An Unexpected Scoop Ch. 02

This chapter picks up at the point the first chapter left off. It probably makes more sense if you've read the first chapter, but is also meant to stand alone.

Thanks for all the positive feedback on the first chapter, I really appreciate it - and if you like this story, please vote! It'll encourage me to write more - and there's plenty more to come, which will broaden the horizons and bring in more people and other types of fun...

A few moments had passed and we were still staring into each other’s eyes. I was reeling from the impact of what Lisa and I had just done, and from the intensity of the orgasm I had just experienced. I had no idea what was going though her mind, except that it certainly wasn’t “wow, that was my first sexual experience with a woman.” I didn’t even know whether she had come. I had trouble getting my head around anything. Truly, I felt as if I had just been deflowered for a second time.

Lisa then reached behind her and turned on the shower. That certainly woke me up, as the water was initially very cold. As it warmed up, I felt my mind looming back into focus, and my feet touching back to the floor. Was that the sort of thing people meant when they talked about “out of body experiences?”

Lisa poured some shampoo onto my head and started to massage it in. She couldn’t have known that, when I’d had the old “what would you do if you won the Lottery” conversation, I’d often said that I’d employ someone to stroke my hair all day; I purred in appreciation. She slowly moved me back under the flow to rinse my hair, and proceeded to wash me all over. I kept my eyes closed and just enjoyed this sensual attention from her strong hands, savouring the moments when her nipples brushed against me, and when her fingers touched my cunt and my arsehole. It was bliss and I was putty.

After a few moments, I forced my eyes open, and mentally shook myself out of the pleasurable stupor I had been in. One good turn deserves another, I thought. I reached over for the shampoo, and washed her hair, enjoying her soft moans of appreciation as I worked my fingers over her scalp. Once again, I felt a frisson of excitement whenever my nipples brushed against hers; somehow this was made all the more erotic because I wasn’t deliberately rubbing my tits against hers – so when it happened it was unexpected. I followed her example by washing her all over with shower gel, feeling very uncertain when I got down between her legs, and my fingers made contact with another woman’s pubic hair for the first time. Encouraged by a smile from her, I worked my way round to her firm, slender buttocks, and squeezed some more gel out. She shivered unmistakably as my fingers reached her anus, and gently rubbed the gel around and over it.

“I feel very clean now,” she said. “Thank you so much.”

“The pleasure is mine too.”

“Let’s get out and dried,” she said, turning the shower off and stepping out. She took two huge towels from a cupboard and handed one to me.

As we exited the bathroom, it was obvious that we were going back to the same bedroom. She led in and collapsed backwards onto the bed. “I don’t know about you, but I’m absolutely knackered.” I don’t know even now what I was expecting right at that moment, but, not for the first time, I was a bit relieved that we were just going to catch up on the sleep we hadn’t had. I was tired and sobering up and was aware of the creeping onset of a medium sized hangover; and I wasn’t ready to wade any further into Sapphic waters than I had already got. So off we slipped into the arms of Morpheus.

********************

This was a more respectable time to wake up. The clock on the bedside table said just after midday. I turned over and started slightly to see Lisa next to me, still asleep. She was on her side facing me, the bedclothes only reaching halfway up her thighs. I looked at her naked body with a mixture of wonder and trepidation. She looked – strange to say – demure, the last word I would have expected to use about her, even before our encounter a few hours previously. After all, she hadn’t denied that there was a website somewhere with photos and video clips of her having sex with various people, when I’d asked her about it the previous day.

Ah yes, the interview! I knew I was here in southern France for a reason other than to be introduced to bizarre sexual practices. My brief was to produce an in-depth profile concentrating on her career as a performance artist, poet and singer/songwriter. Although I had made a start and certainly had the beginnings of a good piece, what now? Would we pick up the interview where we had left off – or would we pick up the other strand of our interaction where that had left off??

Her eyes opened and she gave that unspeakably cute grin. “So Ms Dorning, what’s the next question?”

“What’s for breakfast?” I offered.

“Lunch, surely!”

“Whatever. Let’s call it brunch and split the difference. I’m feeling hungry, which I guess means I’m not too hungover – no thanks to you, forcing me to drink all that wine last night.”

Oh my god, I thought – we were flirting again, or was this just companionable banter?

Over coffee and croissants on the terrace, I reflected on how at ease I felt being naked in her company. In fact, it was getting on for a whole day since I’d worn any clothes, and I was racking my brain to decide whether this was a record.

“So how long do you actually go kit-free?” I asked finally, unable to avoid the subject any longer.

“You’d be surprised. I can get food delivered, I can go for walks on the beach without getting hassled, I’ve got everything I need here: books, guitar, computer, stereo, etc etc. There’s a guy who runs a little kiosk just where the beach starts, and he doesn’t bat an eyelid any more when he sees me. And my friends are used to my strange ways. I go for days without a stitch on when it’s warm here, which is a goodly portion of the year. Let’s face it, this ain’t London!”

“And shoes?”

“Well, contrary to popular belief, I do wear shoes sometimes. Who wants to get glass in their feet or tread in dog turds? But basically I’m a barefoot hippy babe – like you, in fact, unless I’m much mistaken.”

“Well, don’t know about the “hippy” – or the “babe” for that matter, though I’ll take that as a compliment. But yeah, I go barefoot as much as possible, though I don’t know if I’d have been confident enough to meet with royalty like that.”

There was a long pause then. There was one thing we still hadn’t talked about, and it was like the proverbial elephant in the room that everyone was ignoring. She probably guessed what was on my mind, of course. She smiled at me again.

“So, where to now, Stacey? I’m aware that apart from anything else you’ve still got a job to do, and whatever else happens between us, I imagine getting that sussed out would be a good thing to do now.”

She really was full of surprises. Somehow I hadn’t expected her to be so businesslike and full of common sense, although she clearly wasn’t ruling out any extra-curricular activities.

“That’s a great idea,” I said, gathering my thoughts together as best I could. “OK, what about this: we do another segment of the interview this afternoon, see how that goes. Maybe we’ll finish it today; if not, we’ve got most of tomorrow before I have to head back. And we could do the photos tomorrow – though I did warn you in my last email that I’m strictly amateur hour when it comes to cameras.”

“That’s fine, I just find it such a drag having a photographer along too, they always take so long, and want to tart you up and pose you, or wait until the light is right. You can’t get rid of the buggers. I like to keep things as simple as possible.” She paused a beat, and added with a comic’s timing: “That’s why I agreed to let you interview me.”

******************

So, we’d got along famously. I’d got lots of insightful observations, covered most of the stuff on my list: career, inspirations, the “so what exactly IS performance art” question, her views on sex and sexuality, which were many and expressed with gusto and clarity. I also got lots of Grade 1 tales of debauchery and lust among London’s “beautiful people” and a no doubt partial list of some of the people with whom Lisa had made the beast with two backs – sadly I am not at liberty to spill the beans as to their identities.

As open as she was for the most part, she was firm about what she wasn’t willing to discuss: enquiries about her family, her (very) early sexual experiences, and, most frustratingly, the semi-legendary incident where she was supposed to have responded to taunts from Liam Gallagher with a straight right that deposited the simian one on the canvas. However, she did tell me a bit about the most persistent piece of her legend: the website…

“I don’t know exactly what you’ve heard, but it’s basically true: I have taken plenty of photos and films over the years, and I and some of my closest friends – or maybe I should be more specific, fuck buddies – decided to put some of the more choice items up on the web, so we could access them from anywhere, and indeed share them with others when occasion demands. One of our number is a bit of a wiz with all that IT security stuff, so it’s something that nobody could ever find by accident, and it’s absolutely bloody impossible to get into without knowing several passwords, blah blah blah. So, I’m guessing you want to know more, and would be quite interested in having a little peek some time.”

“Correct again, Holmes,” I said.

“Let’s do that tomorrow then. I’ve something else in mind for this evening.”

“Oh, and what might that be?”

“Let’s put it this way. We are going to get through this whole jug of water and then go for a stroll and see what happens. How does that grab you?”

I took a deep breath. This was sounding very tantalising, as if Lisa wanted to pick up where we had left off early this morning. And I’d been shocked at how turned on I had been by my induction into watersports. And there was something so alluring about her that I didn’t ask myself the obvious questions, principally “Oh my god, does this mean I’m a lesbian?” She was noticeably uncurious about me, not asking the questions I would have imagined one would in this situation, like whether I had a partner, whether I was gay, whether I had ever experimented like this – none of it seemed to matter to her. She seemed to live totally in the moment, and take people as they came. Her laid-back attitude seemed to be rubbing off on me, as I found myself thinking “what the hell, let’s go with the flow (ha!), it’s not as if she’s forcing me.”

“It grabs me quite a lot,” I replied finally, giving her the cue to refill the glasses.

Eventually we drained the last of the water from the colossal jug, and stood up. “Ready?” she asked. I was about to leave the house, stark naked, with a very full bladder, and walk down to the beach with this gorgeous woman to engage in activities that were as far away from the missionary position as it was possible to get. Was I ready??

“Sheesh, ready as I’m ever gonna be. Are you really sure there isn’t going to be a coach party of camcorder-brandishing tourists pitching up?”

“Let’s not hope for too much, eh?” she almost muttered. Her sheer insouciance was quite breathtaking, and had the effect of making me feel reckless and terrified at the same time.

As we walked along at the side of the path, the grass felt lovely under my feet. There was virtually no breeze and it was pleasantly warm, heading towards dusk. Sure enough, there was still nobody around.

“How did you find this place?” I asked, partly out of nervousness, but I was genuinely intrigued.

“I was wondering when you’d ask! The house belongs to a friend of mine [I could almost hear the inverted commas around the word “friend”, even though Lisa didn’t make that rather annoying gesture that people make to indicate irony]. She isn’t here much, and I get to use it a lot of the time. It’d be fair to say she’s pretty famous, and known for speaking fluent French, which is most unusual for people from her country. And she’s very keen on privacy. It certainly took her a long time to scout this place out.”

“I think I know whereof you speak,” I replied, thinking back to one of the other most popular rumours about her. It was clear she wouldn’t tell me any more, and I didn’t feel like asking anyway. What did it matter?

We were nearly at the beach, making slow progress because of the discomfort of needing badly to pee. Lisa took my hand and led me off away from the path, into where there were some little grassy hillocks interspersed with the beginnings of the sand.

Lisa stopped and turned to face me, her mouth mere inches away from mine. “I am so fucking horny, Stacey. You are beautiful and sexy, and I want you. I want to taste you now. Do you want that too?”

My stomach was turning over again as she stared deeply into my eyes. The recklessness was there, but the terror had gone AWOL for now. “I’m up for this, Lisa.”

She ushered me to a low grassy bank and lay me down on it, with my legs on the edge of it, and knelt down below the bank, her mouth now almost level with my pussy. I drew up my knees and opened my legs, knowing I wasn’t going to pull out of this now, yet still hardly believing what I was about to do.

I took some deep breaths and tried to relax my bladder, which was screaming for release. And then the flow started. The clear urine gushed out of my body – straight into her waiting mouth. For the first few seconds it went straight down her throat. She was swallowing my piss, with a look of approaching ecstasy on her face. Her eyes were open and she looked up at me, drunk with lust. The effect on me was like nothing I had ever envisaged. I went from nought to sixty in mere seconds, and I felt as if the slightest touch would bring me to climax.

After a few seconds, as my pent-up flow was at full strength, she stopped drinking it, instead letting it splash all over her face, in and around her mouth, in her hair, in her eyes, everywhere. Then she moved up and started to lick me, alternating between my clit and my pee hole, giving me new and mind-blowing sensations of an intensity I can’t do justice to with the written word. Of course, I came with a scream. As the flow slowed, she placed her open mouth right over my pee hole, and took the last few seconds’ worth straight down her throat, then licking me again, until another even bigger orgasmic wave crashed over me, leaving me barely conscious.

I lay back, feeling every blade of grass under my back and arse. It was as if I’d been earthed, plugged directly into the mains. A few tears escaped from my eyes too, although they didn’t know why.

“Kiss me Lisa,” I croaked. In an instant she was beside me, her mouth meeting mine, kissing me deeply, giving me a taste of myself – and a taste to try it myself. “Let’s swap places. I want to do the same to you, I want to give you as much pleasure as you’ve just given me. I am so hot I can hardly stand it.”

“Oh god, yes, take me in your mouth, you’re driving me fuckin’ wild,” Lisa gasped. She lay back and I followed her lead, my open mouth waiting to receive. I wanted her to piss in my face, to see it coming out of her, to taste it on my tongue, to feel it splash around my mouth. I revelled in the first few spurts, and then in the strong, constant flow that just kept coming, splashing all over my face. My hair was getting soaked and I didn’t care. I didn’t want her to stop, and moved my mouth closer and closer, until it was all going into my mouth. I let it in, noticing with surprise that it hardly tasted of anything – it was like warm soup that had been diluted too much. But in that moment it was delicious, and I managed to open the back of my throat, allowing me to swallow a good slug of her pee, while tickling her hole with the end of my tongue, which seemed to push her over the edge.

Finally the flow stopped, and I stayed with my mouth clamped over her, catching the last couple of feeble squirts of piss and swallowing them, as I brought myself to my third orgasm in minutes with my fingers.

As my body stopped shaking, I opened my eyes and stared at her lovely cunt, wanting to go down on her and make her come again. The small bud of her clit was engorged and inviting, and as my tongue reached it an extraordinary sound escaped from Lisa’s mouth, something between a sigh and a growl. “Oh Christ that’s good, oh yes, just like that…” Her words became more feral and less like language, as I continued to lick her. She was now stroking my hair and back with her toes, another incredibly intimate contact that kept me at fever pitch. “I’m so close” I said between strokes of my tongue.

“Let’s come together, come on up” she responded, and I knew what she meant. I swung around and lowered my pussy onto her waiting mouth while continuing to work on her, giving me the closest experience a woman can get to going down on herself. Somehow, using body language and grunts, we managed to coordinate our orgasms, accompanied by so much writhing around that we almost rolled off the edge of the bank.

We lay there for a few moments in silence, hearing nothing but the gentle ebb and flow of the Mediterranean. I realised that it was getting very dark now, although I had no idea how long we had been there. Was it an hour, half an hour, just a few minutes?

“I have to say, Ms Dorning, your interviewing technique is quite the most unorthodox I’ve ever encountered,” she said at last, slowly climbing to her feet and helping me up. We started the walk back to the house, this time holding hands. This was an unexpected scoop – shame it wouldn’t make it into the article. Still, at least you get to enjoy it, Dear Reader.