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What was I going to do about Julie? The question dogged my mind, even as the mere mental mention of her name sent prickling thrills through my body. My nipples perked up, and a sweet dampness slicked my pussy.

Julie glowed in my thoughts. Her lovely bare body spun in my memory. Those firm luscious breasts. The soft enticing globes of her ass. That peach of a pussy I so loved to lick and lick. Even her taste was stamped in my brain. I could call up her flavor in the middle of a workday, making for a fun, but not very productive, distraction.

I was her first woman. Or her first serious female lover, anyway. She’d told me about a couple of fleeting incidents, quick groping encounters at college that left her intrigued, confused and unfulfilled.

I was proud to have initiated her into the sisterhood of loving sexual relations. I had guided her through every act, letting her explore and experience everything at her own pace. With every new moment, she had seemed to bloom, to become a more authentic being.

So what on earth could possibly be the problem?

It was this: Julie was just … too nice.

I didn’t object to her amiability, her pleasant manners. She had a sweet disposition, which matched her intelligence and compassion. I wasn’t just hot for her — I liked her. A lot. As a person. She was incredible.

But it was when we were in bed that things got dicey. It had taken some while for the pattern to emerge. I’d been carefully bringing her along, making certain she was enjoying everything we did. If she’d been passingly bi-curious, I probably could’ve handled that. But I was quite sure her sexuality included a broad, permanent stripe of lesbian desire.

Now she was up to speed, as it were, familiar with the whole catalog of girl/girl fun. However, she was still … tentative. Not squeamish in any way about the sex, mind you. She loved to feast on my pussy as much as I did hers. The hunger that danced in her pretty eyes when we were getting into bed was unmistakable. I knew damn well she wanted me.

But every time we had sex, Julie was just ridiculously polite about it. Before initiating any act, she would pause and softly ask, “Is this OK?”

At first, that was kind of a turn-on, like she was begging for permission. Being dominant wasn’t my thing, but it was fun to playact it a little.

After a while, though, I realized she wasn’t up to any sort of bedroom games. She asked every time because that was the nice thing to do. She didn’t want to overstep, to violate any hidden erotic code. I wondered if she’d been like this with past boyfriends.

I put that last thought out of my mind. I wasn’t jealous of any previous lovers, of whatever gender, that she might’ve had. But I had to focus on the here and now. Julie and I were together, and I wanted our relationship to work.

But this stop and start, walking on eggshells kind of sex was getting tiresome. I had tried to coax her along. I would brush off her questions with a giggle, hoping to make light of them. In bed I, frankly, liked a more forceful hand. Women who showed some grit in the sack were more fun than those who didn’t.

I had to make Julie understand that I liked it a little rough. I didn’t feel like this would be some nefarious manipulation of her. Somewhere in her, I sensed, was a ferocious female spirit. Once in a while I caught a flash of it — in a look she’d give me, in a sudden energetic movement. Inside, at some level, she simmered with the sort of happy sexual fury I craved.

I just had to bring it out of her.

In my head I drew up a battle plan. I felt a little queasy scheming this way, but our future was on the line. I didn’t want to be without her, and I strongly suspected she felt the same way. So I really was fighting for us.

I started being a bit of a brat with her. Initially, I was subtle, inserting random curt comments here and there. Instead of always being sweetness and light with her, I was increasingly rude. Not too outright, of course. I was trying to be annoying more than anything else.

I also became a slob. When I was staying over at her apartment, I’d use all the towels and swamp the bathroom when I showered. I left dirty dishes everywhere. Julie picked up after me, but I could tell it was beginning to nettle her.

One night, as we were heading to bed, I was particularly bitchy, complaining about a meal she’d cooked. With my back to her, I stripped, tossing my clothes willy-nilly around the bedroom.

Behind me, there was cold silence.

Naked, I paused, then slowly turned to look at her. She was still dressed and giving me an icy stare that simultaneously glimmered with a dangerous heat. In a low voice she asked, “Do you have to bitch so much?”

Bingo. I shrugged and turned away. I stuck my bare ass back at her. Taunting her, I said, “What’re you gonna do, huh? Spank me?” I was daring her to take to action, and she knew it.

Time froze. I held my breath. Then I heard Julie move, and a loud slap sounded in the room. My right ass cheek suddenly stung.

I turned and saw her face: the lust burning there, her mouth hanging open. She seemed barely able to believe what she’d just done.

“Do it again,” I whispered hotly.

She hesitated only a second. Then she swung again, spanking my left cheek. I sighed, “I like it when you’re rough.”

Julie absorbed that. This was the moment. Either we’d go forward, or we wouldn’t.

Suddenly, she pushed me onto the bed. I went over backwards, surprised — and pleased — at her strength.

“You want rough?” she asked, her voice holding a hint of challenge. “I’ll give you fucking rough!”

She shoved apart my legs, and I grinned and nodded with giddy abandon. Just to make sure she understood, I added, “Yes! Yes! Do me!”

The two hard slaps she’d given my backside had gotten my juices flowing. Without any ceremony, Julie plunged two stiff fingers into my pussy. Normally, when she probed me it was a drawn-out business of triple-checked permission. I liked this better, her just drilling me — fingering me to my core.

Julie was still completely dressed, causing my nakedness to make me feel even more exposed and vulnerable. I liked the sensation. It awoke gooseflesh all over me, bringing my nerve endings to quivering life.

She worked her two digits in and out of me, and her fingertips stroked my throbbing clit. Her face was flushed, and I could tell she was still tapping that store of anger, even though the reason for the anger faded. She’d seen what I had done, how I’d maneuvered her.

Now she was in the throes of her own sexual aggression — and she was loving it. I writhed helplessly as she worked my pussy. There was nothing fake in my reactions. Pleasure was raging in me, rising by the second and becoming something molten.

“Come for me!” she commanded, the force of her own voice seeming to shock her for a split second.

I couldn’t help but obey. A climax tore through me, touching every part of my body and being. The bliss was as intense as an electrical jolt, and my eyes drifted shut.

When I slitted them open, Julie was staring at me intently as she solemnly licked her fingers clean. I felt a chill of anticipation, maybe even a tiny tingle of fear. She looked like she was deciding my fate.

She said in a flat tone, “I am going to eat your cunt until you sing like a choir.”

I blinked. I had never once heard Julie use the “C word.” It was deliciously naughty hearing it from her lips.

This time I didn’t have to nod or give her verbal encouragement. I just lay back and kept my legs spread. Julie, her face gleaming with perspiration, shouldered in between my thighs. I felt her breath on my pussy lips and shivered. Then her tongue traced my cleft, and a whole new ocean of pleasure began to gather within me, to buoy me up and carry me along.

Julie had always given good head. She had an eager tongue and fine instincts. But now her hunger was backed by her new assertive attitude. She wanted to eat my pussy, and that was what she was going to do.

Her desire gave her extra gusto, and she observed no niceties. Her tongue probed inside me as I gasped. With merciless accuracy, she again had at my swollen clit. She batted the sensitive nub about with the stiffened tip of her tongue.

My hips rolled, and my head rocked back and forth on the bed. Julie was going all out, fucking me with her tongue and making urgent slurping sounds. That ocean surge continued to carry me. I flailed in delight, giving myself over to the mounting pleasure.

Julie growled deep in her throat, and the vibrations transferred themselves into me — and that was what sent me hopelessly over the edge. My climax this time was like a fit. My body flopped about. Julie seized my hips and kept her mouth glued faithfully to my pussy. I heard, above my own wails, her noisily drinking my hot juice as it flowed out of me.

She climbed off the bed and at last undressed. She was still giving me that hot/cold glare of dominant lust. It was enough to arouse the first quivery tendrils of fresh arousal in me.

Naked at the foot of the bed, she pronounced, “I’m going to strap on and fuck you silly.”

I moaned aloud. It wasn’t just the promise of dildo play. It was the way she was telling me, not asking. I loved it so much! This was what I’d waited for!

In a trance, I watched her get out the implement and strap it on. The big pliable cock seemed almost like a natural extension of her body. She crawled up onto the bed.

She used me like a posable life-size doll. First, she took me where I lay, still on my back. She mounted me and jammed that cock into my much fingered and licked pussy. The pleasure was intense. I held on to her shoulders as she bucked on top of me.

When she’d had enough of that, she flipped me over onto my hands and knees. I was happy to comply. She screwed me doggy-style until I was, indeed, making noises like a sexually crazed choir.

Our relationship was safe. This Julie — the not-so-nice one — had saved it.