Copyright: These characters are mine and mine alone.  If you think you know these people, you’re wrong. Copyright © 2003 by BJ Gale. All Rights Reserved.

Sexual Content: That’s pretty much the idea. If you’re bothered by a consensual sexual relationship between two adult women, drop the mouse and step away from the computer.  If you’re under 18, come back when you’re older.  If this type of fiction is illegal where you live, please move.

Language: Sometimes those pesky characters just insist on using profanity.  What can I do about it?  If you are bothered by that, you don’t want to meet these people anyway.

Virgin:  No, the story doesn’t involve virgins.  It’s my first story.  It’s the first sex scene I’ve ever written.  If you like it, great!  I want to hear about it.  If you don’t, I’m sorry, but good feedback will do nothing but improve the future stories, so get off your butt and send some to bjgale@ameritech.net.

Acknowledgements: Beta readers.  Where would bards be without them?  Probably in a bar somewhere.  Thanks a bunch to Chuck, HellHagg, Lorie, and Sequins.  You guys are the best!





by BJ Gale



As I checked into the station for the beginning of my shift, I knew this was going to be a good night.  I’m not psychic or anything; Tuesdays are always good nights.  That’s when I get to spend a few sweaty hours before work in the most delectable female company.  Not in the way you’re thinking – but close.

On Tuesdays I attend tae kwon do class at my dojang.  Here’s some free advice for you: if you find yourself crunching ice cubes because your horizontal dance card is empty – take up a martial art.  You’ll find some inner peace through the discipline.  Or at least you’ll have an excuse to pin some hot, sweaty woman to the mat.

I don’t want to give you the impression that I don’t take my art seriously.  I do, and I have the black belt to prove it.  Honestly, like right here in my pocket!  Okay, so it’s a fairly recent accomplishment, and I’m still on a high – don’t tell anyone, okay?

Here in San Francisco a lot of people take art forms seriously, but there’s one woman in particular that interests me.  Her name is George.  I’m assuming it’s really Georgina or something, and her mother wasn’t just a closet case with a Nancy Drew fixation.  She seems to be a recent transplant because she has the most delightful Midwestern accent.  She’s blonde and beautiful and apparently was the inspiration for all the corny, homespun compliments you’ve ever heard.  Heck, I never even knew what a peaches-and-cream complexion was until I met her.

Maybe “met” is putting too fine a point on it.  She just started at the dojang a few months ago.  As a black belt it’s my business to meet the new folks and help them out, but it’s not like we’ve been social.  There’s a pretty strict code of conduct I have to adhere to, so our entire relationship has consisted of my helping her with her forms.  Well, that’s the only part of our relationship that she’s aware of – we’re actually carrying on a torrid little affair during my non-waking hours.

That’s why Tuesdays are always such good nights.  First, I get two hours of toning my body to show it who’s boss while fantasizing about showing her as well.  And then I get to go to work and ride around with a couple hundred pounds of pure power vibrating between my legs.

Nothing can ruin this mood.  Not even a cocky rich bastard in a red convertible who drives like he owns the place.  His car may cost a couple of years’ worth of my paychecks, but tonight it’s not going to get me down.  I flip on my siren and casually take off after him.  After a few moments, he screeches to the curb, clearly signifying what an imposition I am.  Another piece of free advice from me to you, folks: if you act like Officer Friendly is wasting your time… she will.

I gently pull my bike to the side of the road, turn off the siren and ignition, drop the kickstand, and slow as you please, lift my leg over the back.  I’m only 5’4”, so my recently taxed thigh muscles have to stretch to accomplish the task.  It’s an enjoyable sensation.  I can still feel a ghostly motor humming between my legs.  Nope, nothing’s going to ruin this mood, I think to myself, as I remove my helmet and hang it on the handlebars.

I resettle my gun belt around my hips and begin my swagger toward the driver’s side of the car.  I walk heavily on my heels, and as each boot strikes the pavement, it sends a shock wave straight up the inside of my thigh.

Okay, come on, Officer McCaine.  Get your head out of your crotch and into the game.  You never know when a traffic stop can turn nasty.  Just because Joe Public is driving a designer car doesn’t mean he isn’t hopped up on designer drugs and sporting an itchy trigger finger.

I take a deep breath to clear my head and run my hands through my cropped brown hair.  After a quick roll of my shoulders, I saunter up to the driver’s rolled-down window, the fingers on my right hand wiggling to stay limber, in case I find myself in need of a quick draw.

“License and registration, please,” I say automatically.  It’s a good thing I’m wearing my Aviator sunglasses, so the driver can’t see my eyes bug out of my head.  He is a she, and she is George.

“Why, Officer…” she glances to my name badge, “McCaine, what seems to be the problem?”  Her gaze makes me painfully aware of the badge’s proximity to my rapidly hardening nipple.

“Well, Miss…” I suddenly realize she is wearing a name badge as well.  I clear my throat.  “Miss Boyd, you were doing twice the legal limit.  What’s your hurry?”

Wait a minute – my mind races.  Why is she wearing a name badge? Her shirt is white.  Is she – a nurse or something?  No. What I can see of her outfit is way too tailored for that.

“Actually, no hurry,” she replies, flippantly with a sexy grin.  “After class tonight, I had a quick meeting with my C.O. at the base, but the rest of the night is my own.”

C.O.? Base? Shit.  Suddenly recognizing the dress whites, I realize I’ve been lusting after a naval officer!  Luckily, she didn’t ask and I didn’t tell.

“S-so,” I stammer, “What is it that you do in the service?” hoping against hope that it’s something completely unstimulating, like payroll or requisitions.

“I’m a pilot.”

Double shit.  A flygirl.  A bead of sweat breaks out on my forehead.    I feel my pulse quicken…against the inseam of my uniform pants. 

            “Um, that must be interesting,” I comment inanely.

            “Yes.  It’s quite a thrill to have that much power humming beneath you.  But I’m guessing you know all about that.”

            What? Is she coming on to me? Oh.  She means the motorcycle.

            She raises one eyebrow, waiting for a response.

            Okay, she may mean the motorcycle, but she is definitely coming on to me.  Suddenly, I’m a lot less nervous, and I’m beginning to enjoy myself.  Little girl, you are playing with fire.  And I think you like it.

            “So, Officer…” she continues, when I don’t reply.  She nervously darts a tongue across her upper lip, and I am suddenly inspired.

            “Call me Sarge,” I say, gruffly dropping my voice an octave, which produces the desired shiver in her.

            “Um, Sarge… what happens next?”
            The right side of my mouth curls up involuntarily.

            “I think I’m going to have to take you… in.”

            “I’ll follow you,” she whispers obediently.

            I turn abruptly and saunter back to my ride.  I know she’s watching my retreat in her rear view mirror.  I don’t even look up toward the car when I mount my bike again.  I settle in, and before starting the vehicle, I make a quick call to the station.  Still smiling, I tell them I’ve caught something, then rudely make a sneezing noise into the mic.

“For Chrissake, McCaine, that’s gross,” the dispatcher squawks back at me. “Do us a favor and don’t come back to the station tonight.”

“You’re the boss,” I concur, ironically, and treat him to a loud sniffle before signing off.  Suddenly, my schedule has freed up as well.  I replace my helmet with a grin.  I certainly never expected this!

I start up my bike again.  The vibration is too much to deal with if I’m going to make it home safely.  I sit back further on my butt and maneuver off the shoulder.  There’s barely any traffic, and George pulls out behind me easily.

My rental’s only mile and a half away, and as I pull off onto the residential streets, the BMW follows dutifully.  That’s the thing about chicks in the military, I muse – they’re good at taking orders.

I pull up the walk at the one bedroom house I call home.  To call it “modest” would be an understatement.  It doesn’t have a garage, or a driveway, but it has a small yard surrounded by a high fence, which is great for my dogs and for stashing my own bike under a “bikeport” I built myself.

I coax the vehicle through the gate while George secures her cherry red come-fuck-me-mobile on the street.  I leave the gate open, and she eventually follows me back.

When she appears at the opening, her face doesn’t hide her surprise that my bike is still running, and I’m still straddling it… backwards.  My arms are folded over my chest and I’m still sporting my shades.  I hope I look menacing. 

“Shut the gate,” I command, and she complies.  Like a good little soldier, she stands and waits for further instructions, so I take the opportunity to appraise her from top to bottom.  Even through my sunglasses, she knows I’m doing it.  I don’t care.

Her honey-colored hair is pulled back in a severe bun.  I already know it’s wavy when unrestrained because by the end of class, when she’s all hot and sweaty, uncooperative tendrils work their way loose and curl about her cheeks and temples.  Her fair skin has been kissed by the California sun in the months she’s been here, and I absently wonder where her tan lines are.  I’m going to have to conduct an investigation.

Her crisp dress uniform shirt is tucked neatly into an equally crisp skirt.  My eyes travel down her legs and I notice that she’s not wearing nylons.  Now that can’t be regulation, honey.  I bet she stashed them in the glove compartment.  I like a woman who comes prepared.  Her feet are encased in low black pumps.  I find it amazing how the right woman can make even regulation military footwear alluring.

  “What’s your rank, officer?” I ask.  She tells me.  Comparing her world to mine, I believe she totally fucking outranks me.  I smile again.


She honest-to-God sashays over toward me, while reaching back with one hand to let her hair loose.  It erupts in a riot of shoulder-length curls and suddenly I’m reminded of Kelly McGillis in Top Gun.  ‘Take my breath away’ is right.

She stops when she’s within arm’s distance, but I don’t reach out to her.

“What was that you said about power humming beneath you?” I ask, innocently.  She raises one eyebrow.  Damn, I wish I could do that.  “Hop on, honey.”

The other eyebrow joins its mate and she looks down, palms out, obviously in reference to what she feels is inappropriate attire.  I don’t take kindly to defiance.  I slide my nightstick out of its holster and slowly run it up her calf and under her skirt.  The fabric begins to rise, giving me the first glimpse of her toned thighs.  With a sudden motion, I reholster my weapon and cross my arms again.

“I said, ‘Hop on,’” I say more firmly, my face once again stern.  After only a moment’s hesitation, she grasps the fabric of her skirt, and begins to shimmy it up her long, golden legs.  She stops just short of their apex and I hold back a moan.  Obediently, with her right hand still grasping her skirt, and her left hand on the seat of my bike, she lifts her leg over.

She wobbles unsteadily on her heel for just a second and I reach out to grab her waist to steady her.  She sits, her panties in direct contact with the leather of the seat, and purrs in pleasure.  That’s gonna leave a mark.

I move my hands lightly down her hips to the silky skin of those thighs.  When I reach the back of her knees, I pull them gently upwards.  Catching on quickly, she places her hands behind her to steady herself as I pull her toward me.  I place her thighs over mine, then run my hands back up her legs and behind her.  Grabbing her luscious ass, I squeeze and force her body more firmly into mine.  She moans at the increased contact, but the sound is cut off because I’ve already claimed her mouth.

She is, quite simply, delicious.  I kiss her hard, and quickly my tongue escapes its bounds and delves forward to meet hers.  George is wrapping her arms around my shoulders and her legs grip mine, such that she’s lifting herself off the seat.

Although I’m thoroughly enjoying kissing and sucking her lips, my whole body is screaming for more.  That just won’t do.  She’s supposed to be the one screaming.  With one hand, I reach down further between her legs, from behind.  I can feel the wetness that’s already seeped all the way through her panties, and begin to stroke the soft tissues I can feel underneath.

After a minute, it’s obvious she doesn’t know which way to turn, so to speak.  On the one hand, George’s leg muscles are contracting with pleasure, her sex grinding into my belt.  Handy piece of equipment, that.  On the other hand, when the muscles relax, she arches her back in an effort to move more of her pleasure center within reach of my roaming fingers.  If the mountain won’t go to Mohammed…

Alas, this approach will only get us so far.

Reluctantly, I take a last nibble on her lower lip, then release her.

“Inside,” I command.  I’ve always been a woman of few words.

George is breathing heavily, so I allow her a moment to compose herself.  Realizing that she’s going to have to get off first she releases her grasp around my neck and grips my biceps to steady herself as she dismounts.  As soon as she’s solidly on her feet, I feel around behind me for the keys and turn off the ignition.  I ease myself off the bike as well, and lead her to the back door.

I fumble with my keys, my fingers protesting the fact that I’ve interrupted their previous pursuit.  Finally, however, I manage to get the right key in the lock.

My mind is so far ahead of me when I open the door that I forget about the two frisky German Shepherds whose day will be made by my unexpected early arrival.  George squeaks and jumps behind me as Rico and Benny barrel toward us.  Fortunately they aren’t the smartest members of the household, and I manage to maneuver us quickly to the inside while coaxing them outside.  Having accomplished this, I realize only in their absence that George’s hands have grasped the back of my jacket in her surprise.  That’s right, honey, I’ll take good care of you.

The back door leads directly into the kitchen, where I deftly grab two ice cold beers from the fridge with one hand while placing the other on the small of George’s back and leading her toward the bedroom.   

I attempt to draw George over toward the bed, but before we reach it, she has already turned around in the circle of my arm, simultaneously kissing my neck and assaulting the top button of my uniform shirt with her – thankfully – short, red nails.

“Hold on just a minute, there,” I chuckle as I push her gently away.  “You’re quite the speed demon, I know, but I’m going to teach you some patience.  Sit.” I point to the bed.

With a cocky toss of her locks, George plants herself on the edge of the bed.  She crosses her legs at the knee, lifting her skirt farther than necessary to accomplish the task, and folds her hands neatly in her lap.  She’s the picture of innocence.  That’s not going to last long under my watch.

My first order of business after setting the beers on the nightstand is to secure my gun in the lock box I keep in my closet.  I may be horny, but I’m not stupid.  That done, I drop my leather jacket on the closet floor and saunter back to the bed.

I make a big show of removing all my other equipment, dropping each piece loudly on the dresser.

Walkie-talkie.  Thunk.

Wallet.  Thud.

Handcuffs.  Clank.

“What? No handcuffs?” George asks mockingly.  I just stare at her for a moment, then reach gently into my pocket and start pulling out one end of my black belt.  Boy, I’m glad I kept that handy.

I just pull and pull and her eyes are growing wider and wider and when it’s finally all the way out of my pocket, I snap my wrist and send it to rest, dangling over the headboard.

“Oh,” I hear her whisper, faintly.

Sunglasses.  Clunk.


Nope.  I make as if to add it to the growing pile, but instead walk it over to the nightstand, and lay it gently down.  I hear a sharp intake of breath behind me.

Turning, I see I’ve put a flush on her cheeks and I feel like I’ve got sparklers shooting off in my belly.  Or maybe a bit more southerly than that.  I kick off my boots and practically trip over them in my eagerness to feel her heat in person, and I have to firmly remind myself that I said I’m taking it slow.  Me and my bright ideas.

Once again standing in front of her, I put out my hand, palm up.  Confused, she puts her hand in mine, and I pull her back up from the bed.  “Your job for the time being,” I explain, “is to stand there and look beautiful.”
            Her blush deepens, which only adds to her appeal.  With one finger, I trace the boundaries of her blush, across her cheeks, over the tips of her ears, down her neck.  Then I make the same circuit with my mouth.  With my tongue.  A moan escapes her.

I suck gently on the soft patch of skin just behind one earlobe as I start to run my hands up and down the length of her form.  Lightly.  Gently.  Didn’t know I had it in me. Neither did she.  I’m barely even touching her clothes, but I can see that my message is being transmitted to her skin, just the same.  Surveying my domain, I see goosebumps on the exposed flesh of her arms.

Although I only graze her breasts with the smallest touch, I can already sense her nipples straining to meet me halfway.  George herself tries to lean into my caress, but she is denied.  The more she approaches, the more I retreat, and I keep up an even, teasing contact.  Suddenly, I fill both my hands completely with her breasts, and squeeze her nipples firmly between each thumb and forefinger.  She squeals in shock or delight. Both, I imagine, as the sound opens my own floodgates.  Gauging my readiness level as a proxy for hers, I decide it’s time for more.

I gaze intently into her deep blue eyes as I slowly ease her uniform shirt from the confines of her skirt.  Once it’s free, I start on the buttons.  Still, I maintain my focus.  I decide to make it a little challenge for myself.  I’ve undressed this woman with my eyes so many times already, I have to will myself to go slowly.  I’m going to strip her bare without losing eye contact.  The upside is, it’s a great excuse to let my hands wander.

After I slide her shirt over her shoulders and toss it to the side, I get to feel around for the clasp of her bra.  Ah, it must be in the front.  My fingers take the scenic route and get to see her gorgeous eyes darken with arousal as I brush against her nipples once again.

With that obstruction removed, in my peripheral vision I can see her breasts bouncing provocatively in an effort to catch my attention.  I resist, and my hands continue on their quest.  They make short work of her skirt, but before I remove the last barrier, I can’t resist quickly cupping her sex with my palm, to see if she is really as wet as I remembered.  Ah, even more so.  She groans and I squeeze my hand lightly in appreciation.  Through the thin cotton fabric of her panties I can already tell her sex has blossomed, eager to absorb more of my loving attention.  I close my eyes in a moment of silent reflection, honoring her gift.  I slide the garment past her thighs, and it drops to the floor.  After she steps out of both skirt and panties, I open my eyes once more and fully take in the sight of her.

“You’re exquisite,” I profess.  She smiles, which brings a smile to my face as well.

For starters, no tan lines.  And apparently her blush doesn’t end at her collar bone.  She’s rosy right down to her puckered areolas.  Her nipples are so tight and red and reminiscent of a “cherry on top” that I can’t resist taking one, then the other, into my mouth.  I suck and swirl around them with my tongue as my hands stroke the supple plane of her abdomen.  She is all woman, with soft curves moderating her battle-hardened muscles.  Below, a dusting of pale yellow curls is glistening with her moisture.  This is so much better than my dreams.

Her sweet, musky scent rises up to meet me.  As I rise, I lick my lips in anticipation.  The heat I’m generating is making even my light uniform shirt uncomfortable, so I quickly pull it out of my pants.  George’s audible swallow encourages me.

“Oh, you liked that, did you?” George nods.  I chuckle and reach for my top button.  I can feel her eyes devour me as I remove my uniform shirt.  My ribbed tank is plastered to my body and George reaches out to rake her nails across my abs.

“Uh uh,” I chastise her, backing away quickly.  “No touching.  Yet.  You need to keep your hands to yourself.”  Leaving the rest of my clothes in place for now, I kneel on the bed and gently guide her to do the same.

After a quick, searing kiss, I grasp her bare hips firmly, motioning for her to turn.  With her back to me, I wrap one arm completely around her tiny waist and mold her body to mine.  She wiggles her ass and I growl.  Apparently, she doesn’t need her hands to stoke my fires.  Lucky her.  Lucky me.

I bring my mouth to her shoulder and bite the flesh I find there.  Her muscles tense, but then I suck the skin I’ve claimed and she relaxes again with a moan.  I suspect her clenching has released another round of juices, but I resist the temptation to find out.

With one hand, I raise her arm to my waiting mouth.  I kiss and lick down from her shoulder, but stop my progress when I reach the inside of her elbow.  I bend her arm slightly, and apply my questing tongue to the crease that’s formed.  I lap the length of it, alternating strokes.  First, with just the tip of my tongue.  Next, with the flat of the muscle, fully exploring her skin.

George’s luscious aroma wafts up to me, and I imagine performing this ritual on the crease at the top of her thighs.  I can tell George is of a similar mindset, as she begins rocking rhythmically against me.  Man, I want to come already.

Quickly, I grasp a wrist in each hand and place her palms next to each other, over the mission-style headboard.  I see her knuckles whiten as her hands tighten on the frame.  “Good girl,” I purr in her ear, and nuzzle her hair for emphasis.  She smells like vanilla.  And sex.

I release one of her wrists and grasp my black belt.  Clutching it, I bring the coarse material to her face and stroke her cheek.  Proceeding down past her neck, I rub the fabric against her turgid nipples.  I want to continue further, but as it is, I’m already going to think of her sweaty naked form every time I wear it.

I maneuver the belt through the headboard slats, and wrap it sturdily around her wrists.  After one more time over the top of the frame, I bring the ends together, then slide them under one of her hands.  She’s securely attached, yet completely at her own mercy.

“Let’s see if you can be trusted,” I muse as my hands travel back up her arms.  I spread my fingers wide to cover as much surface area as I can and begin to explore every inch of her: her back, her calves, her breasts, her inner thighs.  Oh, I can feel her wetness even there, as I feel my own pool.

With my right hand, I take full possession of her mound, as the other hand claws madly at the closure of my uniform pants.  My fingers are coated with her pleasure.  With my left hand, I manage to release my zipper.  George shivers at the sound.

I can’t seem to get my pants and briefs off my hips fast enough, and finally my own center is pressing, unfettered, against her ass.  I stroke the entire length of her and grip her hipbones firmly, pressing her to my need.

“Please,” she gasps.  “Your shirt.  I need to…to feel you.”

I remove the offending garment so fast I think I’ve ripped it.  My hands re-take their home and I begin to thrust forcefully against her.  My breasts crash repeatedly against her muscular back.

Just like on the bike, I’ve got her coming and going.  I position two fingers flat against her petals and hold them steady.  However, the motion of grinding herself against me means I’m stroking her as well.  I see her fists clench and strain against her bonds, yet George’s rocking is calling all the shots.  Her hips move faster and faster, and I feel her slippery clit dancing across my fingertips.

“That’s it, baby,” I encourage her.  Her breaths are short bursts and I know she’s about to come…and take me with her.  Indeed, as her cry splits the air, I come like I haven’t been laid in months.  Okay, I haven’t.  Not since George first walked into my dojang.  And now every muscle quakes in celebration of her.

As our breathing begins to slow, I’m still holding tightly to her.  After a long moment of simply glorying in the feel of her skin on mine, I release her.  She whimpers, and I move to reassure her quickly.

“Don’t worry, darlin’,” I smile, “I’m not done with you yet.”  I stand just long enough to fully remove my remaining clothing – my pants were still around my knees, I was in such a hurry.  I determine to take it slower this time.  I regain the bed, this time on my back, positioning my head between her legs.  I reach up past her buttocks to grasp her waist and pull her toward me.

“They got you running laps over at the base?” I query between light kisses to her moist inner thighs.

“Yes,” she breathes.

“Good thing,” I reply, “because you’re going to get a quite a workout here.”  I draw her even closer.  “You hold steady there,” I instruct her, as I pass the tip of my tongue lightly against her outer lips.  She jumps, and is momentarily out of my reach.  I don’t pursue, but instead let her seek me.  I catch her eye as she lowers herself once more.  This time, at my tentative touch, she closes her eyes and a groan escapes her.  I could listen to that sound all day.

George’s visits are tentative at first.  For just a moment, she dips to meet me.  I eagerly lap at her offering, but she quickly pulls away.  I realize from her gasps that, just having come, her nerve endings are still extremely sensitive.  I tell myself that I can wait.  I mean, I was supposed to be teaching patience, wasn’t I?

It doesn’t take long for her need to gain the upper hand, and soon she is no longer drawing away from me.  Rather, she is pressing herself closer.  My strokes, which had started softly out of necessity, can now more forcefully broadcast my intent.

The taste of her makes my mouth water.  When George rocks her hips into me, I take the opportunity to satisfy my appetite by pressing my tongue against her entrance.  She groans, and her essence flows into me.  Back and forth I explore the length of her.  Her clit is hard as a marble and demands my intimate attention.  I flick it firmly with my tongue and instantly feel her thighs flex around me.  I navigate her soft petals of skin, tracing the edges delicately.  And again, I return to her center and impale her.  Her inner muscles grip my tongue firmly.  Suddenly, she is also gripping my head.  I feel George’s hand insinuate itself between me and the pillow.  I can barely breathe as she holds me to her womanhood, but find that I don’t want to.  I’m willing to die like this, but oh, her hand is now in a fist.  I thrust my tongue repeatedly, almost straining it with my efforts.  She pulls my hair as her hips begin to buck involuntarily, and her scream of ecstasy sends shivers down my spine for the second time.

I still my tongue but don’t move away.  In one hand, she still holds the headboard and one end of my black belt.  I still grasp her waist tightly to support her.  Her tight muscles are shaking from fatigue, but still she straddles me as the last aftershocks of her orgasm escape her body.

Finally, her head slumps and she sighs.  I tenderly help her maneuver her leg over me.  She drops the belt entirely and falls to the bed.  She is suddenly too damn far away, and I hurriedly slip an arm under her head and pull her to me.  The first feel of her entire sweaty, naked body pressed against mine is electrifying, and I can’t resist throwing one leg over hers.  She quickly maneuvers her top leg between my dripping thighs and our lower halves are completely entwined.  Her curls kiss my leg lightly and I can feel my inner walls clench.

We kiss, and this time it is not forceful or hurried.  It is sharing.  Tasting herself on my lips, George is inspired to explore my entire mouth with her tongue.  As she licks and sucks me, I surrender to her attentions, my head falling back to the pillow.

She pauses for a moment, and our eyes lock.  Her blue eyes are still darkened with desire, and I wonder if it is even humanly possible for me to get enough of this woman.

“You’re beautiful and amazing,” I croak.  Her eyes widen in surprise and she chuckles as I reach for a beer on the nightstand.

“Me?” she asks incredulously.  “What did I do?” I hand her a bottle and take a swig from mine.

“The way you shake that little ass of yours makes me so hot.”

“Is that so?” she asks, and wiggles her hips for emphasis.  I growl as her movement causes her thigh to press against my pussy.  Her eyes widen again.  “I see you’re not kidding,” she teases, as she presses her thigh into my center.  “You’re hot alright.  And soooo wet.”

George rolls me onto my back and takes the beer bottle from my hand, placing it on the nightstand.  I find myself staring at the appendage, wondering why it allowed her to do that.  As she gets a wicked glint in her eye it occurs to me that I’ve lost control over this encounter.

“You like being wet, don’t you, Sarge?”

I just swallow and nod.

“Good,” she says, and the next thing I know, she’s dripped cold beer on my breast.  Involuntarily, my body tries to sit up from the shock, and her mouth clamps firmly around my nipple to lick off the beer.  Surrendering, I fall back down into the pillows.

She takes a swig from the bottle and smiles.  This time I see it coming, and only flinch slightly when my other nipple is similarly doused.  I can feel rivulets of the amber liquid streaming down the sides of my breast, and this time she takes them slowly, catching each drop on her tongue, and tracing its path back toward its source.  She studiously avoids the actual peak until each renegade drop is dealt with.  Then, she blows gently on my pink nub.  I watch, amazed, as it grows larger and harder than I had though possible.

Slowly, she takes another swig from her bottle, and it’s all I can do not to beg her to put it down and get back to the business at hand…or mouth.

As if reading my mind, she places it next to its mate.  “Thanks for the beer.  You think of everything.”  Apparently not, I’m learning.

She kisses me on the lips again, bringing her body to rest completely on top of mine in the process.  The weight of her on me is delicious.  I strive to keep some semblance of cool, to keep my hips steady when all they want to do is surge against her.  As her kisses begin moving down to my chin and my neck, my hands roam over as much of her skin as I can reach.

“My cum and your sweat.  What a delightful combination,” she breathes in my ear.  A leg has insinuated itself between mine, and the sound of her talking dirty to me makes me squeeze her cheeks.  I press my center into her without thinking, and I know we can both tell the effect her words have on me.  I am dripping with desire.  Alas, I’m forced to release her ass as she slides her body down me further, stopping once again at my breasts.

Ah, they’ve missed her in just those few minutes, but it was worth the wait.  She licks one and fondles the other, suckling me intensely while kneading my flesh.  She nips a bud and simultaneously drags the nails of one hand down my exposed torso.  My screaming nerve endings register the sensation as hot needles raking over me.  In a good way.  I glance down.  Sure enough, my fair skin is sporting four pink parallel tracks down my stomach.  I know they’ll fade in a moment, but I wish they wouldn’t.

And suddenly, I have other important things to think about, because George’s fingers are drawing patterns in my short hairs.  In all my daydreams, let me assure you that I was not bringing this woman home for her to fuck me, but now I find it’s the only thing I want.  I am brazenly spreading my legs for her, inviting – no, begging – her entrance.

“Please,” I pant before I realize what I’m doing.  This is going to ruin my tough girl image, but George smiles and seems honored by the request.  She complies quickly, parting my lips with her fingers, and my hips rise in appreciation.  George dips her fingers into my pool of honey and rubs it liberally around my pussy and over my hypersensitive clit.  I gasp with pleasure and need.

Leaning on her other elbow, George places her hand over my breast and her chin on the back of her hand.  She strokes my pussy and makes it purr as she plays with my nipple with her thumb and forefinger.  She looks deeply into my eyes, and I can’t draw mine away.  I stare at her, rapt, as her dialogue begins again.

“You feel so wonderful,” she says, “like silk.”  I’m breathing so hard, I can’t respond.  I have a feeling a verbal response is not required.

“You know,” she continues, “I enjoyed sitting on your motorcycle, but I much prefer riding you.”  She seems to sense my need and rubs me harder.  “I couldn’t believe how wet you made me.  You made me crazy.  I wanted to press my pussy into you so hard.”  Hard, yes, hard.  “And then when I felt your tongue inside me…”

With that, she impales me with two fingers.  I clutch at her arm as my inner muscles close eagerly around her fingers.  Neither of us ever wants to let go.

I breathe, though, and will myself to relax, pursuing the promise of more pleasure to come.  Sensing my readiness, George begins to plunge deeply in and out of me.  At each thrust, she rubs my clit with her thumb.

I’m on fire as my hips repeatedly strain upwards to take all she has.  She is still watching me and as her brows furrow and she licks her lips, I realize how much she is enjoying this as well.  That knowledge is like fuel poured over my body and I feel the burning of my orgasm begin to take over.

Hips thrust, thighs strain, and my head is thrown back as I grab her tightly.  At the peak of my ascent, George wiggles her fingers against my walls and I scream my release.  As I fall back on the bed, I can still feel my body periodically clutching around her fingers.  When it finally stops, she withdraws.  I moan at the loss, and she cups my sex, holding me tenderly.

How can you describe such a marvelous… destruction?  All my defenses crumbled before this woman, and I can’t imagine even being the person I was yesterday.

“Can I see you again?” It sounds completely inadequate, I know.  And probably desperate.

She chuckles.  “You mean, like a date?”

“Yes.”  A date.  Anything.

She tilts her head, as if considering.

“Okay,” she finally relents.  “But you have to pay.  You wouldn’t believe the number of speeding tickets I got, trying to get you to catch me.”

My entire body smiles.

“Maybe next time we’ll even get around to using that nightstick you left on the table,” George purrs in my ear.

I moan just thinking about it.  This one’s a keeper.







Feed the bard at bjgale@ameritech.net


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