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From: "Bradley Stoke" <bradley_stoke@hushmail.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Degrees of Intimacy (5/8) {Bradley Stoke} (FF)
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Date: Mon, 12 Sep 2005 16:10:04 -0400
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Title: {ASSM} Degrees of Intimacy (5/8) {Bradley Stoke} (FF)
Author: Bradley Stoke
Part: Chapter 5 of 8
Keywords: (FF)
Short Summary: Islington: A North London suburb famous for its
trendy night life and antiques.

Degrees of Intimacy
===================

Resume of whole novel
=====================

Eight characters, eight places, eight degrees of separation, and
eight degrees of intimacy. This novella is inspired by the film
La Ronde that similarly follows a circular trail of lovers, but
this time in the twenty-first century and much more explicit in
content. All eight chapters can be read in isolation, but the
whole is greater than the sum of its parts.


For More : http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Bradley_Stoke/www

[This story has been previously published on Ruthie's Club
(www.ruthiesclub.com) where it was edited by the much
missed Ruthie and illustrated by Tzratzk.]



Story Description
=================

Islington: A North London suburb famous for its trendy night life
and antiques. Jayne contemplates a night alone at home while her
lover, Cath, goes out to a night club, perhaps to make love with
someone she meets there.


Chapter Five - Islington
========================

Jayne's tongue lapped back and forth on Cath's parted
vulva, moistening yet further that clitoris whose hardness
was so familiar to her and savoured the comforting odours
from within. Two fingers thrust in and out of the wet and
welcoming vagina, occasionally twisting her hand to brush
the knuckles and her smaller two fingers on the sweat-
sodden pubic hairs. Cath gasped as her body spasmed to
Jayne's ministrations, one foot kicking out and bashing
against the headrest of the shared bed.

Jayne reciprocated her gasp as Cath's smaller fist pushed all
four of the fingers of her right hand into Jayne's equally
receptive vagina, her thumb stroking against Jayne's own
aroused clitoris. Jayne could feel the rubber sinuousness of
her tongue on the folds above her clitoris, shaved so close
that Cath had no difficulty in finding exactly what her
tongue sought out.

Cath did not shave her pubic hairs, but this never troubled
Jayne. She was willing to shave her pubes as Cath once
requested, happy to keep them shaved for as long as darling
Cath wanted it that way. In any case, she rather relished the
daily routine of shaving, which she did as often as she
could in full view of her younger lover. It was as surely a
token of the love she felt for Cath as any ring, and in its
carnality a much more honest one.

Jayne raised her head and removed her hand from Cath's
pubes. A particularly long brown hair had got trapped
between her teeth. She tugged it out and her mouth returned
greedily to her feast of carnal scents. Her tongue dipped in
as deep as it could into Cath's spread open pussy, flicking it
up on occasion to lick against Cath's little knob of a clitoris.
All the while, Cath's pubic hair pressed into Jayne's nostrils
and tickled her chin. Jayne was sure that the hair down here
was longer than that on her head, but as a matter of taste
she was glad that her lover had never thought to coat her
pubic hairs with the thick gel that kept her otherwise unruly
dark brown hair in place.

At last, the two lovers separated.

Jayne sat on one side, her heavy breasts falling down onto
her stomach and one arm around Cath's waist. Her lover
was much thinner than her, just as she was so much
younger, just twenty-five years old but, Jayne was sure,
looking much younger. And this was because she was so
very thin. Her breasts were mostly nipple raised on a much
less prominent bosom, her waist still very slender, and her
arms and legs nearly child-like in their almost total lack of
extraneous fat. Jayne was so lucky to have such a beautiful
lover. What had she ever done to deserve such good
fortune?

"Fuck, Jayne!" Cath exclaimed, flicking the ash from her
cigarette into the ashtray she had placed beside her
outstretched leg, the other crooked and pressed onto Jayne's
womanly thigh. "If you thought by seducing me you'd stop
me going out and seeing my mates, you must have known it
wasn't going to work."

Jayne sighed. That wasn't the intention at all. When she'd
seen Cath sitting there in the armchair watching Eastenders
on television, naked as always, as Jayne was too, she'd just
responded to yet another of her spasms of desire. It seemed
natural, seeing that there was no cigarette alight at that
moment, to stand behind her lover and squeeze her to her
bosom. And Cath, as always, was just as keen as she was to
leave the petty arguments and quarrels of the soap opera to
join Jayne in their shared bed, the recently made sheets
pulled roughly to one side.

"So, you're going out this evening, Cath?" wondered Jayne,
who also wondered why it was Cath thought she kept such
a keen track of her lover's movements.

"Yeah! We're going to a club, me, Penny and Julie. You
know the one, the Pink Pussycat."

"Didn't it used to be called Munchies?"

"That was fucking ages ago."

"And why should I be bothered about you going out to a
night club, sweetest?" Jayne asked meekly, knowing
precisely why.

"You just want me to be a fucking one-woman woman,
Jayne. You don't like it when I have sex with my friends or
with anyone I pick up at the clubs. You're greedy! You just
want me for your fucking self!"

Jayne couldn't deny the truth of that last assertion. She very
much did want Cath for herself. She was undeniably
jealous of her lover, though Cath's occasional dalliances
never seemed to lessen the love she expressed towards her
older partner. But now, of course, Jayne had lost the moral
high ground, since she foolishly confessed to masturbating
that sweet boy on the Ibiza beach during their summer
holiday. She didn't know what had possessed her that time.
Not desire for the boy, she was sure of that, but his obvious
distress regarding his abused girlfriend had affected her
strangely and, she had to admit, she had always harboured a
secret curiosity about male genitals.

Although the confession had brought nothing but tears,
Jayne was actually rather pleased that Cath had taken it so
badly. Cath still reminded her of her 'handjob' as she called
it, but Jayne was quite gratified there was some reciprocal
jealousy in their relationship. Not that this in any way
seemed to lessen Cath's desire to augment her experience of
Sapphic love beyond that they expressed for each other.

"So, don't you fucking try stopping me, Jayne. If I want to
get my tongue on Julie's clit or my fist up Penny's pussy,
that's my fucking business. And if there's some other girl
tonight, femme, butch or undecided, it's just what I want to
do."

"Well, as long as you don't bring your catches home, Cath,"
said Jayne in what she thought was a conciliatory manner,
but instantly regretted her words.

"And why the fuck, can't I? Fuck you, Jayne! You just want
to trap me. Hold me close to your motherly bosom. I'm not
your fucking daughter! I'm a fucking grown woman, with
fucking real desires. And we've never had one of those
exclusive relationships. If I want to fuck another woman,
that's just what I want to do."

Jayne sighed again. She raised her arm from Cath's waist
and ran her fingers through the thick gel in Cath's short
hair, significantly shorter than Jayne's own quite short cut.

"I love you, Cath," she said. "I love you more than anyone
else I've ever loved. But can't you see why I might not be
so happy thinking of another woman's body pressed to
yours? Or another woman's fingers and tongue where mine
have just been?"

"Or me doing the same thing, you mean?" sneered Cath.
"Fucking get used to it, right! That's just what I'm about. If
you don't like it, find some lover who'll stick to you like
some heterosexual wifey."

Jayne sometimes thought that was exactly what she'd
prefer. Most of her gay friends of her own age had more or
less settled down. There were no extra-partner relationships
that muddied their relationships. At no time in Jayne's life
had any of her previous partners had been so openly
unfaithful. Sure, there were the few occasions of infidelity.
Veronica, whom she'd lived with for more than five years,
often bore evidence of scratches and strange bruises that
gave evidence of dalliances beyond Jayne's loving arms,
but at least she'd had the courtesy to deny anything had
happened. Jayne had been unfaithful once or twice, when
she was in her early twenties, when the excitement of
Sapphic love was still new and urgent to her, and she was
hungry for more than what a steady relationship could
offer. But there was something very different about Cath's
blatancy. Perhaps it was just that Jayne was getting too old
to really understand how a younger woman might feel. Or
maybe the younger generation were just less inhibited than
women were in her youth.

Cath got up from the bed and moved over to the dressing
table that dominated one end of the bedroom. She pulled up
a chair and sorted out the make-up she'd apply. Like Jayne,
Cath didn't wear a great deal of make-up. Some natural-
looking lipstick and perhaps some discreet eyeliner. Neither
woman viewed herself as a femme, but then neither were
they exactly butch.

Jayne got up and stood behind Cath. She put her arms
around Cath's slender shoulders and nuzzled her nose in
Cath's short hair. The smell was totally different from that
in Cath's pubes, that was for sure. But Jayne enjoyed both
very different scents.

"You know I love you, Cath. I don't mean to ever make you
feel restricted in any way."

"You're just saying that, Jayne. I know you hate it. And I've
got my eyes on a real pretty girl. Lyena, she's called. I think
she might be Russian or something. She was at the Pink
Pussycat last time I was there. She's got the most delicious
smile. Her hair's a bit long, but it's a kind of russet brown.
And her accent's real sweet. I want to put my nose right
between her legs."

"You do?" asked Jayne. Why did Cath have to torment her
so?

"I want her fist right up me. Her hands are tiny. Her fingers
kinda taper but her fingernails are short. I checked that. I'll
even let her prod my arse. Would you like that, Jayne?
Lyena's fingers up my arse?"

"You know I'd rather you didn't," said Jayne, nuzzling
Cath's pixie-like ears. They were ever so slightly pointed
and she loved the folds inside them. She let her tongue
wander onto one of the small earrings Cath wore.

"Well, fuck you, Jayne," said Cath. "Because that's exactly
what I want to do. And if she's not got a place for us to go
back to, we'll come back here, whatever you think, and
we'll fuck in the living room. That'll keep you fucking
awake!"

"You wouldn't, would you Cath?" Jayne asked, hardly able
to hide her alarm.

"That's exactly what we'll do," said Cath, clearly relishing
Jayne's discomfort. "We'll lie across the sofa, nude, of
course, and I'll get out that purple dildo, the extra big one,
and she'll put it all the way inside me. And you better hear
me come! In fact, everyone in the fucking block will hear
me come!"

Jayne removed her arms from Cath's neck. There was no
reasoning with the girl. They'd agreed long ago that Cath
could do what she wanted as long as she didn't risk
bringing any diseases into their relationship (not that it was
likely) and kept it out of the connubial household. Cath was
just bating her. She feared she might bring up the subject of
Ibiza and handjobs again. And the only reason the subject
had ever come up was when Jayne was telling Cath about
the abuse Paul's girlfriend had suffered. The implications of
it rather frightened her, although she had known the odd
woman who'd been abused when they were younger. But
then, many abused women were so traumatised that lesbian
sex was the only kind they would ever again contemplate.

"You see, Jayne. You just wait and see!" Cath said, putting
on her clothes. On went a short top that revealed all of her
waist almost down to her crotch, moleskin trousers that
stopped somewhat short of her ankles, followed by a small
nylon jacket that came to her navel but even when zipped
up did nothing to hide the slimness of her waist. Last of all,
she put on some booties that made Jayne sigh as she
thought of Cath's beautiful toes hidden inside the leather.

Jayne remained naked as Cath left the flat. A dressing
gown hung near the doorway just in case there was a
surprise visitor. The last thing either Jayne or Cath ever
wanted was for some strange man to see them nude. That
would be humiliating! But as Jayne sometimes fantasised
and Cath sometimes speculated, she wasn't sure she'd mind
so much if that single mum from the first floor came by,
even if she was accompanied by one of her snotty-nosed
children.

And when Cath was gone, the memory persisting of Cath's
parting speculations of just how easy it would be for Lyena
and her to get it together, Jayne was alone, naked. Much as
she liked having the flat to herself, she much preferred
Cath's presence, however noisy and restless she was. And
now what should she do? Watch television? Read a book?
Put on a record and do that sewing she'd put off for so
long?

Jayne riffled through the CDs, finally pulling out that St
Germaine album she liked, with its relaxing jazz samples,
hidden amongst Cath's collection of garage, deep house and
female singer-songwriters. She found the pile of cardigans,
blouses and trousers she'd neglected to repair for so long
and busied herself on the sofa.

All the while she thought of Cath and her time at the Pink
Pussycat. In the early days of their relationship, Jayne
made an effort to accompany Cath on her evenings out, but
the pall of smoke, the loud noise, and the raucous company
was no longer to her taste. Age crept up on you so
sneakingly! There were so few records to which she and
Cath could dance together. Modern dance music was
altogether too fast and percussive for her now. And Cath's
complaint that Jayne was just getting in the way and
making it difficult for her to get off with other women
always rather hurt. Despite her reluctance, Jayne had come
to accept that if she were to have a lover so much younger
than her, it was necessary to be rather more indulgent than
her heart dictated.

As much as Jayne loved Cath, there were occasions when
she looked forward to these evenings alone. Cath could
sometimes get so tiresome, especially when she was
unhappy about something at work that troubled her or when
she complained about how very ordinary her childhood in
Solihull had been. It was no more ordinary than Jayne's
childhood in Guildford, but it had taken less time for Cath
to recognise her sexuality. Whereas Jayne had mostly been
just puzzled, maybe bemused, by her lack of interest in
boys, Cath's discovery had been much more revelatory and
more troublesome to her than had Jayne's. And Jayne hated
it when Cath bated her about her infidelities. How often did
Jayne have to reassure her that she understood and,
although she didn't like it exactly, wasn't going to present
an obstacle to Cath's voracious hunger for female flesh?

Jayne finished her sewing and turned on the TV. The St
Germaine album had long ago finished, but Jayne wasn't
bothered to replace it with another. She flicked through the
channels and settled on a TV drama set in America that
featured a relationship between a man and a woman. Jayne
wished there was more drama that featured the
relationships she understood, though there were the
occasional aspects of heterosexual relationships that
seemed relatively similar. Generally, she much preferred
dramas that told the story from a woman's point of view.

She wasn't sure her curiosity about men was wholly
satisfied by her 'handjob' with Paul. There was no emotion
involved, but she did find the sight of an erect penis
strangely exciting. When she and Cath had used those
penis-shaped dildos, she often wondered just how much it
was like the real thing. She still didn't know, of course. It
was one thing to hold a penis, even to see its semen spurt
out through that tiny hole at the end. What did straight girls
make of all that creamy stuff? It smelt so odd, but, like the
penis itself, it was very warm. She wondered whether one
day she might satisfy her curiosity further and actually let a
man's penis penetrate her. He'd have to use a condom, of
course, and it would have to be a special kind of man,
perhaps a bisexual; one who understood that she had no
interest in a man beyond them being a machine to satisfy
her curiosity.

The very perversity of the thought made her feel quite
warm between her legs, so she stroked her clitoris while
watching the film. There was even a scene where the man
and woman took their clothes off and simulated some kind
of sex. There were no penises on display, of course.
Certainly not erect ones. Would she be as enthusiastic as
the woman in the film? Jayne somehow doubted it,
although the thought of something like Paul's penis
entering her definitely excited her. If only there was a way
to enjoy a penis without the additional consideration of it
being attached to a man.

Jayne stayed up beyond midnight. It was, after all, a
Thursday night. Only one day to the weekend when she and
Cath might take the car out of Islington, maybe out of
London altogether, and head off to somewhere green and
rural. She imagined the blue skies and green fields and
speculated whether there might be a time she could
persuade Cath to leave the city behind. Maybe they could
move to Surrey, maybe even Guildford, far enough away
not to actually live in London, but still able to commute to
their respective jobs: she to the publishing house where she
worked as an editor and Cath to the software house.

Jayne was watching an especially mindless Channel 4 quiz
show when she heard the front door slam shut. Cath entered
the living room still in her top and trousers, the jacket flung
onto the back of the armchair she plopped into. Jayne could
see the expression of disappointment on her lover's young
face.

"Lyena only went off with fucking Julie!" she exclaimed
bitterly. "And Penny picked up this girl with plaits. Some
kind of Dutch girl."

Jayne picked up the remote and turned off the TV. She
smiled at her lover as she fumbled into a packet and pulled
out a cigarette. She lit it and flicked ash into the ashtray
they'd bought in the Ibiza market.

"How are you, Cath sweetheart?" Jayne asked.

"Fucking pissed off is what I am!" Cath replied. "What's
fucking wrong with me, Jayne? Why don't I score as easily
as Julie or Penny? Or Emily or Judith, for that matter?"

Jayne could see that Cath had drunk more than the two or
three glasses of wine she was normally comfortable with.
More than that and she tended to get maudlin and irritable.

"You don't do too badly," Jayne said reassuringly.

"No, I don't. I'm fucking useless. Aren't I, Jayne? I'm just a
fucking failure."

"You do better than I did when I was your age."

"Fuck!" said Cath irritably, flicking her ash contemptuously
into the astray so that the column of ash nearly separated
from the body of the cigarette. "That's no fucking
comparison. At least I got you though, Jayne. You love me,
don't you?"

"Yes," said Jayne standing up and walking towards her
lover, whose clothes would so soon come off her and the
two retreat to bed to resume the lovemaking they'd enjoyed
a few hours later. "That is one thing you can always be sure
of!" 





For More : http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Bradley_Stoke/www

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reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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