Amanda picked up a cushion and hurled it angrily against the wall.
What a day; what a sweaty, rushed off her feet, pandemonium of a day. It seemed that everyone in town had chosen that day to shop at the store, and to put the cap on it some of the staff had called in sick, and those who had turned up for work were hard put to cope. Things had reached rock bottom when two of the girls, tempers frayed and worn, had erupted into a blazing argument over some trivial matter and, while it might have amused the army of customers to watch the two red-faced assistants screaming and swearing at each other, Amanda, as the Department Supervisor, had been burdened with the unwelcome chore of stepping in to sort it out. She’d pacified the two contestants successfully, and restored a measure of calm, but by the end of the day she’d felt like she’d been fed through some kind of wringer. She was squeezed, she was drained.
She went over to the drinks cabinet, and made herself a large vodka and lime. She sipped at it gratefully.
No, if she was honest with herself, it wasn’t just because of the work that she was feeling low. It was because things weren’t too good in the pussy area.
Or, rather, because things were too good in the pussy area.
For the first time that day she felt a small, brief tug at the corners of her mouth. What an irony; to be down in the dumps because things were going well. Ridiculous, in fact; but that was the way it was.
And at the bottom of it was, of course, Denise. Full breasted, curvy, luscious Denise, who gave her some of the most glorious, most unforgettable comes of her life.
It had been all right before Amanda had met her. She’d been having a good time, living a busy social life, and, as the phrase has it, getting her fair share.
Yes, certainly she’d had her share, her quim had been the recipient of more than enough attention to keep her, or anybody else, happy.
Warmed and relaxed by the vodka, she retrieved the cushion from the floor, replaced it on the sofa, and sat down, her thoughts drifting slowly back. Back to Gillian.
She’d been well-connected, had Gillian; she knew a lot of prominent people, had well-off friends.
Their first time together was when Gillian had invited her to a party held on a private beach on the south coast. It had all sounded fascinating, although Gillian had shruggingly referred to it as “you know, just a few girls getting away from it all for a while, sort of thing.”
There’d been some people there that she’d recognized; a woman she’d seen playing a couple of supporting roles in television dramas, the lead singer of a new pop group, two models, and a newspaper columnist. There’d been champagne and good food on the hot golden sands by the calm blue sea, and she’d enjoyed the day.
Gillian had blonde hair, and friendly green eyes. She was quite short, but her body was as sinuous and winding as a country road, it seemed to Amanda. She was a pleasing sight in her minimalist bikini as she went off down to the water to swim a few strokes to cool off, or stretched out beside her, a bottle poised to refill their glasses.
After a day of her physical nearness and the sun bestowing its languid sensuality on her, Amanda was not sorry when, after a deep blue night had fallen, Gillian led her away to a quiet hollow nestling among the grass-topped sand dunes. From the way that the other women had been quietly pairing off and disappearing, she’d known what the interests of the guests had turned to.
She lay down without waiting for any prompting, and Gillian knelt beside her. Her fingers neatly undid the ties of Amanda’s bikini bottom, and removed it. The cooler night air flowing in around her slit was a treat in itself.
She heard a whisper of cloth, and knew that Gillian was removing her own skimpy outfit. She smiled to herself; the silly woman had forgotten her top. She was bound to want to get to grips with Amanda’s tits; better do her a favor, and get them out herself.
She wasn’t mistaken. Gillian’s first move was to come down on her now nude boobs. After kissing them all over, she sucked a nipple into her mouth, and gently bent it this way and that with her skilful, adept tongue. Amanda instinctively arched her back to push the nipple in deeper.
Gillian then enclosed the second tit in her hand. Amanda sighed her appreciation, massaging Gillian’s tanned shoulders as Gillian tongued and thumbed the nipples.
Amanda pushed her groin into her to signal what she wanted next, and Gillian understood. She pressed her hand against Amanda’s belly, then all the way down. As she approached her target, Amanda opened her legs to welcome her.
Gillian’s hand arrived at Amanda’s yearning cunt and cupped it. Then she began a slow, rhythmic kneading, each movement creating flares and sparks deep inside Amanda’s joy tunnel.
Amanda had a sudden urge to get to know Gillian’s fanny in her turn, and began to caress it lightly and delicately with her fingertips, running forwards and backwards along its rift. Gillian’s breathing, already heavy, became a wind of passion at her ear.
Then Gillian brought her lips down again on Amanda’s nipples, changing quickly from one to the other, and that, together with the insistent hand roaming freely all over her quim, brought her, almost sobbing with the incandescent pleasure of it all, to her own come time. She held on to Gillian like a life belt as she was tossed around on a turbulent ocean of delight, an ocean whipped into a storm by Gillian’s gorgeous ministrations to that vital spot tucked between her thighs.
Their affair had been good while it lasted, but they’d drifted apart eventually. Gillian had gone off as one of a group sailing around the Mediterranean, and although they’d promised to get together again when she returned, somehow they never did. One solitary postcard from Cyprus was all Amanda ever heard from her. After that – nothing.
Amanda topped up her vodka and lime. Oh well; easy come – she smiled at the pun; it had been easy to come with Gillian – easy go. These things happened. And there were always other women out there, all with their own personal charms and tastes which she could sample as she wished, when she wished.
Girls like Karen. With tastes like Karen.
Karen was almost a direct opposite to Gillian. Where Gillian had been outgoing and keen on socializing, Karen was introverted and disliked large gatherings. She wrote poetry, but apart from a few which had passed the test of acceptance and been published, she refused to show her work to Amanda. Modest and unsure of herself, Amanda thought.
Physically, too, they were opposites. Karen was taller, with long curly black hair contrasting intriguingly with her eyes of washed out blue. She looked like the poet she was, wrapped in an aura of sensitivity.
There was one area, however, where she was very much the reverse of restrained . . .
It had begun simply enough.
They’d stayed behind at the badminton club for extra practice after the other members had left. The game over, they’d had a quick shower, and while they were drying off and chatting, Amanda had, in a fit of playfulness, flicked her towel across Karen’s bare bum. It was only a light slap, but the look that passed over Karen’s face had been unmistakable. And it inspired in Amanda a feeling she’d never known before.