My hands that until now had been dormant found a life of their own. My fingers slowly inched their way towards her pert breasts. When they found them the sensation was awe-inspiring. Did my breasts feel this good? All at once I had to taste them, to hold her nipples between my lips. As my tongue caressed her nipple my lip sank into her flesh. My hand fed my mouth. My head turned and the other was equally satisfying.
She pulled my head back to hers. We embraced yet again. Our hips collided in a ravenous manner. She was taller than I was but it made no difference. Our hips were aggressively rubbing, and my frustration was intense. Her hips pulled away from mine, and for one short second I felt denied. Then I felt her hand on my pubic hair line. The tempo had altered. Her kisses became soft again, and she was leading me with her touch. She was kissing my face again. Her fingers seemed to know my body. One finger searching, just teasing, barely touching my tender skin, when the other fingers followed, they already knew where to go. I felt the full weight of her hand. All at once her fingers divided, each one with its own directive. I felt wet through and her fingers easily slid over my most intimate area.
I could take no more. Reflexively, I straddled her, just to realise there was no point. I wanted her inside me. As thorough as she was she couldn’t comply and my insides seemed to ache. Paula tossed me on to my back. Now she was straddling me, my breasts cupped in her hands. Her mouth alternated from left to right only to settle in between. Her fingertips yet again pinched my nipples, but this time much firmer. Her torso was resting on my hips, as she slid herself down, my legs parted. My mind was racing—I knew what was coming. My fear had reached its crescendo. But when I felt Paula’s moist tongue greet my wanton puss, all fear dissipated.
My mind was at war with my body. I didn’t want to come, for if I did, surely that would make me a lesbian, but my body was winning the argument. My own hands were betraying me: they were on Paula’s side, and my thumbs and forefingers were firmly planted on both my nipples. Paula’s hands had total control of my inner thigh, her thumbs teased my greedy opening until I lost all ability to fight her any longer. My body heaved and convulsed stronger than it ever had before. In one movement, Paula was on top of me kissing me yet again. I could taste myself on her lips.
My brain was still reeling when I felt a weight on my hips. I opened my eyes to find that our client had joined us, mounting Paula doggy style. With every thrust, Paula’s puss hit against mine, which was still extremely sensitive. Paula looked totally engrossed in what he was doing, mind you, I knew better. When he came she kissed me again, like he wasn’t even part of the equation.
The three of us lay on the bed stroking and talking but my ears heard nothing of their conversation. I was having my own internal debate, wondering whether I was gay: It all made sense, I’d never had an orgasm from penis penetration, only ever from tongue, surely that made me a lesbian! But I hated the look of vaginas, I had no desire to go down on another girl, so surely that made me straight? I had been known to knock back a cupcake because it had a hair on it, so never in a million years would I crave hairy puss! God, I was so confused!
Would I still be able to face Paula once we left this room, without feeling embarrassed about what we had just shared? Was she gay and would she misconstrue this as more than a job? Would she tell the other girls that a female tongue sent me off like a firecracker?
He wasn’t my client, so I decided to take my leave. I went downstairs, shaken. I couldn’t really face another client, but that was not to be.
At the end of the night, Paula grabbed me.
‘Kate, do you mind if I take a raincheck on our dinner tonight? I’m totally spent.’
I didn’t know how to take it, was she now uncomfortable with me? Or did she no longer need the pretence of buying me dinner? Or was I looking too deeply into it?
I told her, ‘No, I’m totally knackered too, let’s do it another night.’
That night I went home and thought of Ben. I had made mad love to him hundreds of times, but he had never gone down on me or made me come. But I knew I loved him and was still satisfied by every touch he ever offered me. I wondered if I’d be as satisfied by my relationship with Ben if I wasn’t getting the occasional orgasm at work. Why hadn’t he ever asked me if I had climaxed? Why hadn’t he ever wanted to go down on me? I knew he wasn’t a selfish prick, so why didn’t he seem to care about my sexual pleasure?
18
Louise Gets a Bollocking