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There were three different guys who’d wanted to take me out for a “romantic evening” last Valentine’s Day. But the idea of such an outing made my gut curdle. I didn’t want any part of it.

It wasn’t that I didn’t like men. I was all about sex with guys. Only on a few occasions had I ever fooled around with women. I didn’t think there was anything inherently wrong with the dudes, emotionally or otherwise. But I didn’t like all the forced trappings connected with the holiday.

I ended up sharing my feelings with my coworker Yvonne, after she asked me what my plans were. I told her about the three men who wanted to wine and dine me.

“Christ,” I muttered in the break room. “They’d show up with flowers, I bet. Or chocolates. Or both. Then there’d be this excruciatingly fancy restaurant, with food on the menu I wouldn’t even recognize. Then — I don’t know — probably dancing. Not clubbing, mind you. Dancing. Ugh.”

Yvonne, who’d always been friendly toward me, offered a sweet laugh.

“Sounds horrible,” she said with mock contempt.

“You’re being sarcastic.”

She sipped her tea and said, “Yep.”

“Let me explain.” We were sitting at a small table in a corner. I leaned toward her and said, “It’s bullshit. It’s absolutely make-believe. I’m all for romantic gestures and the expression of genuine feeling. But that fucking holiday crams it down people’s throats like it’s some kind of obligation. I loathe it.”

Yvonne took a few moments to consider my words and then asked, “Couldn’t you explain this to your suitors?”

I shook my head and replied, “They’d be hurt. They’d think I was dissing them, not the stupid holiday.” I reached over and patted her hand. “Hell, you’re the only one I can talk to about this.”

She looked down at my hand, and a strange, almost sensual expression played over her pretty features.

“I’ll tell you what,” she said softly. “I will take you out. We won’t do anything romantic at all. No hearts and flowers. Just fun, dumb stuff. What do you say?”

My hand was still on hers. I enjoyed feeling the warmth and smoothness of her skin. For a moment, something crackled in the air between us. I decided it was conspiratorial sisterhood. I also decided her proposal rocked.

“It’s a date,” I said. My voice was soft, too, but I heard an urgency playing beneath my words.

So, the night of our outing came around at last. I’d gently turned down the three guys who’d wanted to rock my romantic world, telling them — truthfully — that I had other plans. I got into a comfy pair of jeans and an oversized sweatshirt, and waited for Yvonne to pick me up. Our night out would be my first time seeing her outside of work.

When she came gunning up to my place on a motorcycle, I didn’t know it was her at first. I laughed when she took off her helmet. She was wearing a badass black leather jacket and boots. She grinned and tossed me a spare helmet.

“Get on,” she said.

I hadn’t ridden on a motorcycle in years. I hesitated, then threw caution to the wind and hopped on.

“Put your arms around me, and hang on!” Yvonne called out.

I did, and she hit the throttle. We went zipping down the street. I felt the wind and smelled the bike’s exhaust. The engine rumbled all through my body, tickling my bones. Exhilaration buzzed within me, and I practically squealed in Yvonne’s ear.

“I hope you’re hungry!” she yelled.

I realized she meant to take me to dinner. Just like any other date. But after we’d traveled halfway across the city, whipping through the streets, I saw we definitely weren’t going anyplace fancy.

We roared up to a streetside stand, ordered chili dogs and cheese-drenched curly fries, and ate at an outdoor table. Passersby admired Yvonne’s bike. She looked like a real biker babe in her outfit.

I wolfed down the wonderfully unhealthy and unromantic meal and confessed, “I’m having a great time.”

She tossed her head and cockily replied, “Of course you are. You’re out with the hottest date in the city.”

It almost sounded like she meant it.

I burped, wiped my mouth and asked, “Where next?”

Yvonne knew of an underground club with old arcade-style video games. Once there, she produced two rolls of quarters, and we went nuts. It was a hell of a lot of fun, and as lacking in fake romance as possible.

Afterward, she rode me back to her place where she announced her plans for us to drink beer and watch horror movies. But something had stirred in me as I’d sat behind her on the cycle with my arms wrapped around her. I was vastly appreciative that she’d gone to all that trouble for me. I also felt an unexpected thrill of desire. It had been a while since I’d done anything sexual with another woman, but the urge was creeping up on me.

I knocked back a beer, watching my host out of the corner of my eye as she sat on the couch. On the TV, a big bald guy in overalls was swinging a medieval mace, chasing college kids through the woods.

I slid along the seat, moving closer to Yvonne, and tentatively put a hand on her leg. She kept watching the movie. Just as I was about to pull my hand away, she said, “If you want to fuck, don’t expect me to court you.”

My breath caught in my throat; I liked the harshness in her voice.

“I won’t,” I replied.

“OK, then,” she responded.

She snapped off the TV, tossed away the remote and turned to me. She grabbed the front of my sweatshirt and fairly yanked me toward her. I released an excited gasp. She mashed her mouth against mine in a big sloppy kiss. It was the most aggressive first kiss of my life. I jammed my tongue hard against hers. She tasted like beer and female hotness. I realized how many preliminaries would have been necessary to get to this stage with any of the guys I might’ve gone out with that night. Even if I’d told them outright that I just wanted sex, I was sure there’d have been second-guessing and uncomfortable questions.

Yvonne saw the rawness of my desires. Our evening wasn’t about dumb bullshit. I shouldn’t expect romance? Fine by me. Bring on the sex!

Still gripping my sweatshirt, Yvonne hauled me to my feet, then led me down the hall. Her heavy boots clomped loudly against the wooden floor. I liked the sound. As soon as we entered her bedroom, she let me go.

“Strip,” she demanded bluntly.

No courting indeed. She stood with a fist cocked against her left hip, her eyes glinting like metal. I squirmed, feeling nervous and aroused. I’d never been with a woman who’d acted like Yvonne. I took off my sweatshirt, then stepped out of my jeans. I felt vulnerable in my underwear, but it was an oddly good feeling.

“Did I say stop?” she barked.

I reached back to undo my bra, but temporarily froze. I wanted to show her my tits, but something in my mental programming maybe couldn’t cope with how divergent the moment was from every other seduction in my adult life.

Yvonne wasn’t having it. She pulled the brassiere off me. Without pausing, she literally tore off my panties. I heard the fabric rip. I stood naked before her, and she looked me up and down appraisingly. Yvonne had been upfront with me: no romance. We were cutting right to the sexual chase.

Of course, I knew I could get dressed and walk out if I so chose. In fact, she seemed to be waiting to see if I was going to chicken out. She even flicked her eyes toward the door and nodded, as if she were offering me an out. I grinned, silently letting her know I wasn’t going anywhere.

An undeniable impulse grabbed me, and I insisted, “Now you take your fucking clothes off.”

She seemed surprised by my brusque tone, but I soon saw an excited flush come over her face. She swiftly peeled off her top. She wasn’t wearing a bra, and her tiny tits looked gorgeous. Her nipples stood out as stiffly as mine. She undid her pants and shimmied them off her hips. She clearly wanted to fuck as badly as me.

Part of me wished she’d keep her boots on, but practicality won out and she was soon nude. We held hands and climbed onto the bed together, lying down side by side. Her skin felt like silk, and I loved the sweet softness of her.

Once again our lips met, and this time our kiss was more leisurely, though no less intimate. Our tongues danced, and she ground her lips against mine. I pulled her tightly against me, our breasts pressing together. She put her thigh between my legs, and I rubbed my dampened pussy on her.

Her hands moved over me. Her touches were confident, even assertive, but we were clearly equals. She didn’t want any romantic nonsense either. We weren’t falling in love. If she’d wanted a sentimental date with me, she would’ve arranged things differently.

I returned her touches, relishing the sleek firmness of muscle beneath the outer softness of her skin. I could tell she worked out; I sensed an innate strength in her. It was no wonder she could handle her motorcycle like she did.

I reached between her legs, grazing her outer lips with my fingertips. Her full-body shiver was gratifying, but there was nothing dainty in the response. She liked my touch and definitely wanted more.

My middle digit sank between her slick folds, and I felt her internal heat. I smelled her excitement — and my own. I wanted to taste her. I pulled my finger out and brought it to my mouth, sucking the digit as she watched.

It had been too long since I’d experienced a woman’s tangy flavor, and I made sure to express how much I liked it. However, that slight taste wasn’t enough. I wanted the full rush of her essence in my mouth.

I scrambled down her body. All the instincts honed from my previous lesbian episodes were alive and well in me. The mechanics hadn’t been lost. I slid into the cradle of her legs. Her thighs closed around my shoulders, and her pussy glistened before my face.

With a groan of desire, I dropped my mouth onto her. She didn’t shiver this time. She thrashed, and her hips bucked. Her ass lifted off the mattress as she mashed her pussy against my face. I drove my tongue into her, her juices already coating my lips and chin. After my brief tongue-fuck tease, I sought out the pulsing source-point of her need.

Yvonne’s clit was swollen and awaiting my attention. I lavished licks upon her lovely little bud. She continued to writhe, and knowing I was directly responsible for her pleasure was extremely satisfying.

Her legs tightened around me. Her cries rose in volume as she rushed toward ecstasy. I wouldn’t have to ask her afterward if she’d climaxed. Her rear rose again, and her body went as taut as a bowstring as juices flooded my mouth. I could’ve drunk from her sweet fountain all day. Her flavor suffused my senses.

I sat up and rolled onto my back. I felt languid and wonderful. Lust burned within me, but I knew my new lover would see to my wants.

The bed shifted, and I figured Yvonne was moving to go down on me. I had no doubt hers was a talented mouth. But after a few seconds I realized she’d left the bed. I looked toward a corner of the bedroom. She was just turning away from a dresser, and when she faced me, I saw she was sporting a strap-on. The dildo was realistically shaped. She strode back toward the bed with her silicone cock bobbing. She looked surprisingly natural with it attached to her.

“That’s quite a hard-on you’ve got,” I said. I meant it to be a joke, but my voice was quivering. Though I’d been with women before, I’d never gotten fucked by one like Yvonne obviously had in mind to do to me. The prospect felt like an adventure — fun but a little scary, too.

“Why don’t you come here and taste it,” she said matter-of-factly, while stopping at the foot of the bed.

I hesitated, not out of nervousness — but because I didn’t quite get it. She wanted me to suck it? Why? I crawled toward her anyway.

On my hands and knees, I opened my mouth and wrapped my lips around the tip of the toy. The thing was molded quite convincingly. The cockhead had the right shape. As I sucked down her shaft, I realized it was squiggled with little veins, like a real dick.

It had no flavor, of course, but I was still determined to show off my cocksucking skills.

“Oh yeah, suck me. That’s so good,” she murmured.

So we were pretending? Fine. I sucked her right down to the base, taking the knob into my throat. I was seriously getting into this, helped along by Yvonne’s throaty words of encouragement. Her hips moved, and she was halfway fucking my face.

My excitement was climbing and my pussy streaming. Finally, mercifully, she pulled away and pushed me over onto my back. I lay back, legs spread, wanting her — needing her — to fuck me. She jumped onto the bed and climbed on top of me.

Yvonne plunged her dick into me in one forceful lunge. That fake cockhead I’d been sucking was suddenly nudging my internal core. Great waves of pleasure swamped me. Our tits were pressed together, and I felt the hard buds of her aroused nipples.

She worked her hips, and her movements were so assured, so natural. It was like the faux dick really was a part of her. After several eager strokes, she said, “Does my cock feel good in you?”

I panted, “So… fucking… good!”

It was no lie. She fucked me harder, and the mattress bounced beneath us. I closed my hands over the cheeks of her ass and encouraged her to pound me. She obliged, hammering me and plunging her cock into my cunt over and over.

My bliss spiraled exponentially until pleasure ricocheted through me. I was overwhelmed by ecstasy, and as I cried out, I clutched Yvonne’s undulating body like it was the last hunk of driftwood in a typhoon. I felt my climax from my scalp to my toes.

My lover let me bask in the afterglow for all of about three seconds. Then she was climbing off and urging me onto my hands and knees.

“I’m going to do you doggy-style!” she announced.

I was still dazed from my orgasm — but had no objection. She slipped the toy into me from behind. The new angle delivered new pleasures, and my pussy continued to throb with joy.

I rocked back against her energetic thrusts, timing my motions so I took her as deeply as possible each time. If she’d been a guy, I’d have complimented her on her cocksmanship. I half expected to feel balls spanking my slit. She really knew what she was doing with that strap-on.

Yvonne grunted, and I wondered if she really was getting off — I mean, physically — by fucking me. I thought of the times I’d gotten so excited while blowing a guy that a sneaky little orgasm overtook me. Maybe Yvonne was experiencing something like that.

But either way, I knew what I was experiencing: another sweet rush of climactic rapture. I cried out again, my voice ragged, as my pleasure simmered and ultimately boiled over. Yvonne kept stroking into me. Her hand rested on my ass, and her thumb trailed between my cheeks to graze my asshole.

The sensation made me shudder, but in a good way. She applied more pressure with her thumb, deliberately sinking inside, and a wicked thrill coursed through me.

I didn’t wait for her to probe me more. I looked back over my shoulder and said, “Go on, fuck my ass!”

Yvonne made an inarticulate, animalistic sound. She hastily pulled her toy from my pussy, then pressed the juice-slickened cockhead against my asshole. Like lesbian sex, it had been a while since I’d indulged in any anal play. But at that moment, I wanted it badly.

The cock slid slowly into me, despite Yvonne’s obvious eagerness to spear me. My back passage readily accommodated the wonderful invasion. Soon she’d sunk herself all the way in. My back channel gripped the dildo as extreme pleasures threatened to break loose in me.

As she started stroking away, a deep happiness took hold of me. This was the date I hadn’t known I needed. It was the perfect antidote to bullshit, made-up, romantic nonsense, and Yvonne was my oh-so-very practical lover.

She boned my ass, and in the depths of my being, sexual jubilation slowly gathered. I could tell when my climax arrived, it would turn me inside-out. I relished its unhurried building, even as Yvonne fucked me harder and harder.

Yet, somehow, amid all this callous, carnal merriment there was some feeling present. Some sentiment. I felt warmly toward my friend, and I suspected she felt the same toward me. There was a strong vibe between us. Maybe when this was over, we could talk about becoming regular lovers.

But for now, she was fucking my asshole, and I was coming — and judging by the raw cries emerging from her throat, she was coming with me. My beautiful babe with her strap-on.

" />

It’s A Date

  • 1

Trama

There were three different guys who’d wanted to take me out for a “romantic evening” last Valentine’s Day. But the idea of such an outing made my gut curdle. I didn’t want any part of it.

It wasn’t that I didn’t like men. I was all about sex with guys. Only on a few occasions had I ever fooled around with women. I didn’t think there was anything inherently wrong with the dudes, emotionally or otherwise. But I didn’t like all the forced trappings connected with the holiday.

I ended up sharing my feelings with my coworker Yvonne, after she asked me what my plans were. I told her about the three men who wanted to wine and dine me.

“Christ,” I muttered in the break room. “They’d show up with flowers, I bet. Or chocolates. Or both. Then there’d be this excruciatingly fancy restaurant, with food on the menu I wouldn’t even recognize. Then — I don’t know — probably dancing. Not clubbing, mind you. Dancing. Ugh.”

Yvonne, who’d always been friendly toward me, offered a sweet laugh.

“Sounds horrible,” she said with mock contempt.

“You’re being sarcastic.”

She sipped her tea and said, “Yep.”

“Let me explain.” We were sitting at a small table in a corner. I leaned toward her and said, “It’s bullshit. It’s absolutely make-believe. I’m all for romantic gestures and the expression of genuine feeling. But that fucking holiday crams it down people’s throats like it’s some kind of obligation. I loathe it.”

Yvonne took a few moments to consider my words and then asked, “Couldn’t you explain this to your suitors?”

I shook my head and replied, “They’d be hurt. They’d think I was dissing them, not the stupid holiday.” I reached over and patted her hand. “Hell, you’re the only one I can talk to about this.”

She looked down at my hand, and a strange, almost sensual expression played over her pretty features.

“I’ll tell you what,” she said softly. “I will take you out. We won’t do anything romantic at all. No hearts and flowers. Just fun, dumb stuff. What do you say?”

My hand was still on hers. I enjoyed feeling the warmth and smoothness of her skin. For a moment, something crackled in the air between us. I decided it was conspiratorial sisterhood. I also decided her proposal rocked.

“It’s a date,” I said. My voice was soft, too, but I heard an urgency playing beneath my words.

So, the night of our outing came around at last. I’d gently turned down the three guys who’d wanted to rock my romantic world, telling them — truthfully — that I had other plans. I got into a comfy pair of jeans and an oversized sweatshirt, and waited for Yvonne to pick me up. Our night out would be my first time seeing her outside of work.

When she came gunning up to my place on a motorcycle, I didn’t know it was her at first. I laughed when she took off her helmet. She was wearing a badass black leather jacket and boots. She grinned and tossed me a spare helmet.

“Get on,” she said.

I hadn’t ridden on a motorcycle in years. I hesitated, then threw caution to the wind and hopped on.

“Put your arms around me, and hang on!” Yvonne called out.

I did, and she hit the throttle. We went zipping down the street. I felt the wind and smelled the bike’s exhaust. The engine rumbled all through my body, tickling my bones. Exhilaration buzzed within me, and I practically squealed in Yvonne’s ear.

“I hope you’re hungry!” she yelled.

I realized she meant to take me to dinner. Just like any other date. But after we’d traveled halfway across the city, whipping through the streets, I saw we definitely weren’t going anyplace fancy.

We roared up to a streetside stand, ordered chili dogs and cheese-drenched curly fries, and ate at an outdoor table. Passersby admired Yvonne’s bike. She looked like a real biker babe in her outfit.

I wolfed down the wonderfully unhealthy and unromantic meal and confessed, “I’m having a great time.”

She tossed her head and cockily replied, “Of course you are. You’re out with the hottest date in the city.”

It almost sounded like she meant it.

I burped, wiped my mouth and asked, “Where next?”

Yvonne knew of an underground club with old arcade-style video games. Once there, she produced two rolls of quarters, and we went nuts. It was a hell of a lot of fun, and as lacking in fake romance as possible.

Afterward, she rode me back to her place where she announced her plans for us to drink beer and watch horror movies. But something had stirred in me as I’d sat behind her on the cycle with my arms wrapped around her. I was vastly appreciative that she’d gone to all that trouble for me. I also felt an unexpected thrill of desire. It had been a while since I’d done anything sexual with another woman, but the urge was creeping up on me.

I knocked back a beer, watching my host out of the corner of my eye as she sat on the couch. On the TV, a big bald guy in overalls was swinging a medieval mace, chasing college kids through the woods.

I slid along the seat, moving closer to Yvonne, and tentatively put a hand on her leg. She kept watching the movie. Just as I was about to pull my hand away, she said, “If you want to fuck, don’t expect me to court you.”

My breath caught in my throat; I liked the harshness in her voice.

“I won’t,” I replied.

“OK, then,” she responded.

She snapped off the TV, tossed away the remote and turned to me. She grabbed the front of my sweatshirt and fairly yanked me toward her. I released an excited gasp. She mashed her mouth against mine in a big sloppy kiss. It was the most aggressive first kiss of my life. I jammed my tongue hard against hers. She tasted like beer and female hotness. I realized how many preliminaries would have been necessary to get to this stage with any of the guys I might’ve gone out with that night. Even if I’d told them outright that I just wanted sex, I was sure there’d have been second-guessing and uncomfortable questions.

Yvonne saw the rawness of my desires. Our evening wasn’t about dumb bullshit. I shouldn’t expect romance? Fine by me. Bring on the sex!

Still gripping my sweatshirt, Yvonne hauled me to my feet, then led me down the hall. Her heavy boots clomped loudly against the wooden floor. I liked the sound. As soon as we entered her bedroom, she let me go.

“Strip,” she demanded bluntly.

No courting indeed. She stood with a fist cocked against her left hip, her eyes glinting like metal. I squirmed, feeling nervous and aroused. I’d never been with a woman who’d acted like Yvonne. I took off my sweatshirt, then stepped out of my jeans. I felt vulnerable in my underwear, but it was an oddly good feeling.

“Did I say stop?” she barked.

I reached back to undo my bra, but temporarily froze. I wanted to show her my tits, but something in my mental programming maybe couldn’t cope with how divergent the moment was from every other seduction in my adult life.

Yvonne wasn’t having it. She pulled the brassiere off me. Without pausing, she literally tore off my panties. I heard the fabric rip. I stood naked before her, and she looked me up and down appraisingly. Yvonne had been upfront with me: no romance. We were cutting right to the sexual chase.

Of course, I knew I could get dressed and walk out if I so chose. In fact, she seemed to be waiting to see if I was going to chicken out. She even flicked her eyes toward the door and nodded, as if she were offering me an out. I grinned, silently letting her know I wasn’t going anywhere.

An undeniable impulse grabbed me, and I insisted, “Now you take your fucking clothes off.”

She seemed surprised by my brusque tone, but I soon saw an excited flush come over her face. She swiftly peeled off her top. She wasn’t wearing a bra, and her tiny tits looked gorgeous. Her nipples stood out as stiffly as mine. She undid her pants and shimmied them off her hips. She clearly wanted to fuck as badly as me.

Part of me wished she’d keep her boots on, but practicality won out and she was soon nude. We held hands and climbed onto the bed together, lying down side by side. Her skin felt like silk, and I loved the sweet softness of her.

Once again our lips met, and this time our kiss was more leisurely, though no less intimate. Our tongues danced, and she ground her lips against mine. I pulled her tightly against me, our breasts pressing together. She put her thigh between my legs, and I rubbed my dampened pussy on her.

Her hands moved over me. Her touches were confident, even assertive, but we were clearly equals. She didn’t want any romantic nonsense either. We weren’t falling in love. If she’d wanted a sentimental date with me, she would’ve arranged things differently.

I returned her touches, relishing the sleek firmness of muscle beneath the outer softness of her skin. I could tell she worked out; I sensed an innate strength in her. It was no wonder she could handle her motorcycle like she did.

I reached between her legs, grazing her outer lips with my fingertips. Her full-body shiver was gratifying, but there was nothing dainty in the response. She liked my touch and definitely wanted more.

My middle digit sank between her slick folds, and I felt her internal heat. I smelled her excitement — and my own. I wanted to taste her. I pulled my finger out and brought it to my mouth, sucking the digit as she watched.

It had been too long since I’d experienced a woman’s tangy flavor, and I made sure to express how much I liked it. However, that slight taste wasn’t enough. I wanted the full rush of her essence in my mouth.

I scrambled down her body. All the instincts honed from my previous lesbian episodes were alive and well in me. The mechanics hadn’t been lost. I slid into the cradle of her legs. Her thighs closed around my shoulders, and her pussy glistened before my face.

With a groan of desire, I dropped my mouth onto her. She didn’t shiver this time. She thrashed, and her hips bucked. Her ass lifted off the mattress as she mashed her pussy against my face. I drove my tongue into her, her juices already coating my lips and chin. After my brief tongue-fuck tease, I sought out the pulsing source-point of her need.

Yvonne’s clit was swollen and awaiting my attention. I lavished licks upon her lovely little bud. She continued to writhe, and knowing I was directly responsible for her pleasure was extremely satisfying.

Her legs tightened around me. Her cries rose in volume as she rushed toward ecstasy. I wouldn’t have to ask her afterward if she’d climaxed. Her rear rose again, and her body went as taut as a bowstring as juices flooded my mouth. I could’ve drunk from her sweet fountain all day. Her flavor suffused my senses.

I sat up and rolled onto my back. I felt languid and wonderful. Lust burned within me, but I knew my new lover would see to my wants.

The bed shifted, and I figured Yvonne was moving to go down on me. I had no doubt hers was a talented mouth. But after a few seconds I realized she’d left the bed. I looked toward a corner of the bedroom. She was just turning away from a dresser, and when she faced me, I saw she was sporting a strap-on. The dildo was realistically shaped. She strode back toward the bed with her silicone cock bobbing. She looked surprisingly natural with it attached to her.

“That’s quite a hard-on you’ve got,” I said. I meant it to be a joke, but my voice was quivering. Though I’d been with women before, I’d never gotten fucked by one like Yvonne obviously had in mind to do to me. The prospect felt like an adventure — fun but a little scary, too.

“Why don’t you come here and taste it,” she said matter-of-factly, while stopping at the foot of the bed.

I hesitated, not out of nervousness — but because I didn’t quite get it. She wanted me to suck it? Why? I crawled toward her anyway.

On my hands and knees, I opened my mouth and wrapped my lips around the tip of the toy. The thing was molded quite convincingly. The cockhead had the right shape. As I sucked down her shaft, I realized it was squiggled with little veins, like a real dick.

It had no flavor, of course, but I was still determined to show off my cocksucking skills.

“Oh yeah, suck me. That’s so good,” she murmured.

So we were pretending? Fine. I sucked her right down to the base, taking the knob into my throat. I was seriously getting into this, helped along by Yvonne’s throaty words of encouragement. Her hips moved, and she was halfway fucking my face.

My excitement was climbing and my pussy streaming. Finally, mercifully, she pulled away and pushed me over onto my back. I lay back, legs spread, wanting her — needing her — to fuck me. She jumped onto the bed and climbed on top of me.

Yvonne plunged her dick into me in one forceful lunge. That fake cockhead I’d been sucking was suddenly nudging my internal core. Great waves of pleasure swamped me. Our tits were pressed together, and I felt the hard buds of her aroused nipples.

She worked her hips, and her movements were so assured, so natural. It was like the faux dick really was a part of her. After several eager strokes, she said, “Does my cock feel good in you?”

I panted, “So… fucking… good!”

It was no lie. She fucked me harder, and the mattress bounced beneath us. I closed my hands over the cheeks of her ass and encouraged her to pound me. She obliged, hammering me and plunging her cock into my cunt over and over.

My bliss spiraled exponentially until pleasure ricocheted through me. I was overwhelmed by ecstasy, and as I cried out, I clutched Yvonne’s undulating body like it was the last hunk of driftwood in a typhoon. I felt my climax from my scalp to my toes.

My lover let me bask in the afterglow for all of about three seconds. Then she was climbing off and urging me onto my hands and knees.

“I’m going to do you doggy-style!” she announced.

I was still dazed from my orgasm — but had no objection. She slipped the toy into me from behind. The new angle delivered new pleasures, and my pussy continued to throb with joy.

I rocked back against her energetic thrusts, timing my motions so I took her as deeply as possible each time. If she’d been a guy, I’d have complimented her on her cocksmanship. I half expected to feel balls spanking my slit. She really knew what she was doing with that strap-on.

Yvonne grunted, and I wondered if she really was getting off — I mean, physically — by fucking me. I thought of the times I’d gotten so excited while blowing a guy that a sneaky little orgasm overtook me. Maybe Yvonne was experiencing something like that.

But either way, I knew what I was experiencing: another sweet rush of climactic rapture. I cried out again, my voice ragged, as my pleasure simmered and ultimately boiled over. Yvonne kept stroking into me. Her hand rested on my ass, and her thumb trailed between my cheeks to graze my asshole.

The sensation made me shudder, but in a good way. She applied more pressure with her thumb, deliberately sinking inside, and a wicked thrill coursed through me.

I didn’t wait for her to probe me more. I looked back over my shoulder and said, “Go on, fuck my ass!”

Yvonne made an inarticulate, animalistic sound. She hastily pulled her toy from my pussy, then pressed the juice-slickened cockhead against my asshole. Like lesbian sex, it had been a while since I’d indulged in any anal play. But at that moment, I wanted it badly.

The cock slid slowly into me, despite Yvonne’s obvious eagerness to spear me. My back passage readily accommodated the wonderful invasion. Soon she’d sunk herself all the way in. My back channel gripped the dildo as extreme pleasures threatened to break loose in me.

As she started stroking away, a deep happiness took hold of me. This was the date I hadn’t known I needed. It was the perfect antidote to bullshit, made-up, romantic nonsense, and Yvonne was my oh-so-very practical lover.

She boned my ass, and in the depths of my being, sexual jubilation slowly gathered. I could tell when my climax arrived, it would turn me inside-out. I relished its unhurried building, even as Yvonne fucked me harder and harder.

Yet, somehow, amid all this callous, carnal merriment there was some feeling present. Some sentiment. I felt warmly toward my friend, and I suspected she felt the same toward me. There was a strong vibe between us. Maybe when this was over, we could talk about becoming regular lovers.

But for now, she was fucking my asshole, and I was coming — and judging by the raw cries emerging from her throat, she was coming with me. My beautiful babe with her strap-on.

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