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Message-ID: <44571asstr$1065208203@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: aagina@hotmail.com (Gina R.)
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NNTP-Posting-Date: Fri, 3 Oct 2003 15:13:15 +0000 (UTC)
Subject: {ASSM} Learning the Lesson (ff, voy, bd, IR, anal)
Date: Fri,  3 Oct 2003 15:10:03 -0400
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
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Standard disclaimers apply. Comments appreciated.

Learning the Lesson


It seemed to take a long time for Gail Greer's new neighbor to unfold
herself from behind the wheel of the silver Jaguar. The woman had
pulled in behind the moving company van, so that the back of her car
was blocking the sidewalk. As Gail watched, curious about who would be
moving in next door, the woman slowly stood up. The first thing that
registered on Gail--not at all in any negative sense, just that it was
a departure from the ordinary for this street--was that the woman was
black. Except that "Black" didn't quite seem adequate to describe the
delicious color of the woman's skin, for it was the color of mocha, or
glowing cinnamon, a lovely, rich shade. The second thing that
registered was that the woman was very tall. Her height was
accentuated by the three-inch heels she was wearing, as was her
slenderness by the tight denim Capri pants sculpted around her
muscular calves and the sleeveless tunic, which showed off her shapely
arms. In short, Gail's new neighbor was a vision, and carried herself
almost regally as she walked. Or perhaps "strutted" might better
describe her gait, Gail thought to herself with a smile. But then Gail
stole a glance at the woman's face, and found her mouth actually
dropping over as she realized how truly beautiful she was, her lips
full and painted a delicate shade of red, her eyebrows neatly trimmed
into graceful lines above her eyes...and those eyes! It was hard to say
what color they were, green, or gray, or blue, or some eerie
combination of the three. It was easy to stare at the woman, and Gail
was staring. Her trance was broken only by the realization that the
woman was waving to her, and Gail automatically waved back, smiling
broadly as she pulled open the door.

It was only when she was halfway out of the house, calling out
"Welcome!" in a cheerful voice, that she remembered that she was
wearing a ragged pair of shorts and a stained T-shirt. She was doing
some long overdue cleaning, which explained her attire, but she felt
positively dowdy next to the stylish new neighbor. Oh well. Too late
to turn back now, she thought, as she approached the woman.

"I'm Gail Greer," she said.

"Patrice Connors," the woman answered, taking her hand and squeezing
it gently.

"Can I give you a hand with anything? I'm certainly dressed for it. I
was just doing some cleaning," she said hastily, anxious to explain
her old clothes.

"Thanks anyway, but I think I've got it covered. I'm certainly paying
these fellows enough," she said with a laugh. Gail glanced over and
saw two of the workmen wrestling an enormous mat off the back of the
truck. Patrice followed her gaze, and said, "That's my exercise mat. I
teach yoga. It's wonderfully relaxing."

"Yoga? Really? How interesting," Gail said.

"You should come over for a free lesson after I get everything set
up."

Gail smiled and nodded, figuring the woman was just being polite. She
found herself wondering what this statuesque woman would look like in
a leotard. She also found herself staring at her as she walked into
the house to supervise the movers.



Several days passed, and Gail noticed Patrice coming and going
frequently in the Jaguar. The UPS truck also arrived every afternoon
with large deliveries, though Gail couldn't tell what was in the hefty
boxes. She told herself that she wasn't prying, simply being curious,
but she began to wonder how all this stuff was fitting into the house
next door. Still, she was busy with her own cleaning project, so she
didn't give it a lot of thought.

On a bright Thursday morning, Gail decided it was time to go next door
to give Patrice a proper neighborly hello. She was also wondering
whether the offer about the class was sincere. She knocked on the door
and waited, but several seconds passed with no sign of anyone coming
to the door. Gail peeked in the windows next to the door but couldn't
see much, just a lot of boxes. She looked in the driveway, noting the
silver Jag, parked in its usual spot. She was sure Patrice was home.
She knocked again, and rang the doorbell. Still nothing.

Maybe she's out back, Gail thought to herself, and walked around the
side of the house. The bushes were thick here, leading to a yard
surrounded by a high privacy fence. She tried the gate and it clicked
open.

"Patrice?" she called out. "Are you back here?" There was no answer,
and Gail crept around the corner. She'd never been back in this yard
before; the previous owners had been pretty unfriendly and rather
secretive. She caught sight of a glass sliding door leading into the
downstairs area. In Gail's house, built on an identical design, this
was the TV room, but Patrice had set it up as a completely padded
exercise room. The floor was covered with a mat almost wall to wall,
and the two side walls were also padded. The back wall was covered
entirely by a mirror. In that mirror, Gail could see the reflection of
her neighbor, and the sight made her gasp out loud.

Patrice was facing the mirror, her legs bent in a kneeling position
and slightly spread, but her upper body completely reclined. Her back
was arched, so that the top of her head was touching the mat, her face
towards Gail but upside-down. Her eyes were closed. She was
absolutely, stunningly, naked. Gail felt rooted to the spot, unable to
retreat, unable to tear her eyes off the glistening body of her
neighbor. Almost against her will, her eyes wandered back to the
mirror, and found herself looking between the black woman's legs.
Patrice's vulva was plainly visible, in fact almost lewdly spread open
by the position she was in. The hair was trimmed close and Gail could
see the pinkness of the woman's slit. She found herself licking her
lips. Then her eyes roamed over Patrice's body, marveling at the
woman's long, sleek muscles trembling slightly in her held position,
up to her full breasts, which were topped by dark, thick nipples. She
felt herself getting wet, completely and instantly aroused by the
erotic vision before her. Suddenly, to Gail's horror, Patrice abruptly
moved, pulling herself up in one smooth, graceful motion (her eyes
remaining closed) until she was sitting upright. Gail quickly
scampered out of sight around the corner, scurrying back to the safety
of her own house.

When she was inside, she plopped down on her sofa to try to gather her
thoughts. What she had seen had shocked her, for several reasons, not
least of which was how aroused she felt. The vision of her exotic
neighbor had turned her on incredibly, and she could feel herself
becoming even wetter now, as she thought about what she had seen. Part
of her shock was also because she knew she had seen something she
wasn't meant to see. Patrice had been doing something very private,
and Gail had been spying on her. Yet she couldn't discount the
voyeuristic thrill it had given her. Even now, as she replayed the
scene in her mind, she found herself imagining even more, pictured
herself walking up to the sliding door, pushing it open and walking
into the room, peeling off her clothes as she went. Her mind played
around with the actual moment that Patrice would notice her. Would it
be when she opened the door? When she was standing above the
glistening black woman, naked herself? Or when she dropped to her
knees, sinking her tongue into the bewitching pinkness of Patrice's
pussy? In her vision, Gail herself was as alluring and irresistible as
Patrice was to her. Truth to tell, she was not unattractive, but she
rarely took the time to look her best. She jogged to keep herself fit,
and, though short, had a very sexy, compact body. In fact, despite
being nearly 30, she still got asked for her ID when she purchased
wine. Perhaps it was her smallish breasts (she was a 32b) or, more
likely, her youthful face and hairstyle--she favored tight brown
curls--that made people think she was younger than she was. Men hit on
her pretty regularly, despite her boring wardrobe, but she ignored
them. Though discreet about it, she was only interested in women.
That's why she lived alone. Lately, ever since her girlfriend had
moved away the previous fall, she'd been going through a particularly
long dry spell. It was hard meeting new people, and she was tiring of
both the online scene and her collection of vibrators. She wanted to
get together with a real woman. And right now, she wanted Patrice so
bad she could almost taste her.

Almost without realizing she was doing it, Gail returned to her
fantasy, her tongue roaming between Patrice's thighs as the black
woman panted on the mat, even as, in her own living room, her fingers
reached down to unsnap her shorts and worm inside. In the fantasy, she
began fingerfucking the black woman, thrusting her fingers inside the
woman's pulsing pussy, while she began fingerfucking herself, her
fingers curling inside her own wet pussy, reaching for her g-spot.
Gail groaned, giving in to the feelings of lust washing over her. She
needed to cum, badly, and raised her behind off the couch to get even
more of her fingers inside. In her dream, they were buried up to the
last knuckle in Patrice, and the black temptress was screaming in
ecstasy.

Suddenly, Gail became aware of a sharp rapping at her front door.
Scrambling to pull herself together, she hastily snapped her shorts
and went to answer it. Pulling the door open, she found herself face
to face with the woman she had just been fantasizing about. Blinking
dumbly, she opened the door.

"Hey there," Patrice said, as she came inside. As usual, she was
dressed to the nines, this time in a slinky short white dress and
heeled sandals. "I'm sorry to bother you. I just wanted to ask
something."

"Um, n-not at all," Gail stammered. "What is it?" Trying to be casual
about it, she let her hand drop to her side, where she surreptitiously
wiped her shiny finger clean. She hoped that the scent of her arousal
was not as obvious as it seemed to her.

"Well, I was just doing some relaxing exercises and I thought I heard
something, someone in my yard. I was wondering if you noticed anyone.
Because my gate is unlatched and I'm sure I closed it."

"S-someone?" Gail answered, feeling herself flushing red. "No, I
didn't. But I was busy in my office." Why was she lying about this?
Why not just admit it? It had been innocent enough, but now that
innocence had been transformed and she felt guilty, like a child
caught at the cookie jar.

"Well, it worries me a bit. You see," Patrice said, her tone becoming
a bit more conspiratorial, "I always work out in the nude. It's part
of my yoga regimen. Very cleansing."

Gail could only stare dumbly at her, then somehow found her voice.
"Really? How, um, interesting. I've been meaning to ask you about
that. Does your, uh, offer, still stand?"

"To come for a class? Absolutely. But I'm still setting up my
schedule. Give me a week or two and then we'll pick a good time." And
then flashed that incredible smile. Gail could only nod.




Several more days passed, during which time Gail tried, not terribly
successfully, to focus on her job. She was a freelance writer and
editor, a job she was good at and which she enjoyed particularly
because it gave her the freedom to work out of her home. Yet now she
felt that her house, a place that had been a sanctuary of peace and
solitude, was filled with a curious tension that she had never before
experienced. Her mind kept drifting off her work, wandering to the
yard next door, wondering what she would see if she chanced to peek
again at her exotic neighbor.

This was certainly not the first time that another woman had entranced
Gail. She had been active with women, off and on, ever since she
started having sex in high school. In college she had been
particularly adventurous, partly spurred on by her roommate Patty. 
She had been openly bisexual and had gradually coaxed Gail--somewhat
shy up to then--into spreading her wings, and her legs, for a
succession of partners of both sexes. She had had threesomes with
Patty and some of her male partners, and had once, on her birthday,
been treated to a day of lesbian sex with Patty and four other girls.
They had treated her like their sex slave all day at a rented cabin in
the woods, and Gail had cum so many times she had lost count. That was
the first--though certainly not the last--time she had been fucked
with a strap-on, and also experienced bondage.

She was certainly intrigued, even aroused, by the kinkier side of sex,
and she had explored a number of activities that some might describe
as deviant or perverted in the decade since she'd graduated.
Gradually, she'd strayed more and more away from men--though she
enjoyed a good fuck now and then--and in the past few years had only
had sex with women. Something about her plain Jane attire appealed to
a certain type of woman, and Gail had been involved with a succession
of mistresses who introduced her to activities she had never imagined.
But the last and best of these, Paula, had moved away the previous
fall, and since then Gail had only had a few brief, unsatisfying
encounters with women she encountered online. When she had met them,
they all seemed too timid to really take charge of her the way she
desired, the way she needed to be treated. They talked a good game
online, but the reality was very different.

Now, though, she found her thoughts consumed by Patrice, wondering if
she might be the one for her. Every time her mind wandered in this
way, she caught herself and tried to dismiss the idea. She didn't even
know if Patrice had any interest in women. But she certainly dreamed
that she did, and her mornings started including a new ritual, where
she fingered herself to orgasm while replaying again the voyeuristic
encounter of the week before.

Finally, Gail resolved to do something about it. She had to spy on
Patrice again, to get another look at her bewitching body. And once
she resolved to do it, she hit upon the perfect plan to carry out her
desire.

In her own backyard, adjacent to the privacy fence, Gail had a tool
shed. She'd been meaning to organize it for awhile, and now, feeling
like a wicked schoolchild, she began to remodel it as well. She
discarded some of the old pots and broken tools that cluttered the
shed, and moved the other stuff--her lawnmower and other equipment,
some hoses--down to the far end. Then she hauled a small divan, one
with stained fabric that she'd been meaning to reupholster, out of her
TV room, and set it up in the shed. The last part of her plan was done
at night. Around 11 in the evening, she took a small auger out of a
tool set that she had inherited from her father, and carefully drilled
a hole through the wall of the shed. When she had exposed the fence,
she turned on a small penlight and inspected the surface. She found
what she was looking for, just an inch farther over: a knothole, which
already left a small opening in the fence. Using the auger, she
enlarged the hole in the shed slightly, then took a pocketknife and
carefully trimmed the edges of the knothole. She did it cleverly, so
that the carved part was on her side of the fence; from the other
side, she knew, the freshly exposed wood would be invisible. Then, the
final piece of the operation. Feeling a bit like a secret agent, Gail
fitted a small but powerful telescope, purchased earlier that day at a
Discovery store, into the hole. She looked through, and was rewarded
instantly. Not only did the telescope provide a perfect view of the
exercise room, but Patrice was in there! She was sitting, naked and as
beautiful as Gail had been imagining, in a lotus position, her head
bowed slightly. Gail stared at her nipples and the way her breasts
swayed slightly with each shallow breath she took. God, she was
gorgeous, Gail thought to herself, and reached down to unsnap her
shorts. Unabashedly, she began fingering herself as she looked at her
naked neighbor, then caught her breath in disbelief as she saw Patrice
unfurl her legs, spreading them wide on the mat. Her right hand
reached down gracefully and she began touching herself between her
legs. She was masturbating! Gail felt lightheaded as she pushed her
own shorts and panties lower and then kicked them off. This was too
good to be true, and she began rubbing and massaging her own clit in
unison with her neighbor. She could see the wetness of Patrice's pussy
as she began moving her hand faster and more vigorously across its
folds. Gail glanced up at her face and caught her breath again.
Patrice was looking right at her! But it had to be an illusion. There
was no way that she could know that Gail was watching. Still, it was
an eerie sensation, sitting facing each other, separated by the
expanse of yard, yet brought face to face by the telescope's lens. It
was as though their toes were touching as they each rubbed their
pussies with an almost primal passion. Patrice's lips were now parted
as her breath was coming faster, and Gail knew that her own expression
must be the same. Then, almost simultaneously, Gail came, and even as
the sensations washed over her she was aware that Patrice was cumming
also. A cry escaped Gail's lips as the climax ripped through her, and
she could feel the hot liquid of her own cum coating her hand.

Several minutes passed, during which the two women continued quietly
stroking themselves. Another smaller climax came to each, though at
separate moments. Finally, Gail watched as Patrice lifted her hand and
licked it clean, and she shivered at the openly erotic sight. She
licked her own hand, reveling in the taste of her passion. Then the
black woman rose in a graceful, fluid motion, turned out the light and
left the room.





That night Gail slept more peacefully than she had in months, and she
woke refreshed and happy, lazily stroking her wet pussy in her bed
while she replayed the scene from the night before. A sudden thought
came to her, and she got up and put on a short robe. She peeked out
the upstairs window and saw that the silver Jaguar was in the
driveway. Another, unfamiliar, car was parked next to it. Someone
there for a class? Gail scampered down the stairs, feeling her tits
bouncing unrestrained beneath the robe, and collected a cup of coffee
from her automatic brewer in the kitchen. Moving quickly, she walked
through her back yard to the shed, shivering a bit as the cold morning
dew coated her naked feet.

She took a quick gulp of the hot coffee and set it down, then raised
the telescope. Later, when she had time to think about what she saw,
she reflected that it was a good thing she had put down the cup.
Otherwise she would probably have been wearing the hot liquid.

Patrice was, once again, naked in her exercise room, but this time she
was not alone. A blond woman was there, also naked, on her knees and
facing away from Gail. Her head was bent down, her cheek flat on the
mat. Patrice was also on her knees and was quite vigorous fucking the
woman with a shiny black dildo that was strapped to a harness she
wore. From Gail's shocked vantage point, she could see the muscles in
her neighbor's behind clenching and relaxing with each strong thrust,
her buttocks lifted and outlined sexily by the latex straps of the
harness. They looked like they had been busy for awhile, judging by
the sweat coating Patrice's back. As Gail watched she raised her hand
and slapped it sharply on first one of the blonde's buttocks, then the
other. The force of the blows was strong enough to make the woman's
knees buckle, but she managed to maintain her position. Gail looked at
her pussy, saw how wet she was, the dildo pistoning in and out
smoothly, its length glistening with the woman's juices.

Then Patrice did something knew. She reached down and grabbed the
woman's hair, which was gathered into a long French-style braid, and
yanked back on it sharply. Several things happened. The woman reared
back, her mouth opening in what must have been a scream--though Gail
could hear nothing from where she was--and Patrice drove the strap-on
completely into her. At the same moment, Gail realized that she knew
the woman being fucked. It was a longtime friend of hers, Sally
Streetman, who was the wife of a local school board member. She had
known Sally for years, and had no inkling that she was anything other
than what she purported to be: the rather proper, completely
heterosexual and faithful wife of one of the most upstanding
businessmen in the community. Yet here she was, being fucked nine ways
to Sunday, by the hottest woman that Gail had ever laid eyes on. She
pulled the tie on her robe and let it fall open, then reached up to
pinch her nipple. It was hard and puffy, and she groaned as her
fingers teased and pulled on it. Through the telescope, she watched as
Patrice took hold of Sally's nipples, pinching each one between her
thumb and forefinger, then pulling them roughly to either side as she
continued fucking her. The nipples became her only means of leverage,
and Sally's mouth gaped open in a grotesque scream as she began to
really punish her. Gail was mesmerized. It was too easy to imagine
herself in Sally's place, letting Patrice do everything she was doing
to the blond woman and more. She could not believe what she was seeing
and, as her hand dropped lower, she realized that she had never been
this aroused simply by watching a sexual act in her life. Her pussy
was actually leaking juice. She could feel it pooling up at the base
of her slit, then dribbling down onto the divan. Her fingers found the
moisture, and used it for lubrication, sliding up inside her whole to
fuck herself, and then moving higher, to swirl around her clit. It
didn't take much. She came within seconds, then came a second time.

Now Patrice had pulled out of Sally and was shouting something at her
as she spanked her ass, really letting her have it. Vainly, the blond
tried to crawl away, but there was not escape from the attack as
Patrice pursued her around the mat, the dildo bobbing lewdly in front
of her. She continued slapping at Sally, maneuvering her around until
she had her pinned up next to the sliding glass door. Then she moved
in behind her and again roughly tugged on the braid. Gail watched
Sally's eyes gape open. Then her expression changed, from one of
concern to one of abject fear. She squirmed to try to free herself,
but the black woman was larger and stronger and there was no escape.
Gail's eyes strayed to the mirror on the opposite side of the room. It
revealed the scene from the reverse angle, and she watched as Patrice
mercilessly shoved the dildo into the blonde's tight asshole, feeding
it in inch by brutal inch. Gail looked back at the window, at the
head-on scene. Patrice's face wore an evil expression and again she
experienced a chilling sensation as she realized she was looking
directly at her, where she watched them in secret. Sally's expression
was hard to read. Certainly, it indicated her complete submission to
what was happening, but Gail could also see how completely aroused the
woman was. Her pert nipples were swollen and red, and a flush had
spread across her entire upper body. She was loving this, Gail
realized, and that realization alone was enough to make her cum again.

In a few minutes, it was over. Patrice stood up and peeled off the
harness. She said something to Sally and Gail watched the woman
lovingly clean the dildo with her tongue. Then she crawled after
Patrice on her knees as the two women left the room.




In the shower, Gail let the water pound down over her nipples as she
brought herself off once again. She seemed to have peeled away some
last shred of her inhibitions when she had removed her robe. She had
decided to approach Patrice directly, admit what she'd been doing, and
submit to her for the punishment that she knew must follow. It was
while imagining the form that punishment would take that she had put
her hands between her legs and furiously frigged herself to another
orgasm. She let the water course over her for a few more minutes
before shutting it off and stepping out.

Gail usually liked to air dry for a few minutes before putting on body
lotion. She smiled at her reflection in the mirror, her lips curled
into an impish grin as she thought about what she would say to
Patrice. Something looked different about herself, and she decided it
was just the number of orgasms she had had. She was glowing, and even
now her nipples were hard and firm. God, she felt like she was ready
to make herself cum again!

She was thinking about pulling one of her toys from her drawer as she
walked into the other room, which was why she didn't notice that
someone was already in there, lurking behind the door. Gail was taken
completely by surprise as the person grabbed her from behind, yanking
her arms fiercely behind her with such force that she thought they
would be pulled from their sockets. She screamed, but only for a
moment, because her assailant roughly pushed her down on the bed, then
sat on her as her wrists were suddenly encased in some hard and
metallic, like handcuffs. A voice hissed in her ear, and a shudder
swept through her.

"I think you've done enough watching, you little slut," the voice
said. It was Patrice. She spun Gail over onto her back, so that her
handcuffed hands dug into her buttocks. Gail tried to resist but could
only watch helplessly as the woman tied first one, then the other
ankle to her bedposts, stretching her legs wide open. It was only
then, as Gail lay there with her moist breasts heaving up and down,
that she took her first good look at her tormentor.

Patrice was wearing one of the most erotic outfits Gail had ever seen.
It was entirely made of shiny black latex, and consisted of
thigh-high, skintight boots, with 4-inch stiletto heels, and then a
kind of bustier-thong garment: a thin patch of material stretched
tightly over her slit, with straps that came up and attached to the
"top," which really only covered  her torso but left her lovely tits
and nipples uplifted and fully exposed. She was perspiring freely, but
the effect was enticing. It was only then that Gail noticed the
flogger in her right hand.

"Do you have something you want to tell me, slut?" Patrice demanded
sternly.

"Y-yes!" Gail stammered. "I admit it, I was watching you."

"And not just watching, mmm?"

Gail felt herself reddening. "That's right. I was...I was masturbating."

"Oh, so you were masturbating?" Patrice's tone was mocking. "Or were
you rubbing your juicy little cunt while you watched me fucking
Mustang Sally?"

Gail could only nod. Then she yelped as Patrice brought the flogger
down directly onto her left nipple. It didn't cut but it stung like
hell. Then she did the other nipple, and Gail screamed. It didn't
matter. Patrice was going to get hers. She spent several minutes
working her way up and down Gail's thrashing body, even hitting her on
her pussy. But then, as abruptly as it started, the attack ceased.

"I think you're liking this a little too much," Patrice observed. "You
really are a slut, aren't you?"

Gail nodded, then shivered as she felt Patrice's fingers worm their
way into her pussy.

"God, you are wet. A true slave slut. Who would've guessed? Almost as
surprising as Sally turning out to be a dildo ass whore." Patrice
chortled at her own little joke, but Gail was too distracted,
beginning to moan as the woman fucked her with three fingers, curling
them inside of her and actually lifting her off the bed. "I told her
you were watching us. You know what? That got her off even more. She
loved the idea. And she made me promise that I'd let her fuck your ass
when the time comes. We'll get to that. But first off, you're mine."
Gail had her eyes closed, enjoying the sensations of Patrice's
fingers, but when she pulled them out of her pussy, it made the
captive look up at her. Patrice walked over to a bag that was on the
floor and reached inside. "I'm sure this looks familiar," she said, as
she pulled the black strap-on out of the bag. Gail's clit throbbed as
she caught sight of it. She had waited--and dreamed--of this moment
for weeks, and now it was finally here. She watched breathlessly as
Patrice expertly strapped on the device, feeling her pussy get even
wetter as she thought about what was coming next. But then Patrice
dipped into the bag again. "Almost forgot," she said, and pulled
something else up that tinkled as she shook it. Nipple clamps.

"N-no," Gail pleaded, her eyes widening.

"Shut up, slut," Patrice said calmly. "I don't want to have to gag
you." She dropped the clamps on Gail's belly, then reached down and
began pinching and twisting her nipples, which were already hard from
excitement. But then Patrice began stretching them up and letting go,
laughing as they snapped back into place, then slapping at them.  She
kept up the abuse for several minutes, grinning as Gail moaned and
twisted on the bed. Then she took a clamp and attached it to her left
nipple. Gail grimaced as the domme tightened it, tugged on it
experimentally, then tightened it some more. Then the same with the
other. Finally satisfied, she lifted herself in one smooth, easy
motion, and laid down on top of Gail, the dildo mashed between them.
And she kissed her on the mouth.

To Gail it was the most erotic moment of her life, and she gave
herself completely to the moment, opening her mouth and letting
Patrice's tongue roam freely inside. They kissed for long minutes,
even though her weight on Gail was pressing down painfully on her
arms. Then Patrice lifted up, and the fucking began.

For that's what it was, the first time in Gail's life that she could
honestly say she was fucked completely and totally. It began with
long, gentle strokes, but quickly built into a fast deep fucking
action that kept her from getting a complete breath. Dimly she was
aware of the wet, squishy noises being made by her cunt as the dildo
fucked in and out, but that sensation was so far removed from the
torrent of lust sweeping over and through her. Patrice was like a
woman possessed, bringing punishment and pleasure simultaneously with
her magic dildo, ignoring Gail's screams of passion, and then pleas
for relief, but merely taking her, wordlessly and completely. Again
and again, Gail came, but Patrice tirelessly fucked her, and kept on
fucking her until she finally passed out.



When she came to, it took Gail several moments to put the pieces back
together--the fragments of all that she had been through that day--and
then even longer to identify where she was. They were in Patrice's
house, in the exercise room, and Gail found herself fastened with long
straps to one of the rolled-up mats, her bottom lifted into the air
and completely exposed.

"Hello baby," Patrice purred, and Gail lifted her face and saw
Patrice, naked again, kneeling in front of her. "Welcome back."

"Wh-what?" Gail said weakly. "How did I--?"

"Shh, baby. Don't talk. Save your strength. You're going to need it. I
always keep a promise. I want you to remember that, baby. And I
brought someone here to help you remember."

Gail tried to look around but it was impossible, then she remembered
the mirror behind Patrice. She looked, and saw appear gradually the
head, shoulders, breasts, and then lower half of Sally Streetman. She
was wearing the dildo. And Gail knew right where she was going to
shove it.


The End

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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