Silken Manacles

"Sounds like we have contact," Eileen said, stroking Diane's head. "Mouth, give this girl a real workout." Eileen released Diane's head, allowing her to pull herself up from the desk. Her turgid nipples ground hard against the woodgrain of her desk, completing a current between the three women. Rumi's tongue dug even deeper within Diane, corkscrewing into the tight bung as if it sought to widen her rear entrance. Muscles strained against muscle as Diane's sphincter sought to force out Rumi's probing tongue. Outer and inner sphincter rings bore down upon the wriggling intruder, seeking to expel it from her bowels. Voluntary and involuntary muscles alike worked in tandem to repel the anal invader. But Rumi would not be routed. She mated her face hard against the prone woman's ass crack, applying even more force to it. Diane writhed in the agony of absolute pleasure.

"Don't that feel nice, Gash? Happiness is a clean colon, methinks. I know I love it when Mouth gets busy tidying up my backyard. I hope you like it as much as I do. I know I love it all the more because she hates doing it." Eileen's cackle made Diane's face grow red.

"Please make this stop, Eileen."

"Call me Miss Moss like you usually do. Don't think that just because I'll soon be fucking you that we've become intimate."

"Miss Moss, please!" Diane gulped, forcing air into her rapidly working lungs. Her whole body burned. "Please make Rumi stop."

"Why? Don't you like Mouth's tongue work? I rather think you do. Show me what you're feeling by doing it to me."

"What?"

"Eat me, Gash. Eat my pussy like Rumi is eating your ass. Whatever you feel, you do to me."

"I can't!" She spoke the truth. Even the thought of touching that abused, twisted bundle of flesh spread before her made innards knot. She wanted nothing to do with that pile of tainted meat.

Her head jerked upwards, pulled up by the roots. A full handed slap caught her on the side of the cheek, followed by a return blow on the other side. Diane saw stars blossom in her vision. "Never say that to me. Deny me and you'll learn the ways of serious pain, Gash." As if to emphasize her point, Eileen grabbed a nipple and twisted it unmercifully. As Diane’s mouth opened, ready to squeal, her head was shoved down into Eileen’s dampening recesses.

She drowned in filth, overwhelmed by the sour repast spread before her. Nothing could prepare her for the rankness of the girl; not an actual stench, but a psychic one due to the rancour with which the blonde treated other people. Her disdain for others seeped from her like methane gas from a bog, the foul miasma detectable by anyone in close proximity to her. Diane's ardour waned before the pink lipped onslaught, only kept buoyed by the loving attentions that the slight Japanese girl lavished upon her ass.

Rumi; the raven haired, diametric opposite of the callous blonde. Rumi treated everyone well. For some reason this turned the other students off. Few students spoke to her, and she had no friends that Diane could recall. None save for Eileen, whose relationship with Rumi went beyond friendship. Rumi excelled in many things – in volleyball, in chess, and especially in music. She had an artist's soul and a face any sculptor would love to carve in warm, smooth wood. Diane considered her Good People. People like her always suffered the most.

Diane had thought to free the girl from this base task, but she couldn't deny that Rumi’s tongue work in her ass felt exquisite. Rumi did everything she attempted well, no matter how beneath her it seemed. Whatever she must do she would do to the best of her ability.

The pleasure that Rumi created filled Diane to bursting, raging inside her like a tempest in a bottle. It flowed out from every orifice she possessed, including her mouth. The joy that Rumi gave her translated into a quivering, thirsty tongue that gave pleasure in return. Diane quite forgot about her revulsion and dove into Eileen, lapping at her pussy with reckless abandon.

"Oh yeah. That's it, Gash. Show me what a filthy slut you are."

Diane remained oblivious to the harsh words. Eileen lost all importance to her. Only the wonderful feelings that Rumi provided mattered. The resultant display of affection that Diane lavished upon Eileen was merely an incidental byproduct.

Just when Diane thought that nothing more that the pretty Japanese girl could do to her would matter, that if any more sexual elation filled her skin with split like a serpent's moulted skin, Rumi released one of Diane's ass cheeks and stroked her soft fingertips along the ridges of Diane's sex. Just that, the barest of touches directly upon her, but it had momentous effect. Diane screamed in unadulterated bliss, her shouts of pleasure coursing down Eileen's slick chasm like runoff into a sewer. Eileen's pit swallowed up all light, all love. It's inky impenetrability sucked Diane's jubilation into the void, returning nothing.

Rumi would not let this be.

Rumi worked hard, her rapturous tongue now competing with her probing, questing fingers. They pinched at Diane’s sensitive inner folds, tweaking them until they stiffened like a deacon's starched collar. Warmth suffused the entire area, unbelievable heat that Diane had never experienced in all her days. Her body glowed, the sweat slickened body a quivering mass of pale flesh splotched with ruddy patches. Rumi instinctively knew what Diane needed, even if Diane did not herself. Sure she like gentleness, but she craved roughness. Rough sport, but not cruelty. This distinction Eileen would never fathom.

Rumi dug stiffened fingers into Diane, forcing four fingers of her slight hand into Diane's sopping pussy. Diane wailed deep into Eileen, then redoubled her ferocious tongue attack upon her ravaged pussy.

"What's getting into you, Gash? You’re suddenly sucking snatch like you've been doing it all your life."

As before, Diane remained oblivious, Eileen’s scathing words unaffecting her. Diane's entire world consisted of her asshole, her pussy, and her mouth. Nothing else from the outside world penetrated her consciousness.

Rumi continued pounding her hand into Diane’s slit, working the fragrant, well-slickened sheath hard, Diane's frothed lubrication turning white against the girl's golden skin. Flecks of churned cream flew, the whitecaps sprinkling Rumi's cheeks and the desk with her creamy benediction. Diane's tongue went into overdrive, providing pleasure to Eileen that Rumi herself would be hard-pressed to top.

"Slow down, Gash. You'll exhaust yourself. Take it, Gash. Oh!" Diane’s lips latched around Eileen's clitoris, her tongue teasing the hooded tyrant out of its protective folds of skin. Diane sucked hard, pulling the fleshy pip of pleasure into her mouth. Eileen gasped.

"Don't do that unless I tell you to!"

Just then Rumi drove her tongue deeper into Diane, the lunge coming so hard and fast that it felt like the Japanese girl's tongue would exit through Diane's mouth. Diane's body tensed, spasming at the surprise move. Her jaws clenched shut.

Eileen wailed, the banshee cry shrill enough to shatter glass. She flew from the desk. Her hands grabbed at her privates, gingerly searching for her pleasure bud. Her fingers told her that it remained connected to her.

She watched in awe as Rumi continued her work. The full curves of Diane's ass obscured the girl's face. Blue-black, glossy hair cascaded over the older woman's almost-spherical asscheeks. Wet sloppy sounds came from between them as Rumi performed her acts of love. Diane writhed like a worm on a hook, her body twisting in short, frantic bursts of motion as it sought to escape. Rumi kept her worm on the fleshy pink needle she skewered her with. Diane remained pinioned to the table both by the tongue that drove into her bowels and by the invisible ropes of the purest sexual pleasure; by bonds of undisguised need.

Diane quivered all over, rock-hard nipples scraping at the desk, grating uncomfortably against the aged oak as her orgasm took her. Never before had it felt this raw, this intense. She thought she would die from the overwhelming ecstacy. Only now did she understand why the French called it the Little Death.

Her orgasm subsided, leaving her worn out, amazed and content. She curled up into a little ball on her desk, almost fetal, her legs still bound by her own panties and a ruler. Rumi released her, rubbing Diane’s ankles with great tenderness and a deft touch to get the blood circulating. Sharp pinpricks raced over her skin, bringing tears to Diane's eyes. Her licorice black, short-heeled pumps had fallen to the floor long before. Rumi massaged the soles of Diane’s bare feet, restoring the blood flow to them. Her pink tongue washed over the skin, forcing itself between her toes. Being handled so tenderly made fresh tears spill over Diane's cheeks.

"You think you are crying now? I'll show you what happens to careless bitches like you. You almost ripped my clit off!" Eileen had grabbed a yardstick from the floor and now raised it above her head, threatening to strike Diane with it. In a flash Rumi interposed herself between the two. She reached up and caught Eileen's wrist as it descended. Eileen face registered shock, both at the girl's insolence and at her surprising, heretofore unknown strength. The willowy, golden skinned arm didn't budge. Eileen strained to free herself, but could not.

"You will not strike her, Eileen. Never."

Rumi plucked the yardstick from Eileen's fingers then tossed it across the classroom, letting it clatter away. "You enjoy hurting people far too much. This will end today."

"You thinking of taking me on, Mouth? Don't even try."

"What's to try?" Rumi's laconic response infuriated Eileen. Crimson suffused her cheeks. "We are done as of this moment." Rumi pulled Eileen's head to her, kissing her deeply for several seconds. Their tongues tumbled together, writhing like snakes in a pit. Saliva dribbled out of the corner of Eileen's mouth, hanging from her chin in fat, pregnant drops. Rumi broke the kiss. Eileen was shocked to discover that her eyes had closed on their own.

"Wipe your face," Rumi said, derision larding her voice and filling her eyes. "You never were a good kisser. You lack all self control. I am glad to be done with you."

"We're not through until I say so, Mouth. You're mine."

"Not so. We will never have sex again, you and I." Rumi's soft, gentle voice had the tone of finality within it. She turned her back on Eileen and gazed upon the sobbing woman who lay curled upon the desk.

"Why do you cry? I did my best to please you." Rumi's wide, fawn-brown eyes searched Diane's for the answer. Diane wiped the tears from her eyes with the corner of her earlier discarded blouse. She pushed herself up from the tabletop with trembling arms.

"I never thought sex could feel that way."

"What way is that?" Rumi asked her.

Diane didn't know for sure. She had experienced orgasms before. But never an orgasm with the same passion, the same level of intensity.

"I felt like I was the most important thing in the world to someone, even if only for a short time."

"It can be that way for a very long time if you so wish it."

"I do wish it," Diane said. She realized that the heartfelt words were true.

"So shall it be," Rumi said. Her grin made the sun seem dim. "Get dressed, Diane. We shall go somewhere and talk."

"Miss Greer," Diane corrected.

"Miss Greer during school hours, certainly. Appearances must be kept. I do not wish to cause you any embarrassment. But I will call you Diane after hours, if I may. I did have my tongue up your ass. Why so formal now?"

Diane looked stunned by the girl's forthrightness. A smile crept over her face, then it split, forming a grin that rivaled Rumi's own. Rumi dressed her, allowing her talented finders to roam over Diane's lush body as she buttoned up the wrinkled blouse, then smoothed the grey wool skirt over Diane's large, round bottom. Rumi's nails raked over her posterior, sending vibrations through the thin material right into her flesh. "I think I love this part of you the best," Rumi whispered. "Eileen's body always reminded me of a boy's. You have a soft, mature woman's body. I like that."

"I've never been called old and flabby in such a nice way before."

"Being in your thirties doesn't make you old."

"Old enough."

"And I am old enough to choose who my lovers are," Rumi countered. She kept stroking the older woman's backside. Diane craned her face over to Rumi as if for a kiss. Rumi shied her head away.

"Not now. My mouth is filthy, Diane. Wait until I can brush and rinse."

"What about the kiss you gave Eileen?" Diane glanced over toward the stunned blonde who hadn't moved during the entire exchange. Funny, she seemed so imposing only a few minutes before. Now she looked as withered and used up as her womanhood.

"That slut can bloat and turn green for all I care," Rumi pronounced. "Let her get an infection and die."

"Wouldn't that mean you would die from the same condition?"

"Perhaps," Rumi said in a wry tone, "but the mosquito carries malaria without perishing from it."

Diane laughed, amused by this unexpected side to Rumi's passive nature. "Yes Rumi, we must talk."

"Call me Mouth. Please?" Rumi asked. She dropped her eyes to the floor, submissive shyness implicit in the gesture.

"Don't you find that insulting?"

"It is just a word, Diane. One only gets upset if they accept all of the baggage that is associated with the term. I do have a beautiful smile. Why should I not be proud of it?"

"A beautiful, most talented mouth," Diane agreed.

"You two aren't going anywhere!" Eileen shook in her rage, all of the ugliness of her person visible. "You want some of what Jackie got, then take a step out that door without my say-so."

"Or you will do what, Eileen? Have us beaten? Spread rumours through the school about Diane and myself? What will you do?" As she spoke, Rumi approached the pissed off girl, standing so near to her that their noses almost touched. "Let me tell you something, Cunt. You like to boast far too much about your misdeeds. I have hours of audiotape about many of your crimes, including how you arranged the rape and the assault of Miss Brennan and your blackmailing of other faculty members for good grades. I have recordings about other things, like how your father and brothers repeatedly raped you from the age of five up until last year. Try anything, and I will get you at your entire twisted family thrown into prison. At the very least, it will discredit anything you say. My father is a diplomat, Cunt. We have money. Many things work differently in Japan, it is true, but some things work very much the same between Japan and the West." Rumi leaned in closer, breathing the words into Eileen's ear.

"My father has strong ties to the Yakuza. Most successful businessmen do if they wish to keep their fortunes. People who trouble my clan tend to vanish. Especially pesky Gaijin like you." Rumi smiled, a feral grin that looked quite incongruous when compared to her warm brown eyes. "Your fair hair and pert ass would fetch us a good price in some of our Hostess Bars in Shibuya and Harajuku."

"Rumi?"

"Don't speak to me again, Eileen. Your pedophile father won't be able to locate your remains if you do. Then again, I doubt the sick bastard would even bother making the effort to find you." Rumi stroked the side of Eileen's face with the back of her slim hand. Just as Eileen leaned into it, attempting to prolong the contact, Rumi withdrew it. "Thank you for introducing me to Miss Greer. I wouldn't have had the nerve to do so on my own. Bitches like you do have some value, Eileen."

Rumi brushed past the stricken girl, efficiently arranging her rumpled clothing. "Diane, are you ready to go?"

"Yes, Mouth."

Rumi smiled at Diane's awkward attempt to use her nickname. Time would make it seem more natural for her. "Then let us depart." Rumi exited the room without a backward glance for her former lover.

"I'll make you pay, Gash. One day you'll suffer for this." Diane almost didn’t hear Eileen's whispered threat.

Diane looked over the pathetic student. She seemed so frail now, so small and vulnerable. Here stood the unwanted child that sobbed silently for attention and affection. But this guttersnipe had sharp teeth and would think nothing about biting the hand that stretched forward in friendship or in aid. No, much better to keep all of her fingers intact. "One day, perhaps. But today is not that day." Indeed, today belonged to Diane. Diane, and Rumi. She left the girl alone in the detention hall to study the true meaning of suffering and loss. ---

Well, there is my first lesbian story. Should I keep on writing all-girl stories, or do I do the genre a great disservice? Please let me know via your votes, and especially with your feedback. Your letters of encouragement -- along with the great story ideas and helpful criticism -- are always appreciated.

Until next time,

-T