SATURDAY I By Beta Smith
Tara was the most intriguing woman I've ever known, I swear to God. And if God's watching: You shouldn't be.
1 - Fruit Is Good For You
Tara peeled the banana, the sun filtering through the blinds as another lazy afternoon tripped past outside.
She had a wicked look on her face. She said 'I want to play.' And when the skin had been removed, Tara held the banana in front of my face, although I was certain that she didn't want me to eat it. But she asked me to lick it, so I did, my little tongue peeping out from my mouth to lick the banana, feel its temperature, feel its hard but mushy texture. I liked the taste as well. I ran my slightly tight, moist lips over the banana, Tara nodding in approval. 'Good girl,' she praised.
I looked over to the large mirrored wall opposite me, taking in the image of myself as Tara wanted me. I was naked except for shoes, beautiful, expensive, heeled shoes, and a leather strap binding my ankles together as my legs splayed out. Tara had bound my hands behind my back, too, to make me completely available to her. An hour before she had expertly prepared me, shaving my pussy hair into a style she liked, which was to trim it so short my cunt lips were clearly visible and accessible.
Tara trailed the slightly cool banana down my chin, down my slender neck and down to my tits, nipples sensitive and on end in anticipation of what might happen next. With Tara, it could be anything. I moaned as Tara rubbed the tip of the banana against both of my nipples in turn, causing them to ache and jut out towards her. With each rub, a little gasp. A little shock to the heart, another flush between my legs. 'Little bitch,' Tara chided.
She was having her wicked, wicked way with me. At last. The sexual charge between us had been buzzing for a long time, always meeting at the same parties, always chatting and checking the other out, but never getting further, never getting to test out intuitions, our dirty suspicions, with each other. But today, this beautiful afternoon, we finally meet. This is the first time, unbelievably. The first time, and I'm beautifully, carefully bounded up, cunt splayed, for the attention of the delicious Tara.
'I need fucking,' I command, sweetly frustrated in my physical position on the floor with Tara above me, sleek golden brown hair brushing my tummy. She moves the banana down, across stomach, hips, my slightly glistening mound which beats, pumping from deep inside. My thigh muscles clench as I moan at the sight of Tara's hot pussy, quite visible from under her tiny skirt which stretches tightly across her legs. I can smell the pussy too, salty and musty yet sweet. Sweet, ready to eat, hot.
I wanted to devour her. Badly.
My slit is wet. So wet that when Tara rasps the banana against it, my sticky juice coats the sweet banana and makes it easier for Tara to slide the fruit easily up and down the length of my lips. Tara can see me looking up her little skirt and she gracefully bends over me to show her ass and pussy lips to me, red and swollen as mine are. She's got a glorious asshole, as scarlet as her pussy, an asshole you couldn't help but probe your fingers into and want to stretch and stretch again.
Up and down the banana goes against my saturated cunt lips, which ache with every movement, with every breath. I long for Tara's mouth, for her luscious tongue, to slip inside me, inside my honeyed hole. I beg Tara for it, feeling weak and in her control. But instead she continues to frig me with the pale yellow fruit, my clit firing up with every second and every stroke of the banana.
Once my sex is dripping and sopping with juices, Tara stands above me, the banana still in her hand. I don't know what she's going to do next, and for a moment I think she's going to stop, but she kneels at my heels and starts to stroke my ankles. 'I'm going to make you cum,' she says, and I know she will. Before I know it her mouth is grazing my ankles, her heavenly tongue sticking out and her teeth clamping to tug my ankle chain. She runs that tongue along the length of my heels, the metal point touching her lips and smudging her lipstick.
She's beautiful. I could let her fuck me for ever.
Tara trails the banana up this time, up the calves and the thighs, crawling towards me to give me what I want. When the banana enters my cunt it's still slightly cool, but the het of my juices and the walls of my cunt warm it up immediately. It feels good. It feels natural. I ripple with pleasure, my mouth convulsing with the delicious feeling as the banana is pushed further upwards, warm now inside me as Tara starts to fuck.
Soon her tongue is on me, too, her heated, damp tongue and lips, skimming my clit and then sucking it out towards her. It hardens into a little ball that her tongue circles around and around and around, her breath fiery, like hot spices prickling my sex, making me gasp. The banana and tongue meet somewhere deep inside me, stirring up more juices to drip out of me, glistening and ready for Tara to lap them up and drink me. I become aware, in the final moments before I cum, of the straps around my ankles and my wrists, of that delicious feeling of restraint and lack of power. I give all the power to Tara and her now scorching mouth clamping over my slit, her tongue everywhere at once, hungry and eager. When I tip back my head, I feel I have to cum, I can't wait any longer, I need to let this beautiful bitch drain me.
She takes in the smell of me, and holds it. Then her tongue lashes out for my clit, again, again, again, slipping around and around and I cum, break through and cry out as Tara canes my rock-hard clit with her amazing tongue, hungry and strong and in control.
She's beautiful, this woman. As I said, she could fuck me for ever.
2 - Lolly
It gets better.
A few things about Tara, though. As I said, we were always meeting at the same parties, as both of us were journalists on rival magazines, so in the course of each month we would find ourselves standing at another bland launch of a new product or whatever, picking from the same bored tray of canapes and giving each other the eye. At the same time, there was that feeling of mistrust that we felt the pangs of when we finally took our eyes off each other for a moment and remembered our professional rivalries.
The wicked incident with the banana took place in Tara's flat in Notting Hill. where she had invited me over for lunch one Saturday morning after another gathering at which we had drunk free champagne, chomped on the bored canapes and decided we should meet for lunch and establish contact with each other. I had suggested a favourite restaurant of mine in Bayswater, as both of us lived in west London. Without dropping a beat, Tara asked if I would like to visit her flat instead so she could make me lunch. I didn't drop a beat either as I answered in the affirmative.
Come the Saturday afternoon, once we had raided the fruit bowl, it was time to raid the fridge.
I'm lying on Tara's sofa, a huge, angular white leather thing which dominates the high-ceilinged, modern front room. We have been in each other's company for a long afternoon now, both high on the excitement and pure sexual charge. I am no longer naked, or restrained for that matter, but back in the little red dress I had carefully chosen to wear here. My hands absentmindedly trail over my thighs as I smoke another cigarette, half-listening to the sounds of Tara in the kitchen and still reeling from what we've done together so soon.
Tara pops her head around the door. 'Do you mind that I'm in control?' she asks. I can't answer her question for a moment as I look at her face, her mouth, and replay the preceding hours. She's obviously re-applied her lipstick by now, and it's big, scarlet and dirty. At first her eyes look dark, but that's just the way her eyebrows hang slightly low, and I see those eyes are a very deep hazel, framed by the straightest of hair the colour of demerara sugar. Before I know it my eyes have dropped down again to once more marvel at strong, athletic, honey-toned legs and that lovely, degenerate skirt.
'Do you mind?' Tara asks.
'What?' I ask, before realising I should have been answering a question.
'That I'm controlling here...I guess I didn't have a chance to ask...' Tara has been the strong one all afternoon, but a note of genuine concern creeps into her voice and she comes and sits of the sofa next to me. 'Are you usually sub?' she asks, putting an arm around my shoulder. I reply that I'm not normally, and it is so welcome to be told what to do and to enjoy the mild danger in letting such an obviously dominant woman restrain me and let her work her magic on me. My sentences trigger both very recent recollections and anticipation and I spread my legs without thinking. I tip my head towards Tara, eyes half-open, biting my lip. 'You're in control here,' I tell her, and raise my hands above my head in a gesture to affirm the statement.
Without even bothering to kiss me, Tara gets up, walks behind the low-backed sofa and tugs my hair to tip my head back...
To Be Continued...
(c) Beta Smith 1999 betasmith@hotmail.com