tagLesbian SexThe Genie Visits

The Genie Visits

bySistaShakespeare©

I finally got around to looking for a picture of Sandra Bullock. I thought I knew what she looked like but I was wrong. She's got more character in her face than I'd expected. Wow Cubao! Do you really look like that Chris?

I have to see... I'll visit you in your secret place. I can do that because I'm a genie...Not like the big blue stupid one in Aladdin. I'm the sly sweet brown one that Arab men claim gives them wet dreams... So sorry Effendi but it's my night off.

Steamy, jasmine scented, the soft light from above your vanity mirror silhouettes you seated at your dressing table. The candles flicker and, in the diffusing glow, I can only make out the soft fluffy curls of your hair and the slope of your shoulders though your robe. I pause several feet behind you... My heart beats faster and my nipples tingle with anticipation. I wait as you shudder slightly, wondering if it's your imagination or if you've just caught a hint of something exotic mingling with the bouquet of your herbal bath and the comforting smell of hot wax. You toss your head, shaking off the thought that you're no longer alone. Still standing motionless, I'm hesitant, perhaps I should have visited you later in the night... slipped into your bed and given you a dream that would have woken you trembling with a handful of your own breast and damp scented fingers. But no lah I've come to fulfil your heart's desire. To woo you with butterfly kisses and sibilant words, wound you beautifully with my gentle fingers.

You should have seen my slender shade in your mirror Christine but you were stargazing as I slipped out of your reveries and into your bubble. You missed the brief gleam of candlelight on morena skin. You draw breath sharply, aware now that you're not alone. My perfume, my Shalimar, fills you with soporific calm. My breath's warm on your hair as fingertips brush your shoulders sending a delicious jolt through your heart and down into your tightening womb. Kneading your warm silky shoulders, feeling the trembling of your arousal, seeing your fair face dimly in the mirror, I whisper "Christine. It's time for your bath Mahal."

Carmine nails tauten the skin on the back of my hands... anxious as I cup your face in my palms. Gently, tenderly I tilt your face to mine. The last thing you see before my lips brush yours is the light of candles in my narrowing eyes. I love your mouth. Open it for me Christine... My tongue darts and flickers over yours trying to circle it's tip the way I want to lap your taut little pearl many times before the dawn. My fingers twine in your hair as our kiss deepens. You're hungry for me now... eager for the gentle rasp of my teeth on your lips and tongue. At last I draw back and gaze into your beautiful blue eyes... What do you see in mine Christine? ... Feel na feel. It's hunger for you.

Your eyes caress my breasts I can almost feel the heat of your stare on my risen nipples. Hard as opals, blunt brown teats throb as your mouth swoops towards them. I almost scream as your soft wet mouth closes over one stiff teat. Arms around you I close my eyes and absorb the warmth of you nuzzling at my breast. Your tongue flicks my nipple against your teeth sending little waves of pleasure through me from head to toe...

Gathering handfuls of your dark glossy hair as you suckle greedily, I twist it into a horsetail and slip a velvet band around it. If I looked into your eyes again... Saw the longing there, mirroring my own, I'd have to be rough with you so... I don't...I lift you gently to your feet and rest my cheek in the hollow of your shoulder breathing the essence of your hot skin. For love of you, I will do this perfectly, not miss a single beat of your heart's desire. I'm cruel like that. Not for you the mercy of a quick orgasm and a sisterly cuddle. Not for you Christine Dear. My tongue spirals slowly upwards from neck to cheek to ear and then as you shudder, I use my teeth on the lobe of your ear.

Shuddering you twist away and my fingers dig fiercely into your upper arms pushing you down astride the chair. I know now what to do... Pulling the robe from your pale shoulders I wrap my slim brown arms around you and feel the warmth of your skin on mine. A little sob escapes your lips... you're beginning to squirm between me and the seat. My lips brush your ear as I whisper "Be still Christine... Don't fuck the chair" Unsheathing your silky skinned arms from the robe I kiss the top of your spine as the material bunches at your waist. You've been imagining my hot little hands on your breasts for so long now it takes an instant for you to realise they're actually there, gathering their weight and warmth into delicious handfuls. I mould them to your body flexing my fingers in their opulence as my own flatten against your back, the nipples so hard you can feel them grazing your skin. You want to move. You want to come but you're bewitched... I've found your nipples... Trapped them each between two fingers and a thumb. The little circular motions and the upwards pressure of my palms against your soft flesh make you whimper softly into the crook of your own arm. Glancing towards the mirror I can see only the dusky double arc of my back and our heads together side by side. It's enough to make my moistness flow hot wet... I press my belly snugly against your hipbone nudging rhythmically.

I was going to massage you tenderly like a baby Christine Darling. I swore to myself that I'd forsake my own longings to make yours complete but I find myself beguiled, seduced by your sweetness and ripeness. I take your hand in mine. I love the forlorn look in your eyes as I drag you to your feet and your robe falls to the floor... Maybe lor I will massage you... there's still time.

You were never sure... I wasn't either. Feel my hot tongue against your throat. We know now. It's easy, Impossible to resist. Feel my little teeth; not so gentle now... One hand on your sleek thigh, your hot hard nipple fills my mouth, it's slubbed texture against my tongue seems more taste than touch. My other hand playfully pinching its voluptuous twin as reluctantly you push me away and turn towards the bath. In love with the curve of your back, the flare of your waist, the paleness of your skin, I watch you step into the tepid water and beguiled by your stunning legs, I rush to join you.

Face to face, for you turned before I could wrap my arms around your waist, we embrace. Our breasts bobbing in the scented oily water we cling and twine, I can gaze into your pretty eyes now and lose myself in their thousand shades of beguiling blue. When we kiss the roughness I hold you with is needed now to control you writhing, squirming derriere.

"Christine..." In the beginning, I didn't like the name. I wanted to call you Chris, but now as our thighs scope together and your arms and mine entwine, It's "Christine" I want to whisper into your mouth as I come.

Your hips undulate smoothly rippling and splashing the water around our squirming bodies. My nails embossing your soft flanks as I rock you to 'an' fro, feeling the fullness of your flower under my hand, hotter and slicker than the caress of the oiled and scented water. And yes - That's just two fingers you're dancing on; perhaps you need something more?

Ah! The puffy little star of your anus quivers invitingly under my inquiring fingertip, opening, uncoyly willing the digit inwards. My index finger sinks easily into your smooth tight heat without a murmur of protest or encouragement from your bee stung lips. Look at you; the crescent-thin whites of your eyes gleaming under fast fluttering purple-veined lavender lids, your glistening mulberry red lips swollen from not quite biting back the words.

...what did you almost say you bitch? The unwelcome vision comes to me, of you knelt small and naked on the unmade bed whimpering a thousand breathless yes's into the pillows as he fucks your ass, pumping smoothly, sybaritically into your trembling clenching heat. The urgency of your arcing, circling haunches against my smoothly plunging index finger says it all.

Still thinking of you and him, the one you swore you'd already left, I cram my oozing tongue between your teeth probing deeply, stuffing my fingers into you, hooking them with each scooping thrust, willing you to your feet, up onto the edge of the tub. You're almost demure, virginal, sitting sidesaddle on the tub as you reach for me. I finesse your hands away from my waist and draw your arms out until we're fingertips to fingertips at arm's length. I gaze down into those misty blue eyes and as they meet my own you smile your guilty smile. I gesture with my head; you follow its direction, folding quietly, neatly onto the floor at my feet. Folding again into a fetal ball of tangled coltish limbs. Almost smothered by the bath sheet you tremble with the chill air and the touch of my fingers though the fleecy towel. The tip of my tongue flicks at the little water drops that lie like seed pearls on your brow and cheeks. I dab at the streaming moisture pooling in the hollows of your sleek frame and trace the bolder curves of your exquisite limbs with a corner of its fluffiness.

"Say something..." I whisper, my lips brushing your ear, my fingertips searching out the stony tower of your risen nipple in the curving expanse of hot pink velvet.

"Do me." You whisper breathlessly.

Is that all? If you'd said 'Fuck me', I'd have been offended, but I was hoping for; "You're so good to me" or "I'm sorry... that just slipped out." Something like that would've been endearing...

Nestling between folded legs that seem to be most of you, I trace their finespun satin-silk contours from ankles to calves to thighs and back again, the tips of my fingers circling, stroking, and raising goosebumps on the warm skin. Leaning over you holding your ankles high I drop a shower of kisses into the hollow behind each knee as my fingertips brush against yours. My fingertips trace the darker line from belly button to the budding whorl of delicate flesh. You're purring softly as I take your impossibly elegant hand in mine and splay it across the full lipped valley of your sex, pressing and crimping the carmine painted nails tightly into the softness over your pubic bone forking them either side of the risen pearl. The tip of my tongue hovers, drooling above the small pale orb.

I unfold rose soft tumescent petals running with the essence of your desire, exposing the dusky purple-red and coral pink of your inner folds. So lush, so ripe for me... I'm gentle and attentive, feeling your thighs tremble, your swollen clitoris swoon into the swelling mound. I kiss the softest, hottest part of you and feel it swell out against my lips with a taste like the summer sea... warm, salty, fresh. You gasp softly but say nothing as my tongue flicks over the rim of your vage. You squirm; I pause and for a second our eyes meet... The look on your face is rapturous. My own is wet with your juices and my expression perhaps matches yours. Slowly I ease my middle finger deeper and feel the heat and juices flow. You're hugging yourself, crying as I kiss the very centre of you; my tongue circling your pearl as my finger probes deeper; faster.

"Fuck Me." she whispers; a modest request in the circumstances.

I ease a second finger in, finger-fucking you hard, knuckles buried in your heat as my fingertips caress your cervix. Shuddering and gasping, you come; impaled on my fingers, stabbed by my pointed pink tongue, your hips throw themselves up against my mouth as the pleasure comes in huge shuddering waves, the moment becomes eternity.

As you lie curled and sated hugging the damp towel to your slackening breasts, slyly glancing at the clock, somewhere in the moon dappled night a tomcat calls... Emerald green eyes flash, a long pewter-grey tail swishes from side to side and I'm gone.



This was one of a number of stories and love letters written to a beautiful American woman. This was the last one, written after I realised that she had no intention of meeting me alone as she'd promised and that she'd been less than truthful about her feelings and her marriage. It might seem a little bitchy, but it's a very toned down version of what I sent to her at the time.

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bySistaShakespeare© 0 comments/ 31325 views/ 1 favorites
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