copyright: Lesley Tara, 2011
Oh, heavens, I knew I shouldn’t have taken this short cut! Ironically, I did so in order to avoid exactly this kind of trouble. I am walking on my own along this back street, past some small factories and occasional houses, and it is quite deserted – or it was, until a few seconds ago. I had just come level with the entrance of a side-turning, an alley wide enough for a delivery truck to go down, when you stepped out of it to confront me. There are two other girls with you, looking equally menacing, and the three of you surround me in an instant. You hem me in, and as I step backwards uncertainly I am being unavoidably herded into the entrance of the alley.
I can see from your uniforms that you go to the other school – the one that hates the well-off kids at my school. I attend a rather exclusive private girls-only school on the other side of town from where I live, but my parents are not wealthy at all – I won a scholarship there on my academic ability. I have to travel back across town each day, and can’t avoid going near to the large state co-ed comprehensive. I used to go by bus, but I had such nastiness and bullying when it went by your school and the pupils from there got on – the girls were much meaner than the boys, and I was all alone and defenceless, as no one else from my school comes back this way. So recently I have been getting off the bus a couple of stops before your school, cutting across through these quiet backstreets, and walking the rest of the way home. It takes half an hour longer but I don’t mind, because until now it has worked fine and I’ve avoided all the hassles. But now I fear it was a mistake – this is an isolated spot, there is no one in sight and even if I screamed for help, I don’t think anyone in any of these buildings would hear me.
I gulp and swallow, feeling queasy in my stomach. This looks like it might be trouble – perhaps bad trouble. You and your two companions seem to be my age – I’m sixteen – or maybe a little more, but I am shorter and lighter, and all of you look quite tough, I’m sure any one of you alone could overpower me quite easily. Standing in the centre, quite tall and well-built, you look imposing and intimidating, and you have a tight smile on your face that alarms me – whatever it is that you are looking forward to with such relish, I don’t think it’s going to be good for me.
I panic, turn and bolt away in the only direction that I can go – I have no idea where this alley leads to, but it is my only option. Alarmingly, none of you try to grab me or to chase after me – and you just give a rich, satisfied laugh and, accompanied by the two members of your little girl-gang, you stroll into the alley behind me. I run as fast as I can, though keeping my leather school satchel with me – it has all my homework books, I can’t afford to lose that. Down the alley I fly, about forty yards to where it turns a right-angle to the left, and then along that – but after only a few steps, I stop with a groan, nearly bursting into tears in my frustration and fear. Now I know why there is no haste in your pursuit, for there is nowhere for me to go – it is a dead end!
You have chosen your place of ambush with care: after it turns the corner, the alley only continues for another twenty yards before ending at the rear wall of a factory which closed down about six months ago. The high solid wood gate is padlocked shut; on either side, the brick walls of the alley also rise sheer for at least twelve feet, and both walls and gate are topped by rolls of rusty barbed wire. Even if there was anywhere to get a handhold, I could never climb that – the only possible exit is back the way that I came, along which you and your companions are approaching, spread out so that I cannot dodge past you. Hidden around this corner, we are now completely out of sight from the street, and it is clear from the weeds around the base of the factory gate that no one comes down this way any more.
I back slowly away from the three of you, fear making my muscles weak, my eyes wide and frightened. Oh, what a fool I have been, to let you trap me in this way, running right to where you want me to be – a place where you can do anything to me and no one will see, no one will hear my yells for help or screams of pain, no one will interrupt or stop you. My throat is dry, and I try to swallow as my back bumps into the brick wall and I have nowhere further to retreat to.
‘Please, please … don’t …’ I manage to stutter in a hopeless attempt to avoid the inevitable.
You come forward to stand right in front of me, one of your girls on each side. I look very vulnerable, a picture of pretty and quite naive girlhood. I am just over sixteen, but because of my youthful face and lack of height (I am only five feet three inches), in many ways I look younger than that. However, in one crucial respect this isn’t true – I have a very well-developed bust, which like the other females in my family grew early, and my chest now fills out a 28D bra. I don’t actually like the size of my breasts: the looks I get from men make me very uncomfortable (sometimes more than just looks, too), and I try to keep them out of view and minimise their outline with the clothes that I wear. Usually I keep to loose jumpers and sweatshirts together with baggy trousers, which also cover up my other physical asset – as if to balance the jutting twin peaks on my chest, I have quite a flare to my hips and a tightly-rounded butt.
However, I can’t hide my figure so much in my school uniform, as the regulations at my school are quite specific and (unlike at yours) strictly enforced. So here I am, in sensible black shoes, white knee-high socks and a pleated grey school skirt which comes down to my knees. Above this I have to wear a plain white shirt which is quite tight-fitting and made from a thin fabric, so the shape of my bust and the outline of my bra are quite detectable. I am also wearing our school tie and distinctive red blazer, plus the old-fashioned round straw hat with its band of ribbon in the school colours which is a compulsory part of the uniform. I look quite demure, and the effect is like someone who has just stepped through a time-warp from the 1930s or 1950s. This is further enhanced by my rather girlish looks – everyone says I look sweet and cute – and my natural blonde hair, which I keep about a foot long and usually, as now, tidied away in a pony-tail.
You and your two friends are also in a kind of school uniform, but scruffier, more up-to-date and more individualised. You are wearing a quite short and tight black skirt – something that length at my school would get you sent home at once – with what looks like black tights underneath. You have a white shirt as well, but with the sleeves casually rolled up; if you had a tie it has been removed, and the top two or three buttons on your shirt are undone so that I catch glimpses of what looks like a very non-regulation black bra underneath (at my school, all underwear must be plain and white). You do have the navy blue jacket of your school, but it is unbuttoned, crumpled and has various badges pinned to the lapel.
Your two companions have variants on this uniform. The tough-looking girl on the right with brunette hair which has been streaked with blonde highlights is also wearing a black skirt, but fuller and longer than your derisorily short one. She has a pair of Nike trainers and black socks, and is wearing a kind of sweatshirt top with your school’s name and logo across her chest – she is lean and well-muscled, and looks like a sporty type who plays hard and mean in some physical team game, perhaps soccer or hockey. The two of you are white, but the third girl on your left is black, and holds my eyes with a hard aggressive glare in her deep brown eyes. She is wearing black trousers with a slight flare, and I think it looks like some sort of ankle boots underneath them. The rest of her outfit is a white short-sleeve shirt, most of which is covered by a sleeveless wool slipover in light grey – she actually has a school tie, but the knot is loosened and her top shirt-button is undone. She also has a kind of light rainproof casual jacket, surely not a part of the regulation dress code.
You put your hands on your hips and regard me sardonically, your lips curling.
‘Well, well, if it isn’t the little lady from St. Juliet’s, you think you’re better than us, dontcha?’ you sneer, savouring my trembling anxiety.
‘No – no!’ I feebly deny it, attempt to explain: ‘I don’t think that at all, really, I’m not a rich kid – I’m just on a scholarship … you can see that I come from around here, like you do!’ It did not seem to strike much of a chord of fellowship with you, however, and your response frightened me in a new way:
‘Oh, yeah, for sure! We know all about you Joooley-ettes, lezzie sluts, the fucking lot of you! With your tits, I bet you go down on the prefects and the teachers every day!’
I am shocked and disoriented. No, of course not, I’m not like that at all! Where can you have got such a bizarre and unpleasant idea? Nothing like that happens – at least, I amend mentally, not to me. It’s true that I’ve noticed Miss Edgerton looking at my chest quite a lot, but I sit in the first row in her history class and she can hardly avoid it, can she, it doesn’t mean anything (though I am uneasily aware that I first noticed this on a hot day a few weeks ago, when she gave us permission to take off our ties and undo the top three shirt buttons, and she did stand by my desk, looking over my shoulder at my work, for longer than she did for any of the other girls; it made me feel quite strange and uncomfortable down below, kind of itchy-like). Miss Edgerton is one of the youngest and prettiest of our teachers, she looks so smart in her tight pencil skirts and especially when she wears black boots as well; I do admire her a lot, I suppose even have a bit of a crush on her – but not in that way, not like that!
The truth is that I am completely inexperienced sexually – in fact, I am still a virgin, and in no hurry to lose it either. I am an only child and go to an all-girls school, so I meet hardly any boys – and I am quite happy with that, and glad not to be pestered. I am studious and very determined to do well; I am aiming to get a place at Cambridge university to study sciences, which are my favourite subjects. In fact, I’m really quite a geek and rather shy, so I don’t have many friends amongst the girls at school either, most of whom are snotty rich kids just like you think (though, from their conversations that I overhear, they’re very much into boys and not girls!).
What is going to happen here? Are you going to do something mean like tear up my homework books or throw my satchel over the wall, so that it will take me hours to find someone to unlock the gate and get it back? Or will it be worse, are the three of you going to hurt me and beat me? My heart is thudding in my chest, my knees feel weak and wobbly, and I feel a cold sweat on my back under my shirt even though this is a lovely mild spring day. I must look like a frightened rabbit – certainly, I have no more will to resist, I must just accept my fate and hope that my meekness will make it less bad, get it over sooner. I feel like I might burst into tears, but I try to be brave and somehow hold them back.
The black girl easily prizes the leather satchel from my nerveless fingers, but she puts it down a few feet away quite gently and I feel a ludicrous pang of gratitude when none of you seem to take any further interest in it – recovering from bruises would be a small matter compared to losing all my course notes. Now your two accomplices take my upper arms and hold me against the wall, standing at either side of me and smiling with eager anticipation. But there is no doubt that you are the leader of this gang, that they are here to help you do whatever you want, that you have set this up and will dictate what happens.
I give a little shudder as you reach forward and undo the three brass buttons of my red blazer, pulling it open to either side. I taste the acid of fear in my throat – I am helpless, defenceless with my arms pinioned like this, so vulnerable. You do not hit me in the stomach as I dread, but instead do something unexpected – but in its way, almost worse and more alarming. You reach forward to grasp my prominent breasts, cupping them in your hands and squeezing them quite firmly. I see a strange look on your face, a fevered gleam in your eye, and I give a soft scared whimper.
‘Well, girls’, you say in a surprisingly husky tone of voice, ‘look at these boobs, we’ve got a ripe pair here!’ And then you return to that weird previous preoccupation: ‘I’ll bet the lezzie sluts at your school love to suck on your tits, don’t they? Or do you keep them only for the dyke teachers to get their hands on?’
I shake my head in mute horror – such disturbing images your words conjure up, I have never thought of such things, never mind actually doing them! Yet I can’t seem to shake these ideas out of my head; your hands groping my large breasts give me strange feelings in my legs and belly, and these combine with a shocking but vivid image of Miss Edgerton removing my bra and kissing my nipples. I give a weak groan, and almost without realising it I shift my posture so that my legs are further apart.
You notice this, you see my reaction of denial mixed with confusion, but you hide the exultation that you feel. You push my blazer back off my shoulders, and your friends quickly strip it down my arms and then grasp me again, giving me no opportunity for escape. The black girl tosses the blazer on top of my satchel, and I am glad that your gang seems to have no designs on it either – my purse with my bus pass and house keys are still in its pocket. Next you remove my school tie, which is thrown over to where the blazer is, and then you slowly unbutton my thin white shirt, starting at the neck and moving downwards. When the last button is undone, you pull my shirt apart to either side, and gaze at my breasts in their plain white cotton bra.
You nod once to your assistants, and my shirt is pulled away as briskly as the blazer was before it, which it joins on the ever-growing pile of my discarded garments. I feel very exposed, and conscious of the mild spring air on my upper body, as I am now naked from the waist up apart from my bra. I see your tongue flit along your lips to moisten them, and I cannot meet the intensity of your gaze – I do not understand what it portents, what is happening here; still worse, I do not understand how I feel about it, what strange unknown emotions are now churning around that central core of fear. Indeed, I’m no longer quite sure what it is that I have to be afraid of: none of you have yet damaged my things or hurt me (the grip on my arms is firm, but not painfully so), and somehow I am feeling more confident that you are not as vicious as I had instinctively assumed.
You reach for my breasts again – they seem to have a magnetic attraction – and you grope them in the soft cotton bra cups, finding my nipples and pulling them. They surprise me by responding into stiffening hardness, but I put that down to a natural physical effect of the fear-induced adrenelin pumping through my body. I still do not expect your next move, as you reach behind my back to unclip my bra, tugging the straps off my shoulders so that it falls down my arms and my thrusting breasts spill out of it into full view. I am paralysed as the other two girls take it all the way off, and the three of you stare at my well-endowed chest – my breasts are not only big for a sixteen year-old, they are also like two cones, jutting and pointy. I blush and close my eyes in shame at being exposed in this way, and then open them again with a squeal as I feel your hands touch my mounds again, the warm pressure of your fingertips tracing around my tits and then tweaking and pulling at them.
Why, why are you doing this, doing such strange things to a stranger? You rub your thumbs across my hardened nipples – they are almost painfully stiff, I have never felt them like that before, and it sends shudders all the way down my backbone until they vibrate between my legs, loosening me there in a most peculiar way.
Oh no! What’s this, what’s going on now? You release my throbbing nipples and take one step back, and with your eyes never leaving my face you remove and drop behind you first your jacket and then your shirt, revealing a pair of medium-sized but quite shapely breasts in a rather naughty black push-up bra, a skimpy half-cup affair.
Your two companions watch with perverse eagerness as you step forward again, bend your head with your shock of tousled jet-black hair, and your lips fasten onto one of my tits whilst your hand mauls at the other. My eyes go wide at this shocking assault, as I realise that it has become unmistakeably sexual – oh, my God, your fixation with lesbian goings-on at my private all-girls school is because you are one, you are a lesbo, and your friends must be as well, if they are going along with this! What are you going to do to me, what do you want my body for? I should tell you to stop, demand that you stop, I want you to stop … don’t I? I think I do, or perhaps I just think I ought to, I have such strange feelings, I really don’t know what to do … so I take the easiest course, and just as I determined at the outset when I was expecting something very different, I will offer no resistance and let you do with me what you wish.
Your licking, sucking and fondling of my breasts is having an unavoidable physical effect. My legs shift wider apart, my pelvis thrust forwards a bit and my back arches, thrusting my tits even more availably outwards. I bite my lips to try and stifle my involuntary groans in response to your agile stimulation, but I can’t really disguise the astonishing – horrifying – fact that it is having an arousing effect on me. No one has ever sexually touched my breasts before, no one has ever treated them in such a way before – it is all shockingly new to me, I feel that I am on some roller-coaster ride, with surging peaks of excitement and then stomach-clenching plunges of anxiety.
I give a sudden shriek – without any warning, you have slipped your other hand under my skirt and reached upwards to take a grip on the crotch of my panties. Oh, dear Lord, you are rubbing me THERE! – in that place, my most private one! Oh, this is so wrong, a girl should not want to do such things to another girl, surely it is all wrong? I feel rather disconnected, hot and sweaty between my legs – it is fright, I am sure, that has made me so moist and sticky down there, dampening the gusset of my panties until they are almost sodden.
Whilst your lips wrap around my tit, and – a startling new attack – you nibble it with your teeth, the hand you have up my skirt is probing and stroking my slit through the thin cotton of my plain white panties. I start to sob, gulping for air as my body convulses in a strange way … I’m not a complete idiot, I have masturbated a few times, but they felt nothing like this, like these hot flushes, this trembling in my thighs, this hollowness in the pit of my stomach, this almost burning feeling in my nipples, these electric charges tingling through my nerve ends from my cunt and breasts to my brain.
OH, GOD! AAAGGH – OH, OH! HOLY SHIT!! I can’t believe it, I think you have just made me come, I think I’ve had an actual orgasm – which I never really have before, from when I have fingered myself a bit; well, anyway, nothing like that! My whole body jerks for a moment, and you take your mouth from my breast (but not your hand from my panties) to enjoy the sight. My eyes are bulging, my mouth open and emitting peculiar yelping gasps, and my legs are spread wide apart, making my grey school uniform skirt ride half-way up my thighs.
I am trembling in the aftershock, staring transfixed at your smugly delighted face, as your two friends laugh and whistle in appreciation. I feel rather faint, and am glad that they are supporting my arms as I think I might otherwise collapse, not just from shock at being taken in this way, manipulated in this way, but also from an incredible floating sense of release, as if a dam I didn’t even know existed had been breached. The black girl sniggers and reaches for my nearest breast, giving that mound of quivering flesh an appreciative stroke and squeeze.
‘Hey, Lynette’, she says, ‘I think you’ve made the little bitch cum, I’ll bet you gave her a better titty-suck than her snotty friends do!’
I start to protest – I don’t have any friends who do that kind of thing (well, I don’t really have any close friends anyway), no one has ever done such things before, they must stop this, it is dirty and wrong – but it comes out rather half-heartedly, and I don’t sound convincing even to my own ears.
I look at you afresh. I know your name now, and somehow it makes all this more real, and because of that more meaningful. It is is not just an awful nightmare event which afterwards I can pretend never really happened, and along with it my disturbing reactions. You remove your hand from under my uniform skirt and raise it to your face, sniffing the fingers that were pushing so insistently into the crotch of my sodden panties. There is a considering expression on your face as you watch me like a hawk … are you done now? Is that it? Will you let me go now, perhaps, please? I have a sudden surge of hope for that … and yet, it is immediately followed by a backwash that feels almost like disappointment … but how could that be, I mean I’m not a … you know, one of them – one of you! … am I? I just don’t know, I don’t know anything any more.
You sense my turmoil, my conflict of desires to flee and to stay, and instinct tells you that this is a pivotal moment, that you have me poised on the cusp. You determine to take things further, to go through with your original plan – in truth, you hadn’t expected that I would come just from sucking my tits and fondling my panties. I see the determined look come into your face, and I have a cold shiver of fear at the very same moment as a knife-sharp thrill, as I realise that this extraordinary sexual ambush is not yet over.
Your eyes narrow and you have a flinty expression, as you conceal your lust and desire for my sweet face and peach of a body. Reahing behind your back, you unsnap your bra and reveal your own breasts, nice B cups with swollen erect nipples from your arousal. You curtly order me to kiss and lick them, and before I can protest you push your chest at my face – you are at least five or six inches taller than me – and you seize my pony tail and force my head downwards so that my mouth mashes against your breast. My lips part in order to make some protest or plea, but you shove your tit between them and I am suddenly experiencing the extraordinary, the unimaginable, sensation of having another girl’s breast in my mouth for the purpose of giving her sexual pleasure. I take the line of least resistance (but only because of that, not because I want to at all, no, really that’s not the case!), and comply with your desire. With hesitant nervousness, I lick your nipple with my tongue – it has a most unusual, intriguing texture and taste, and without intending to I get caught up in this, I start to suck more eagerly, and begin to feel warm and excited by it.
‘Hey, this slut’s a hottie’, laughs the brunette girl holding my left arm, and she shoves a hand under my skirt from behind, making me gasp – but only briefly pausing in my attentions to your breasts – as her hand comes through between my legs from behind to cup and grip my pussy mound, grinding her palm against me. This sends me into overdrive – there is no thought now of complaining at her invasion of my private parts, or of resisting the resulting stimulus. I suck pasionately on your breasts as you firmly grip my pony tail, and I feel a thrill of acomplishemt as your nipples enlarge even more and you start to give little pants of breath … daringly, it croses my mind that if my arms were not being held, maybe I would reach under your so short, mmm so sexy, slutty skirt, and touch you like you did to me … but perhaps that is only a wild thought, brought on by these weird events, for surely I would not really want to have sex with another girl?
You are enjoying my oral attentions to your firm young breasts, and I am doing much better – and being much more enthusiastic – than you expected from such an obvious novice. Still, there is something you want more – and something you have promised your two friends, who are also your lesbian lovers. You instruct them to put me down onto my knees – it is quite grassy just here, so that is not too uncomfortable – and I gaze up silently as you stand close in front of me. Slowly, you reach under your skirt and smoothly pull a pair of very skimpy thong panties down to your ankles, and the black girl holds them to help you step out of them. You plant your feet apart and then hoist up the front of your skirt – to reveal that your tights are actually suspender tights, so that now your cunt and ass are naked and accessible, and I stare at you in transfixed fascination.
Your pussy has a small and neatly trimmed fringe of hair, and in the midst of this is your pudenda – swollen with arousal, the outer labia distended and puffy, revealing the warm pink slash between them. I am riveted to the spot, hypnotised by the sight of your sex – so curved, so colourful, and so moist. My mouth is dry and I lick my lips, whilst you watch my reactions like a hawk. You nod to your companions, and they release my arms and take a pace backwards, leaving me to you. You run your fingers through my hair, actually quite gently and almost affectionately, and then you say:
‘Lick my pussy, girl! Eat me out, get your tongue in my twat!’
I am shocked, and confused by my conflicting feelings – I say nothing, making no protest but also making no move, and from a distance of about a foot I gaze at your cunt like a rabbit caught in the headlights. I hear your voice again, and although with the pounding of blood in my ears it seems to me to be remote and far away, your words drop into my subconscious mind like depth-charges – detonating after a delay when they reach the critical depth.
‘Love me there …’ you say, and add: ‘ I know you want to, you want to, babe, don’t you?’
Then, with a firm breath, you hazard it all, betting on your conviction – and your hope.
‘I won’t force you’, you whisper softly, ‘only do it if you want to … and I know you do, I can tell you do. But if you really don’t, you can go, you can leave right now and take all your gear, we won’t stop you … if that is what you truly, truly want.’
My eyes widen, and I feel a sense of shock and also of fear – but no longer a fear of assault or pain, instead it is a heart-panging fear of loss, of failing to rise to the opportunity, the fear of being a coward. I give a slight whimper, I lean a little forwards, and with shaking hands I take hold of your legs just above the knees to brace myself – and then I just do the unthinkable, as if my conscious control has been put on stand-by, I bring my lips to another girl’s cunt and I kiss her on her mound, and then lick along the groove of her furrow. Sweet holy lady Mary, I’m a pussy-eater – I’m a lesbian!
What do they put in teenage pussy-juice? It’s intriguing, and addictive – suddenly, I can’t get enough of the taste and texture of your cunt, and my hands are gripping your thighs with fierce determination, holding you apart as I press my tongue into your vaginal opening, thrusting it as far as it will go, squirming it sideways and then up and down. I feel you give a shudder and a strange cry, tottering slightly on your feet, and from sheer instinct I shift my grip from your legs to seize your ass, one buttock in each hand, and I squeeze you there as I nuzzle my mouth and nose into your crotch. Your breath is coming in pants and gasps, and then a tremor shakes you – you clutch the back of my head, grinding my face harder into your cunt, and you hips give a short spasmodic burst – then more juices seep from your vagina, and I realise with a thrill of accomplishment that you have climaxed, that I have made a girl come.
I release your ass, and you stumble back a couple of steps – you are so aroused, you ram two of your own fingers into your pussy and target your own clitoris with your thumb. With a series of savage thrusts, you bring yourself off for a second orgasm, moaning and grunting. However, I am only seeing this from the corner of my eye, for I pivot on my knees and – before she can react or resist, I pull the brunette in front of me and shove my hand with lightning speed up her skirt. She gives a shocked cry as my fingers twist inside the leg of her panties to grope her pussy. My other hand fumbles at the button and zip at the side of her pleated skirt, and my efforts are rewarded a second later when it tumbles from her hips to crumple around her shoes.
Now I use my grip on the gusset of her panties to drag her right up to my face – I almost overbalance her in my eagerness, and with a yelp she grasps my shoulders for balance. In the next second, I yank her panties down to her knees, and my mouth starts to devour her pussy – I am now a girl with a mission, indeed a crusade: to liberate the holy land of cunt, and make its rivers flow like wine. I have not stopped to think about this in any conscious or logical way – for once, I am acting on instinct and not intellect, on emotion and not reason. I just know that it’s right, it’s right for me, it’s what I need, it’s the missing piece that will fill the void of loneliness in my life.
The brunette might look tough, but she wasn’t prepared for this and she succumbs easily to my attentions. All too soon, whilst I am still trying to get my tongue to lick all the way inside her slit from top to bottom, she is making ‘ooh!’ and ‘aaahh!’ noises, and her grip on my shoulders suddenly hardens. My hands are holding her ass, and I prise her butt apart in my effort get deeper into her – but this is the final booster that launches her rocket, and she utters a string of swearwords as her pelvis shakes in the throes of orgasm.
I release her, and rock back on my heels – my face sticky with the mixture of her fluids and of yours, making the most wonderful cocktail (‘pussytail’, it ought to be called!) in the world. You have watched my sudden burst of energy with wide eyes, whilst drinking in every move that I have made on your friend. Now the black girl, the other spectator, gently pushes the brunette aside and plants herself in front of me. She gives me a fierce look, and says:
‘C’mon, do me too then, fuckin’ suck me off, you bitch’, but then she rather undermines her intimidating presence by adding: ‘please? Don’t leave me out, OK?’
I smile tentatively up at her and nod my agreement, and I am rewarded by a huge grin that transforms her face, her eyes gleaming and her full lips curving upwards. I reach for the front of her trousers, undo the button at her waist and then slowly pull down the zip. Her garment peels away to eah side, revealing a really feminine – though skimpy – pair of Brazilian-style panties in an elaborate pattern of red lace. I admire them as I tug the trousers down her legs and help her to step out of them; I hand them to you, and wordlessly you hold them.
The contrast of the bright red panties on the black girl’s rich ebony skin is amazingly erotic – I understand at once how inter-racial love could be so tempting. I like the panties so much that I hold the black girl’s hands when she is about to pull them down, and give a shake of the head. Instead, I pull their narrow gusset away to the left, revealing the dark joys beneath. This girl shaves her cunt, and the sight of her dark skin contrasting with the hot pink of her opening gives me a huge thrill. I start to lick her pussy, and her taste is somehow exotic and addictive, mingling with the tastes that I have already acquired from you and the brunette.
Maybe I am tiring, or perhaps because the black girl is taken less by surprise she has remained more in control. However, although it takes longer, the effects as they build are even more striking. After a moment of my hungry devouring, the black girl loosens her tie and pulls off her grey wool slipover, throwing both to her brunette friend, swiftly following this by unbuttoning her shirt and shrugging that away as well. I don’t for a second remove my tongue from her pussy, but my eyes swivel upwards and are rewarded by the erotic sight of the underneath of her bra cups – scarlet to match her thong – as she jerks them down and flip-flops her breasts out of them. She is quite well-endowed for our age, and they have a nice mound as well as large nipples that are now prominently on display. With a grunt, she arches her hips further apart and then seizes her tits with her own hands, pulling and squeezing them. This soon gets her off, and I complete my hat-trick of cunnilingus with her bucking and grinding against my face, her head thrown back and her mouth open as she gives short broken pants for breath, her ass slick and sweat-coated in my hands.
When I have satiated her, I pause, suddenly uncertain as to why I am acting like this, and what to do next. You are looking dazed, like you have won the jackpot but don’t know what to do with the prize. Then you give a little shake of your head, as if to clear your thoughts, and you kneel down in front of me on the grass. You put your arms affectionately around me and kiss me softly on the lips, and then you look into my eyes and ask me if I want it.
I know perfectly well what ‘it’ is – gay sex, lesbian girl-fucking, which would have appalled me before, and I still can’t believe it when I nod yes, almost without a second thought. You take my hands and bring me to my feet, and then position me so that I am leaning against the wall. No one is holding me there now, no coercion is involved any more – I have realised that I must be bisexual, or much more probably 100% lesbian, as I don’t feel any interest in boys, certainly not like I am hungering now for this.
In the warm afternoon sunshine, it feels so natural to look down and watch your mouth and hands range over my body – once again, my big breasts draw you like a magnet, and you stroke and lick them. This has a powerful effect, sending my libido through the roof. I arch my hips and thrust my pelvis forwards, taking my school skirt in both hands and hoisting it up to my waist – although I use no words, my actions are unambiguous and the equivalent of shouting ‘take me, have me, I’m yours, fuck me!’
You kneel in front of me and peel my sodden panties away from my pussy and down to the ground. For a delicious moment, you lick me into an even more heightened state of arousal. Then, with a wicked glint of anticipation in your eye, you announce that you have a surprise for me, a kind of present. You reach into your bag, and astonish me by producing a vibrator – it’s not your own, of course, it belongs to your Mom and you have ‘borrowed’ it for the day, but she’ll never know.
When you switch it on, I hear the machine’s faint whirring buzz for the very first time. You can’t resist swiftly stroking it up and down your own pussy, getting some lubrication of cunt-juice on it. Then you run the tip along my slit, and the sensations this causes are amazing – good God in heaven, I think I might just dissolve! Encouraged by my rapturous reaction, you push it into me, but then encounter unexpected resistance. You remove the vibrator in some perplexity, and slip a finger into my pussy instead, feeling your way quite delicately – until it bumps against my hymen.
‘Shit!!’ you exclaim, withdrawing your finger as it had been burnt, and you look at your companions with an expresion of shock – it is the first moment that I have seen any slip in your composure and commanding confidence. ‘Fuckit – she’s a virgin!’ you add, and your surprise and uncertainty is mirrored on their faces as well – none of you had ever thought of that possibility, not least because you all have these fantasy imaginings about what goes on at my all-girls school – it seems you reckon there’s a rampant lesbian orgy every lunchtime.
I am seized by the sudden fear that you are going to be thrown by this, and maybe not only stop pleasuring me but also run away – for all three of you seem really taken aback to be dealing with such innocence, and re-evaluating how you have acted towards me. My stab of panic at the idea that I might lose you is what finally convinces me, and is the spur to action – my usually retiring self takes a back seat to my newfound sexual identity and desire.
I grab your shoulders and force you to look up at me, and, with all the heat and conviction that I can muster, I tell you to go on, to do me, that I want it, I want it now. You are still unsure, and ask hesitantly again whether I really do want to lose my virginity, here and like this. I take your chin in one hand and raise you to your feet, and then I push my other hand under your skirt and slip two fingers into your wet open hole. I am looking directly into your eyes, and I say:
‘Yes! I want this more than anything – and I want YOU to take it, I want YOU to be the one – do me here, for fuck’s sake – fuckin’ do me RIGHT NOW!’
I think my urgency, and the incongruity of the swear words pouring out of my innocent girlish lips, gets through and finally convinces you. You look dazed, like you have just won the lottery (well, honey, in a way you have – you gambled, and now you’ve won big, you’ve really scooped the pool!).
With a tenderness that is unexpected, you lean forwards and gently place a series of soft sweet kisses down my cleft, your eyes shining with the thrill of being my first lover. You are also a practical girl, with some experience – you warn me it will be bound to hurt a little and there will be a show of blood; to avoid getting any of it on my school uniform, we remove my skirt entirely and you roll my socks down to my ankles.
I brace my legs wide apart, and the other two girls take hold on either side, with arms around my shoulders and waist – but now this is not to capture or confine, it is to help and support me, to give comfort and aid. The brunette smiles at me, almost shyly, and the black girl gives me an encouraging grin and a wink of her eye – ‘you’ll be fine’, she whispers in my ear, ‘it don’t hurt too much, not really’.
You resume where you left off, by slowly kissing my breasts again – you do like them, don’t you! I guess having biggish boobs is not such a nuisance after all, if it has attracted and entranced you so much. And, I must admit, the sensations that result from your oral attentions are pretty amazing too – you send shivers running up my spine and down through my stomach and pussy and legs.
After a little while, your hand cups my Venus mound, and then once again you begin to caress me there. This time it is much easier to tease me open – I am much more relaxed, and much more loose and wet. Your finger probes in, and – aaieee! – another alongside it, stretching me apart so that the vibrator can drill into my hole. You switch it on, and I start to pant and moan from the effects of its whirring entry.
Ooh!! It has reached my hymen, and presses against it – what a curious feeling that gives, made up of one part anxiety and two parts desire. You are really concentrating here – you have a fixed, determined look on your face, and you have sucked your lower lip between your teeth and are nibbling on it – oh, you do look so cute! You press a little more, but my membrane holds firm, and actually that’s not so pleasant now. I look down, and urge you on:
‘Please, quickly – now, don’t wait, do it – DO IT!’
You give a little nod, your wrist gives a jerk foward, and – eee-yaaahh!! Suddenly it parts, with a sharp spiky jab, feeling almost like a slight burn – partly because there is tenderness left in its wake. But now there are other, more profound sensations to occupy my thoughts, for the vibrator is inside me now for at least another two inches, and you are working it in and out, pushing on a little more with each thrust.
The penetration combines with the vibration to truly explosive effect. My mouth is dry, and I close my eyes – all my senses have relocated to my vagina, all of my being centres on that point. I am whimpering a bit now, but not in protest – I am riding the escalator to ecstasy, an inexorable ride that surges upwards, and all I have to do is hold on, it is taking me there, taking me to, taking me, taking …
As I call out to you, urging you to fuck me, the other two girls cup my breasts and stroke my nipples, which are diamond-hard and yet hyper-senstive. My hips are jerking, and my ass is bouncing off the wall behind me with every thrust that you make. This can’t last much longer … and then it comes, I come, I detonate, and then in the aftermath of climax I slump back against the wall, dizzy but delighted. It is a good thing the other two girls are bracing me, for my knees are so weak and my stomach is like jelly, and I think that otherwise I would probably faint.
Whilst I lean there, slowly recovering my breath, you wipe my pussy – no longer virgin! – tenderly with some tissues, and by good fortune the brunette has an unused tampon in her bag (it being near to her time-of-the-month) which you put inside my panties before pulling them back up, and which will soak up any blood or fluid that leaks out, and avoid awkward questions when I get home. We all put our clothes back on, for the spring afternoon is starting to cool as the sun goes down behind the old factory roof.
As we talk companionably, as if we have known each other for years (it feels like that), you explain that all three of you are solely and entirely lesbian, but that the other two girls – you introduce them to me now as Jacqui (the black girl) and Karen (the sporty brunette) – are more of a couple, as they were lovers before you discovered about four months ago that they are pussy-only girls too. You have become great friends and enjoyed a lot of hot threesomes since then, but still sometimes they want to be together and that leaves you on your own – so they have been encouraging you to get your own special girl, to find someone to make it a foursome, the gang of four, so no one will be left on the outside.
‘But, trust Lynette’, Jacqui laughs richly after you recount this; ‘she doesn’t fancy any of the other girls at our school, oh no! She has to take a shine to the big-titted blonde cutie from the posh school that she sees on the bus, and she won’t think about anyone else!’
I am astonished to be described in such terms by anyone, and very flattered too. I have never considered myself to be specially attractive, despite having big breasts and blonde hair. I just didn’t feel sexual in that way before now – I guess because I didn’t realise what I wanted, I just pushed it all away as something for a distant future and supressed all of my immediate needs.
You tell me that you noticed me weeks ago, and that every time you saw me you felt more and more attracted, until you just couldn’t stop thinking about me and desiring me – that you used your Mom’s vibrator regularly on yourself whilst fantasising about me. Somehow, you just had an instinct that I am a lesbian too; you were sure that I was the one you were looking for, and that if only you could get me into your arms, you could show me the pleasures of femme-fucking and I would be yours.
I look at you in amazement. I do remember seeing you on the bus – you never gave me any hassle like the others, but sometimes I saw you looking my way so fierce and hard that it almost scared me more. It never crossed my mind that the emotion behind this could be desire; I assumed it was hate and violence that were in your thoughts, not how I would look with my bra off or my panties down and my legs spread open!
I realise now that I misjudged you all when you accosted me at the entrance to the alley. I see now how pretty and bubbly the black girl really is, and how open and warm is the smile of her brunette lover – she does not look tough and mean any more, just fit and sporty, a very healthy teenage girl. Both of your companions are looking at me in a welcoming and appreciative way, as if they want to get to know me better, and not just my body but as friends in every way. It makes me feel warm and happy, like I belong somewhere, with people who will care about me.
When I first saw the three of you, my eyes were blinded by my fears. I saw you wearing the same uniforms as the mean girls who bullied me on the bus, and so I felt threatened and projected onto you the hostility and menace which I assumed would be there. Now you, Lynette, explain that you have been seeking me since I vanished from the bus, and two days ago you saw me in the distance going down this street. You persuaded your friends – who were a bit reluctant – to help you with this plan, as you wanted to get me somewhere with enough time and opportunity to show me what I was missing. And, you admit, your passion had become so consuming that you just had to have me once, to feel my tits and lick my pussy, and if need be to make me eat you out – if I didn’t like it, I would probably be too ashamed to tell anyone, and even if I did identify you, it would be the word of three against one. So you planned the ambush, and the three of you hurried from school today to get here ahead of me and waylay me.
When I finally arrived – after what seemed to you an agonisingly long time, and you were about to give up in despair – all three of you were tense and nervous about what would happen, and you hid that with the determination that seemed so threatening when you sprung your surprise. I see now that your bravado had actually been a brittle shield to hide your anxiety, and your apparent tone of aggression was fuelled by your fear of rejection – that I might be Miss High-and-Mighty from the rich kids’ school, and would laugh at you, or sneer, or humiliate and hurt you in some other way. So, instead, your subconscious over-compensated, and you came across with a rough intimidating force that you had never really intended.
Now you are rather bashful, wondering where all that came from, and you look a little shamefaced now that your fires of lust have been partly slaked – in fact, you fear that you might have blown your chances completely. You stroke my cheek, and say that you never meant to frighten me, you didn’t realise how it would seem after the bullying on the bus, to be outnumbered and surrounded like that, and you would never actually hurt me. You bite your lip, and mumble something about perhaps we might still be friends anyway – for the first time, your armour of assurance vanishes, and you look like the youthful 16 year-old that you are, still finding her feet in a bewildering world, often impulsive and sometimes clumsy in her actions.
I look at you now with fresh eyes, my fear has vanished and in its place is a burning joyousness. I feel a rush of affection for you, and – yes – something more, something stronger: partly it is sexual desire, but partly it is a longing for closeness and togetherness, perhaps this is how love feels or starts. I also realise that you are very attractive, taller than me, well-built but still trim (I think your ass is really nice), with your clipped collar-length rich black hair, your warm hazel eyes and wide firm mouth, lips just a little pouty. As for a moment you lose your habitual confidence, it is as if this transfers to me, like one end of a see-saw rising as the other drops down. I smile, for the geeky virgin is neither virgin nor shy any longer, and now knows what she wants with unequivocal certainty – YOU!!!
In the wake of your confession, you are still looking at the ground in front of you, but you lift your eyes to mine, shining with hope and with a sheen of glistening tears, when I tell you that I want to be more than friends, that I want to be your girlfriend, I want to be your lover, I want to do these things and more with all three of you over and over again – but most of all, with YOU, to be in YOUR arms and in YOUR bed.
Karen and Jacqui give a profound sigh of tension released, and then hoot and holler, giving each other high fives and clapping their hands with glee – Jacqui literally dancing with joy.
‘Wow, this is one hot babe!’ says Karen in admiration, giving me a playful slap on the ass. ‘You were right, Lyn, I didn’t believe your “instinct”, but you sure were right – and I’m looking forward to fun times from now on!’
So, I put my hand in yours, and you put an arm around my shoulders and smile at me – you look really nice when you do that, there’s a mischevious gleam in your eyes that suggests lots of fuck-fun ahead. Then we stroll companionably down the alley, behind Jacqui and Karen (and admiring the sway of their hips and asses), and symbolically we walk away together into the sunset.
There is a saying that ‘tomorrow is the first day of the rest of your life’ – it’s quite wrong, of course: today is the first day of the rest of my life.
If you enjoyed this, check out my other stories … you might like them too … (to find them, follow the author link at the top of this story)