bother. I had my reasons.

Of course Penny only had her cycling gear, so I found her some of my 
clothes. It's curiously satisfying, seeing a new lover in your clothes. Like 
they acknowledge you have a claim on them.

We went to an Italian place nearby. The Italian restaurants in London aren't 
a patch on the ones in New York, but this was okay, and the tables are 
pretty secluded, which suited both of us, I think.

Penny had a sort of excited glow about her. There must have been all sorts 
of implications from what we'd just done, as she'd intimated in the pub, but 
for the moment the sheer joy of sex, and the prospect of more to come, was 
carrying her along.

It didn't take long for her to start asking questions. The girl liked to 
talk. "Is that what you always do?" she asked.

"What?"

"The bum thing."

"No. Whatever seems appropriate. It got us both hot, so why not? The usual 
progression - you know, kissing, groping tits, ass, pussy - that's for 
teenagers seeing how far they can go. I wanted your ass, so that's what I 
went for. Same sort of thing for you."

"But you seemed to like...need, almost...more. You know - the dirt stuff."

"Well, it heightens the experience. For me. You?"

She took a long sip of Chablis. "Knowing that you wanted it, and knowing I 
was like that...it was incredible. Yes it heightened it. It was so nasty."

"What about when you did me?"

She sat back. I liked the way she thought about things carefully. A 
thoughtful girl. "Now that was truly nasty. Don't get me wrong, you were 
pretty clean, but even so..."

"...there was evidence?"

"Yes. Definitely. If you'd asked me before I'd have said it was disgusting. 
And a part of me now thinks `Yuk!'"

"The other part of you? At the time?"

"I don't know. Tell my why you like it."

"I'm not sure I know, either. There's something about someone as beautiful 
as you Penny. Take your skin. Creamy, pink, lovely. And you look after your 
hair, your nails, to look at you every inch is immaculate, perfect. But I 
knew, when I saw you sitting on that bike, the one bit of you that wouldn't 
be perfect, spotless, was your ass. It's like going to the real heart of 
someone."

"You think someone's real heart is their bum before it's been washed?"

I laughed. "Okay, I'm talking bullshit. Feet of clay, maybe?"

"I guess I found it nasty. I mean, I didn't have to look, using my fingers 
would have done you, but I was transfixed by your bum. It was such a dirty 
thing to do -  and by `dirty' I mean sexy. So I suppose it heightened that 
for me, too." She took another drink of wine. "What else do you like? I'm 
sure you'll be able to persuade me." The tease.

"Well," I twirled my glass in my hand, "very early I had a rather delicious 
image of you on all fours, and I was sliding something up your ass."

"You have a real anal fixation," Penny commented. "Anyway, I don't like it 
up the bum. I've tried it with my boyfriend," it was funny how she never 
said his name, "and it hurts like...buggery." She giggled.

"Maybe you've not been doing it right," I said. "Believe me, if you build up 
to it properly, your ass can offer you sensations that your pussy can't come 
close to. I know a lot of women view it as the ultimate."

"Hmm." She looked unconvinced.

***

Back at the apartment, I led Penny straight through to the bedroom. I think 
she wanted to kiss and cuddle, but I was sure my more remote approach would 
bring us greater rewards in the end.

I sat on the edge of the bed. "Strip for me," I said. I had already had 
glimpses of most of her body before, but I still enjoyed every second of her 
undressing: her breasts, just the small side of medium, but pert and creamy, 
with stiff pinky brown nipples; the neat straw blonde V of her pubic hair; 
her legs. Fuck, everything.

"You?" she asked. I liked it that she could make her own suggestions. We 
swapped positions, and it felt luxurious as she watched my clothing come 
off.

Our frantic half-dressed passion had been extraordinary, but when we were 
both naked together in the privacy of my bedroom it felt like we were 
becoming truly comfortable with our desires. I was also strangely aware that 
Penny with her long blonde hair and me with my dark bob made a well-matched 
pairing.

"Can we look at each other?" she asked. It was a curiosity I'd noticed in 
first-timers before, finally offered an opportunity to explore at the 
closest quarter a body similar but different to their own.

We lay on our sides, head to toe, our legs parted to allow each other as 
much access as we needed. Penny was tentative, stroking my thighs. I 
remembered it could be difficult getting used to the slick wet softness of a 
woman's sex, so totally different from the hard meat of a cock. And I 
guessed she was aware I had declined the opportunity of a shower. Cruel of 
me, maybe, but I was confident that ultimately my perversion would be her 
perversion, "heightening" her experience as we'd discussed.

It was different for me. Her lower body was soft and clean, a refreshing 
change from the rawness I had encountered on the balcony. I brushed my mouth 
and nose over her fuzz - her hairs seemed softer and less coarse than most 
of the women I had known. I could feel Penny's hands rubbing up and down my 
inner thighs, from my knees to just short of my pussy, and back again. She 
was working herself up to it, but I was confident she would get there.

My eyes lingered over her labia. They were already gaping slightly, 
glistening, as her arousal puffed and opened them. They were, perhaps 
surprisingly, given her generally neat body, quite large. Of course I liked 
that. It was like I'd discovered another private secret. Beautiful smiling 
Penny with her fleshy cunt tucked comfortably inside her panties.

She was lingering now at the tops of my inner thighs. I longed for her to 
move on to my sex.

I took each of her lips between my thumb and forefinger and eased them 
apart, opening the petals of her flower. Her flesh was wet from the pleasure 
of being exposed, and maybe the anticipation of her own difficult enjoyment 
of my openings.

I traced a finger from the top of her cunt to the bottom, passing around the 
pea of her clit, down the slickness of her grotto, slipping over the slight 
opening of her pee-hole, then pressing slightly against the fleshy tunnel of 
her cunt. Penny groaned, and I felt her legs open slightly wider as she 
invited me in.

Maybe encouraged by my contact, I felt her fingers rub between my own lips 
as she dipped into my honey. Once used to the feel of my cunt juices on her 
fingertips, Penny opened me up as I had done to her, and for a time we just 
lay there, examining each others' sex.

I moved in closer, nuzzling Penny first with my nose and then my mouth. The 
taste of a woman. That unique combination of her secretions, sweat and pee. 
Soon I was lapping at her hungrily, my fingers rubbing around her inner 
thighs. I could feel Penny's breath coming closer, but so far she couldn't 
bring herself to lick my cunt.

I moved my tongue around, sometimes teasing around her clit, then her cunt, 
and then her asshole, not the nasty tasty delight of earlier but still firm 
muscly and gorgeously resistant to my probings.

Then, heaven, I felt Penny's tongue brush tentatively along my pussy. I felt 
my back arch in response, tingles running the length of my body. She 
remained cautious for some time, as she became accustomed to my cunt. In 
some ways I wanted the feel of her licking to stay like that, to always 
experience her newness, but I knew that soon she would be intoxicated by my 
flavor.

I was fingering her now, first one finger in her cunt, then two, then while 
my forefinger remained inside her cunt I pressed my middle finger against 
her asshole. I felt her whole body tense at my presence there, so I rubbed 
around her crater, teasing and tickling that sensitive muscle. I passed and 
re-passed over her hole, lingering there longer and longer until she seemed 
calm. I slowly penetrated her anus, stopping when there was little more than 
my fingernail inside her, then my first knuckle.

By now she was licking me quite vigorously, her tongue tracing patterns from 
my cunt to my clit. I suspected she was maybe taking her mind off what my 
finger was doing to her asshole.

Initially her ass felt slick around my finger from my tonguing, but as I 
pressed my finger in to the second knuckle Penny's butt felt drier and 
tighter as her anal canal squeezed around the intruder. All the time I 
teased her cunt and clit with my tongue, and the wetness of her sex told me 
her body was enjoying my delicate ass-fucking.

I could feel she was close, but I wanted to go just a little bit further 
before Penny came. Ever so slowly I partly withdrew my middle finger from 
her asshole, before pressing my forefinger, coated with honey from her cunt, 
alongside it at the entrance to her ass. Once again I felt Penny stiffen 
against me, so again I teased her ring before slowly pressing slowly into 
her butt alongside my other finger.

Penny's licking of my cunt became frantic, partly I suspected from the 
sensations of my double invasion, partly from the fear of what might happen. 
I was slow, careful, until both my fingers were embedded all the way inside 
Penny's hot butthole. Then I concentrated on licking delicately at her clit, 
my fingers moving slightly in and out of her ass, before I thrust my thumb 
up her cunt where it could feel my fingers through the thin membrane that 
separated Penny's asshole from her cunt.

Then she was coming. However much discomfort she was in from my fingers I 
knew the sensations she was also getting were indescribably good. Her orgasm 
was different from the one on the balcony, deeper, more animal as her 
bucking jammed my fingers further and further inside her ass. But she 
managed, just, to keep her tongue in contact with my clit, which was enough 
to send me into a powerful shuddering climax of my own.

We both collapsed back on the bed, and I slowly removed my fingers from 
Penny's body. There was a thin sheen of sweat on her creamy skin, and I 
noticed her nipples were still poking out.

We lay there for a while, but soon she was back stroking my thighs. Like I 
say, when they get the taste, they always seem to want more.

"How did it feel?" I asked. She knew what I meant.

"Incredible. Painful, really painful - I thought I was going to choke. But 
once you were a certain way in, having your fingers there really multiplied 
all my other sensations. When I came I thought I was going to explode. I 
wouldn't have believed it possible."

She moved up towards me and began nuzzling at my nipples. It was the first 
time either of us had given the other's breasts attention.

"I was sort of getting you ready," I said, loving the way she gave my aching 
teats little bites. "I'd like to do you properly now," I said. "I promise 
you'll love it more than anything so far. I started rubbing my fingers up 
and down her ass crack. "Let me fuck your ass, Penny." She pulled away from 
my breasts, looking a little confused. "Trust me."

***

When I came back into the bedroom from the kitchen Penny was kneeling, as I 
had requested, on all fours. She looked great in any pose from any 
direction, but like that, with her butt proudly jutting towards me, she was 
magnificent.

I climbed onto the bed and knelt alongside her waist. It was a little like 
the game I used to play with my girlfriends when we were little, where one 
of us was the horse and the other the rider. How things had changed - I like 
being an adult.

I stroked Penny's butt cheeks, sliding my fingertips up and down her crack. 
She was tense, as always, but then at least that seemed to prefigure 
incredible orgasms for her. I moved directly behind her, between her feet, 
directly behind her butt. Once again I opened her up, and without hesitating 
began working her anus with my tongue. I could feel her rocking back gently, 
urging me into her asshole. When my tongue began to tire I knelt beside her 
again, and slid my forefinger swiftly inside her hole. Loosened by my 
earlier assault and my tonguing it went in easily and Penny groaned at the 
penetration. I fucked my finger in and out for a while, and once again she 
built up a rocking motion, wanting me far up her hole. I slid a second 
finger alongside, she tensed, but then quickly seemed to appreciate the 
extra presence.

When she was enjoying that too much I pulled out. She looked round at me, 
her eyes heavy, and she wiggled her ass, inviting my fingers up her again. I 
reached to the floor and picking up the candle I had brought from the 
kitchen I held it in front of her face. It was dark green, about twelve 
inches long, and only about an inch wide, although it tapered in towards the 
wick. The bottom of the candle was rounded, something I was always careful 
to check before I bought a pack. In fact I'd found that Selfridges stocked 
the perfect item, and I knew that the candle I was hoping to bugger my 
girlfriend with had cost twenty dollars.

Penny's eyes widened. "I won't push it all the way in," I said. "It's 
probably not a lot bigger than two of my fingers. It won't hurt. Or, at 
least, any pain you do feel will be a pleasure."

"Have you done it with it?" I nodded. "Up your bum?" Another nod. "With this 
candle?" Only three nights ago, when my despair over Penny had been at its 
blackest, I had resorted to an old favorite, viciously fucking my own 
asshole with the candle. The orgasm had been fantastic, the frustration and 
loneliness afterwards awful.

She looked at the candle a few inches in front of her face, pondering the 
knowledge that it had been up my ass. Then she dropped her head down, 
rocking back slightly. "Go on then," she said, "fuck my bum with your 
candle."

I liberally coated the candle with the butter I had also brought from the 
kitchen and moved myself into position alongside Penny's butt. As with my 
fingers, I began by teasing her anus with the slippery candle, but this 
time, to ease the shock when the penetration started, I began gently 
stroking her clit. I was pleased to feel how wet she was in anticipation of 
what I was going to do to her behind.

Then, I pressed it firmly against Penny's asshole. I could feel her take a 
deep intake of breath. Her sphincter was loose from my probing, but even so 
I knew it was going to take a degree of force to push the candle past her 
tight muscle. I continued to stroke her clit, which seemed to have swelled 
since we had begun this last act.

As I carefully eased the candle against the resistance of Penny's butt I saw 
her wince, and her hands were gripping my bedspread tightly. Then, almost 
with a pop, it was through, and her head was up as she muttered a low 
controlled "Aaagh." I continued to slide the candle further into her anus 
until I figured it was about five inches in. All the time she was stock 
still as her body tried to accustom itself to the violation. I couldn't help 
but notice, though, that her nipples were stiffened and erect, and her cunt 
sodden with her juices.

Then, Penny started to take long slow breaths, and began rocking back 
against the candle. I started a careful in-out motion to match her, and as I 
watched her face I saw her expression change from one of controlled pain to 
a deep, agonizing pleasure. With each rock backwards she was shoving my 
candle deeper inside her butt.

Once I knew that she was steadily on course for the kind of excruciating 
orgasm that only a good anal fucking can provide, there was only one thing 
left for me to do. Moving first behind her, I slid my legs between hers and 
then shifted my body down so we were in the classic sixty-nine, with Penny 
on top. She was quick to bury her tongue in my slit this time, but I had 
other things in mind. At the same time as I lifted my tongue to tease her 
and stimulate her clit, I pulled my knees right back, Penny briefly lifting 
her arms to allow me to complete the maneuver, then my knees were pressed 
hard against my aching little titties, my calves and feet pointing directly 
in the air. All the time I continued my relentless sodomizing with the 
candle, Penny grunting with every thrust.

Penny lifted her mouth from my cunt, knowing what I now wanted. "Samantha..." 
Her voice trembled as the candle continued to invade her body.

"Please, Penny." I didn't care if I pleaded. I was desperate for this 
completion.

"Samantha, I can't, I'm sorry, I really can't."

"Smell me. At least. Smell me?" My own voice was unsteady with my need.

"Oh God, Samantha..."

"Please. Put your nose between my cheeks." There was a pause, and then I 
felt Penny's body shift slightly. "Penny?"

"I'm there."

"Tell me." I realized that as my desire and excitement grew I was fucking 
her butt harder than ever before, but the honey running down the inside of 
her thigh and her loud groans seemed to show she liked it. That and what I 
was now asking of her. "Tell me."

"Okay. I'm smelling your bum, Samantha, I've got my nose up close against 
your bum."

I gave her clit a gentle lick, and then pulled away again. I could feel her 
frustration grow, which was good so long as I didn't push it too far.

"Tell me more," I whispered.

I could almost hear Penny take a deep breath. To pluck up courage, or to 
accurately describe things? "I'm smelling your bumhole, your dirty shitty 
bumhole."

That would have been easily enough, and I let out a loud groan, but my mind 
went back to the pretty girl on her bike at the red light, her ass poking 
out over the back of her saddle, and I knew I had to have it all.

"Kiss it," I groaned. "Taste it."

"Please, Samantha, no." At the same time I could feel her fingers stroking 
my clit. Was she really so reluctant or was she teasing me the way I'd 
already teased her?

"Please, Penny, I need you to."

"Samantha I can't. It's really..."

"Tell me." I was so wrapped up in my own needs that it came as a shock to 
realize that Penny had taken almost the whole of the candle into her 
backside. The greedy girl.

"Tell you?" The tone of her voice changed, from pleading to almost comical. 
"Tell you about your bum? Okay, Samantha, your bum is dirty and sticky and 
shitty and you want me to taste it, you want me to press my tongue against 
your shitty bumhole, can you feel that, Samantha..." there was the lightest 
tickling on my anus "...I'm licking it, I'm tasting you, Samantha, I'm tasting 
your nasty smelly bum."

She was so wrapped up in the battle to make even the lightest contact with 
my rear that she had almost stopped frigging me, but a couple of strokes 
were enough to have me bucking and writhing in fearsome spasms. Despite the 
pounding of my blood I could hear Penny gasp in shock and delight at the 
pleasure she had caused and created. I pressed my mouth against her sopping 
pussy and gave the candle one last, violent push and she too was almost 
choking as wave after wave of her climax shuddered through her body.

Then, we subsided together onto the sheets, the candle, I knew, still 
protruding from her butt, the air thick with what must be one of the most 
intoxicating odors of all, the musk of two women who have been making love.

We lay there I don't know how long, lightly holding each other, until Penny 
sleepily opened her eyes. "I've decided," she said, reaching across to 
stroke my breast. "Next time, miss, you get to take a shower."






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