tagLesbian SexI Hope You Don't Mind

I Hope You Don't Mind

bySweetOblivion©

"I hope you don't mind me being forward like this," said Rebecca Lafitte, bending forward over the sofa where she had installed Elle. It was so lovely to see the nearly twenty year old, naturally blonde daughter of her good friend Andrea Lenoir sitting there in her party outfit – a simple midi skirt and blouse, that made her look even younger than her nineteen years.

She noted that young Elle was looking a trifle bemused, holding the dregs of her first or possibly second glass of champagne. Well young Miss Lenoir would not be driving anywhere that night Rebecca had determined some while before.

As such, Rebecca was not in the least reserved as she began to tip the magnum of champagne towards the young woman's glass as only a good hostess can do, holding only when the vessel was filled to the brim and the bottle was completely empty.

She noted how the young woman just sat there wide-eyed, watching the glass being filled up as if it were happening without the aid of Rebecca's pudgy hands. If Elle hadn't been wondering what had happened to the rest of the party, then it was quite possible that she could well have been holding her hand over her glass and paying more attention to Rebecca's unblinking, wolfish stare.

Elle was, however, quite fixated on the absence of other company. She only really became conscious of the proximity of her hostess when she saw Rebecca's shadow leaning over her and felt that first kiss. It was a feather light placed neatly on the young woman's slightly snub nose, as Rebecca pulled the neck of the bottle away; a whispering touch but Rebecca already knew it would be the first of many.

Elle sat there unsure whether to blush or to disregard this first advance. This was her best friend's mother for goodness sake! But Elle didn't want to offend, if only out of friendship for Shannon. She decided to play the ditzy card: slightly giggly, watching the bubbles rise and fall, wanting to look as happy as a princess with her newly replenished glass.

"Do you mind?" Rebecca repeated and leaned forward to put the bottle down, showing off her large cleavage.

"No, not at all," Elle looked up at her hostess and smiled groggily, wondering at the size of those décolleté breasts. She touched her recently kissed nose and wrinkled it, before giggling again, continuing to play the ingénue: "I don't like backward people at all."

"What happens to them?"

"They get tongued with my lash," the young blonde grinned in appropriately ditzy fashion.

"A girl might sometimes rather get lashed by a tongue," Rebecca chuckled softly at the girl's slightly drunken spoonerism and took the opportunity to plonk her large form down next to Elle's elfin body.

"Any girl I know?" Elle queried as Mrs. Lafitte's hand slipped effortlessly onto her upper thigh and squeezed it fondly.

"Me."

"I see. You're hardly a girl though, Mrs. Lafitte."

"I'm a big girl at heart and I want to embrace you harder than anyone has embraced you before."

"You'd rather I stopped being amusing and entertaining, then?"

"The gathering has dispersed, Elle, as well you know. There's no more need for small talk."

"Can I hiccup?"

"You can. It's just you and me here to have a little party all of our own," Rebecca grinned evilly and slid her hand up over Elle's silk blouse, pressing against the young woman's breasts and belly. Elle shivered and hiccupped again.

"Are you chill or just pretending to be a little tiddly?"

"I'm a little nervous and practically tipsy."

"You pretend very well, dear."

"Pretence is good for someone with little experience they say."

"Haven't you been with a woman before?"

"Girls of my own age like Shannon," Elle confessed, watching mesmerised as Rebecca's plump motherly fingers undid one blouse button after another. "And that's just flirting and silliness."

"I'm only forty, Elle."

"I know Mrs. Lafitte. I didn't mean to be rude."

"It doesn't matter and I'm not offended. And I agree with you: flirting and silliness is good," Rebecca smiled and ran her finger down Elle's breastbone, so that the cheesecloth blouse parted faster than the Red Sea at Moses command. "And I knew you liked Shannon."

"You don't mind me liking Shannon, then?"

"Not at all, Elle; so long as you can put up with her fat, old mum, too."

"Forty isn't that old."

"Thank you pet."

"And you're not fat; you're fuzzy," Elle slurred.

"That's the drink, pet."

"Is it?"

"Yes, but I'm glad you are kind."

"I mean it. I'm not just being polite."

"You're very well brought up, pet."

"Thank you."

"I wonder if you could also be well brought-down?" Rebecca queried and slid her hand into the unbuttoned blouse, rubbing her palm over the soft, young breasts and letting a finger slip into the brassiere.

"That's very naughty, Mrs. Lafitte," Elle giggled.

"Naughty but nice?"

"You make me sound like a cream cake."

"Do I?"

"Yes, actually."

"You know what?"

"What?"

"I love cream cakes."

"I'd never have guessed, Mrs. Lafitte."

"Now, who's being naughty?"

"I am. I'm sorry."

"I may have to spank you for that later. Spank you very hard indeed."

Elle held her breath as the thought of being spanked by her friend's mother percolated through her slightly drink-addled mind; but she said not a word as the trespassing finger slid lower and brushed her nipple.

"You won't tell Shannon?" Elle blushed, finally finding her voice once more.

"My lips are sealed. Well, they will be soon - round your delicious little pink breast."

"It's not that little, Mrs. Lafitte," said Elle indignantly, struggling to sit up.

"Stay still," Rebecca insisted, pressing Elle down with a pudgy fist firmly on the young woman's breastbone. "Good girl."

Elle said nothing, but looked up abashed.

"It's not that pink either, Elle," smiled Rebecca, opening up the blouse and tugging Elle's bra straps off her shoulder. "Shall I slap it a little and bite it to make it a little more pink?"

"That's not...very nice."

"Your eyes are shining at the thought though."

"I think that's your eyes not mine, Mrs. Lafitte."

"Well, I have to blame you for looking so delicious, young lady."

"My mum always blames me too."

"I'm following an excellent example then. Would you like a top-up, Elle? I'd certainly like your top up, but don't let me influence you."

"You'll make me blush with your flirting, Mrs. Lafitte."

"I've got a fresh bottle of chilled Veuve Cliquot: almost as tempting as the taste of your baby teats, pet."

"I'd love some more champagne, Mrs. Lafitte. And I'm not a baby. I'm nearly twenty."

"You're almost cute enough to eat," Rebecca confided and withdrew her hand from the young woman's cream-coloured silk blouse, slipping an arm round her waist and hugging her close; "but your mother said you would be."

"My mother said what?"

"Yes, when she left about half an hour ago with Shannon. Now sit back, you never know where the cork will end up with cold bottles like this."

"Mum left with Shannon?"

"Don't look so disappointed, Elle. Is it really so bad to be stuck with Shannon's mum and a bottle of champagne?"

"Of course not, Mrs. Lafitte; it's just..."

Rebecca chose that moment to pop the cork which bounced up to the ceiling. The champagne gushed out all over Rebecca's legs, just below the hem of the rather short skirt of her little black party dress: "Oops, clumsy me!"

"Shall I get a cloth from the kitchen Mrs. Lafitte?"

"No, it's quite nice to be wet and sticky down there."

"Mrs. Lafitte!"

"Don't pretend to be shocked, young lady. I saw you cover your smile."

"That's the sort of thing Shannon would have said."

"Like mother, like daughter they say, Elle. How true do you think that is?"

"I don't know, Mrs. Lafitte."

"Well I know you wanted some company your own age."

"Yeah: something like that."

"Don't worry, I'm not offended."

"Okay."

"There's no need to be curt and slangy with me, Elle. I am your best friend's mother after all."

"I'm sorry Mrs. Lafitte. I'm a little worried about a lift home and I've got a bit of a headache now."

"There's no need to go home just yet, is there, Elle? We have all this delicious champagne to quaff."

"I suppose not. Anyway, I don't understand why Shannon left with mum."

"I think Shannon had an invitation to another party, dear."

"Why did mummy have to drop her off then? I don't understand."

"I would ring and ask your mother to come back for you later, but..."

"But what?"

"She was rather keen to accompany Shannon."

"But Shannon's my friend."

"And Andrea is mine."

"Andrea? I never knew you knew my mother that closely."

"I know your mother very well indeed."

"Oh, I hadn't realised."

"I know, dear."

"I only came to the party because it was mummy's idea."

"I know that too."

"I planned to go off with Shannon."

"I forgive you, even though it was terribly rude of you to plan that. I knew it anyhow."

"How come you knew?"

"Don't be so suspicious."

"I'm not suspicious...I'm more curious."

"Your mother and I have known one another for a long time."

"How come Shannon's never told me about that?"

"Perhaps Shannon doesn't know everything. And your mother can be very discrete when I ask her to be."

"Are you more than friends?"

"I never said we were friends."

"Huh?"

"Don't look so puzzled. And you can put the imaginary lash down. It won't protect you from my wicked wiles."

"What lash?"

"The one you referred to when I first joined you on this sofa. You are most unlikely to find me backwards."

"And what does mum say about that?"

"If I were you, I'd take it on my authority, pet."

"Oh? And if I don't."

"I have certain ways of making you see things my way; and they aren't at all imaginary either. No, don't get up and don't frown at me."

"Are you threatening me?"

"No, pet: I'm making you aware of your position."

"You're not going to hurt me are you?"

"Oh you're too precious, Elle. You don't think that I'd want to hurt a gift do you?"

"I'm a gift?"

"Look on the side table."

Elle looked across and saw that there was a photograph lying upside down on the table, with an inscription on the back. She recognised the handwriting immediately – the beautiful curved script of her mother, Andrea. Without even looking at the picture, she knew it would be her.

"Mummy gifted me to you?"

"Yes pet. Isn't she wonderful?"

"I can't believe mummy would do that."

"I can't believe it either, but you know how it is: everyone terribly busy these days: rush, rush, rush; and before you know it, you have no gift for your mistress's birthday."

"You're mummy's mistress?"

"I own your mother, yes. And Andrea has served me very well over the years. Surely you've seen her collar?"

"I thought it was just her favourite accessory."

"Didn't it strike you as odd that she wear it virtually all the time?"

"It just seemed to go with her – and she decorates it with different things each day – little insignia and so forth."

"Yes, she has permission to do that."

"She needs permission?"

"Your mother has her needs, Elle, as do I."

"Anyhow, she isn't wearing it tonight. I am."

"I know, Elle. That's because you're my gift: my birthday gift no less."

"Oh. I see."

"You begin to see. And talking of seeing, will you be a good gift and reach over to turn off the main light. I need some mystery and shadow when unwrapping you."

"I'm hardly mysterious," Elle pouted, but reached over obediently to turn off the wall switch. Rebecca sighed to see the youthful stretch in her figure and the soft curve of her yet untried flesh.

"Well you're less mysterious than you would have been, had Andrea not passed me that picture of you after your bath, earlier."

"How could she?" Elle blushed and looked almost tearful. "How could she humiliate me so?"

"She has a good teacher, pet."

"Are you going to humiliate me?"

"Look at the picture – you barely read the inscription before."

"Must I?"

"Yes."

"Oh! God!"

"I prefer the term goddess, pet. A god is a French sex toy: a toy that you may become very familiar with before you get too much older."

"How could she give you this?"

"She did as she was told. She's a loyal servant to her mistress. One day I may be as proud of you as I am of her. I'm already pleased by the way you mark."

"My mother doesn't punish me often."

"Well, I entirely approve of the results when she does. Look at the parallel lines that mark your bottom in the picture. She is very accurate. Did it hurt very much?"

"Yes."

"And did you mind very much, Elle love?"

"Yes."

"Liar."

"I am not so a liar."

"Pass me the remote and sit up next to me. Don't slouch, girl."

"Look. That's it. Cameras – adjust for the darkness – and then action: it's you...in your little bed...with all the covers kicked off. And look, there's your clever little hand in your panties: my, your fingers do wriggle, don't they. You don't seem to mind too much there. Look at the time stamp – why it's only half an hour after your "bath".

"How could you be so evil?"

"I know all about the evils of modern technology dear child; and it's so good to turn it to one's advantage for once. I thought Andrea was so clever to install that webcam in your bedroom when you were away at college."

"You mean you've watched me before?"

"Oh yes dear. I do so love my 'watch with mother' sessions. I don't know what I'd do without them."

"You watched with mummy?"

"Well, Andrea is usually otherwise engaged at the time."

"What was she doing?"

"My, you are curious. Should I satisfy your curiosity?"

"Yes."

"We'll have to do something about that sulky pout before your curiosity is satisfied. Perhaps: a 'miss' to add a little reverence to your answers. And you're going to do something about it for me, aren't you Elle?"

"That depends."

"I think that if you look over to your left and see the martinet waiting there, eager to taste your young flesh, you will find that it doesn't depend at all. Does it, pet?"

"N...no miss."

"That's a good girl."

"Now, what was I saying?"

"I can't remember."

"But you can remember to show me some respect, can't you dear?" Rebecca smiled coldly and reached across to spread her thumb and finger round Elle's jaw and to squeeze hard to distort Elle's features. "I would hate to have to bruise you at this early stage in our rapport."

"No miss. I can remember. Forgive me for being a brat," Elle burst out breathlessly.

"You're not a brat, Elle. Your reticence is quite natural. Perhaps if you lifted your sweet teenaged bottom off my lovely sofa and knelt down on the floor next to me, you might remember your station better."

"Actually, I'm almost twenty, miss, as I said before."

"Try behaving like a grown-up and not like a sulky teen then, girl."

"Yes, miss."

"And don't expect me to listen to all your girlish chitter-chatter."

"No, miss."

"And...Elle?"

"Yes, miss?"

"Would you mind flipping that little skirt up for me as you kneel? Having seen your panties on the webcam I can't resist a peek at the real thing."

"I have changed them since then."

"I'm sure you have. Did you put your party panties on for my fortieth birthday party then?"

"You tease something awful, miss."

"Your skirt is awfully still for one that should have been flipped up at least two minutes ago."

"You're embarrassing me, miss."

"No, pet: I'm ordering you."

"Just a peek then, miss?"

"A long look would be even better, Elle. Thank you so much for offering. You can tuck the skirt into the waistband of your panties. Oh my! Well, you could have done, if you were wearing any."

Elle flushed red and looked down at the floor.

"Now, why would you come to my fortieth birthday party with no panties on, hmmm?"

"I just did, miss."

"And you expect me to believe that?"

"No, miss."

"I'm sure you'll tell me when I need to know," Rebecca murmured and glanced over towards the martinet. "Oh, we're going to have such fun later; but do you know what, Elle?"

"What miss?"

"I'm not wearing any panties either."

"Oh."

"Don't you believe me?"

"No miss."

"No, you don't believe me? You are such a little skeptic, Elle."

"You're twisting my words, miss. I do believe you."

"I'm not sure your words have any credence, pet."

"I do, I do believe you. I promise you."

"Don't get all tearful, pet. See, if I just wriggle a bit and lift my skirt up from under me, you can see everything. Isn't it a sight for sore eyes? Don't look away, dearest, unless you want to meet Mistress Martinet earlier than planned, of course."

"Yes, there's a good girl now: feast your eyes on my sex – lovely plump lips waiting for your kiss: such a sweet dessert and all for you, with a light dressing of champagne from my earlier spillage. I'm really spoiling you, aren't I?"

"You're certainly shocking me."

"Well complacency and pudding never go well together, Elle. And you know what they say pet?"

"What do they say?"

"About the proof of the pudding..."

"It's in the eating, miss?"

"I thought you'd never ask," Rebecca giggled saucily and reached one hand behind Elle's head, pressing her down towards the glistening sex. "Do remember to lick my thighs clean before you move on to the main course."

Elle grunted. By this time her face was squashed down close to Rebecca's thighs; to Shannon's mother's thighs; to Mrs. Lafitte's thighs. She suppressed an urge to retch and gingerly stuck out her tongue, lapping slowly, tasting the salty mature woman's flesh and comparing it, despite herself, to the sweetness where the champagne had spilt.

She could hear Mrs. Lafitte cooing above her, squeezing Elle's neck when she hesitated in her advance towards the exposed sex. She smelt the growing excitement in Mrs. Lafitte's loins as her friend's mother parted her thighs and the tight dry flesh opened to reveal the moist, dark-pink wonderment between her legs.

Rebecca's hands left Elle's neck at that point and tangled in her hair, tugging and pulling until the young woman's scalp hurt. Hesitantly, feeling the insistent tug would never go away otherwise, Elle kissed the older woman's sex once, twice and was about to try a third time, when she felt her head being pushed into Rebecca's sex by the forceful hand behind her. Then Rebecca seized her by the hair and lifted her up.

Elle suddenly found herself staring into Rebecca's eyes for a moment. She could hardly tear herself from the penetrating glance - well actually, being held by the top knot in her well groomed brown hair was a major drawback to any movement.

Nevertheless she was able to follow Mrs. Lafitte's movements and watched, eyes wide, as Mrs. Lafitte lifted the Veuve Cliquot bottle out of its ice bucket and poured it over her own upper thighs and sex. Then the hissed command came: "more tongue, girl."

Licking her lips, Elle soon tasted the sweetness of a mature sex for the first time, feeling Mrs. Lafitte clenching her hair ever tighter, pushing her face into the hairless pussy, whenever Elle hesitated.

Rebecca encouraged her gift with soft sighs, particularly once Elle discovered Rebecca's clitoris, the bud fat with excitement and wrapped her tongue around it. Rebecca sat back well pleased with the way Andrea seemed to have brought her daughter up: a little resistant at first perhaps; but ultimately as malleable as the mother.

"I wonder," she purred to herself, watching Andrea appear on the edge of the web cam playing silently before her, unnoticed by the recorded Elle in the throws of teenaged bliss. "I wonder, if mother and daughter could be persuaded to play together one day...my, aren't I the greedy one."

And greedy she was, for soon, Rebecca was energetically tugging Elle's face up and down her plump slit, showing the new girl just how a mistress likes her pet to face fuck her. She pushed the young woman's nose into the cleft of her sex, without sparing a thought for either morality or physiognomy.

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