tagLesbian SexThe Kat Who Licked The Cream Ch. 03

The Kat Who Licked The Cream Ch. 03

bySapphos Sister©

'Who's the best fuck you've ever had?' asked Samantha dreamily.

We were lazing in bed together, her head sharing my pillow and nuzzling up against my neck, so that when she spoke, it tickled my ear. The sun, peeking through the crack between the curtains, spilled a lemony shaft of light onto the bedroom walls. I remember how happy I felt, wrapped up in the warmth of our post-coital embrace.

'I don't know,' I said impatiently. Why should I want to think about past lovers at that moment?

'Go on,' Sam persisted. 'Who d'you think?' Her breath ruffled wisps of my hair, teasing my neck as softly as her kisses had done a little while before.

'Present company excepted?' I asked, reluctantly being drawn into her debate.

'Well, what we do isn't fucking, is it? Not technically.'

'Technically!' I laughed. 'Maybe not, but it's very nice.' I squeezed her breast which was temptingly exposed above the duvet. The nipple was still hard from my earlier attentions.

Sam giggled throatily. 'Mm, isn't it just?' As I've said, I love it when she laughs. It sounds so carefree, and sexy too. It brightens the whole room.

'I suppose it depends,' I said, giving her original question more serious consideration than I thought it merited. 'Do you mean fucking or lovemaking? Being in love is best, isn't it?'

'Yeah, of course. But who do you think -- you know, of all the men you've been with -- who's been the best?'

'There haven't been that many!' I protested and pinched her nipple. She let out a little yelp of surprise. 'You make me sound like Madonna or someone.' Sam's eyes were big and blue, and the scattering of freckles across her nose were the same shade. In the early morning light, her muddy blonde hair was streaked in yellow and brown, like a cornfield, and she had never looked lovelier.

For a moment we were silent and then she said out-of-the-blue, 'Mark was good, wasn't he?' The question surprised me because I had been thinking about him only the day before. I could feel my face reddening.

Mark had been good. Very good. But we didn't go out for long. Mark didn't have relationships, he had encounters. He had encountered me one night in Zebras, a nightclub in town. We chatted and, as we did so, I knew exactly what was going to happen. Because it was all there in his eyes, in the way he moved against me when we danced and in the way he held me as he guided me from the dance floor. He had me on the way home -- up against the bandstand in the park. I sucked him off, and then he fucked me. I hadn't done that with anyone before, not on the first night (not even on the second or third), but Mark was different. We went out for about a month and during that time we seemed to spend almost every moment together fucking. Eating, drinking, sleeping and fucking -- that was my life with Mark. And, while it lasted I supposed I enjoyed it because, as I say, he was good. Very good indeed.

It was only later I found out that Sam had known him too, a year before me. Needless to say, we have exchanged notes about his performance.

'What made you say him?' I countered.

'I saw him yesterday,' she replied nonchalantly. I must have looked shocked because Sam put her arm around me and pecked my cheek reassuringly. 'He was in the supermarket.'

'Did you speak to him?' I wanted to know everything, despite myself.

'Yeah.'

'And?' I tried not to sound too curious.

'He asked how you were.'

'What did you say?'

'I said you were fine.'

'Good,' I said. 'I am fine. With you.' I stroked her breast, my fingers caressing the stiff little nipple. 'Is he seeing anyone?'

''Didn't say he was,' she answered.

'What's he like these days?'

'He's just come back from Italy,' Sam said. 'He's been working there. Now he's back for good.' Then she added, 'Actually, he looked really fit. Very fuckable.' Then she gave her dirty laugh again.

I lay quietly brooding on this news. By now my hand was idly stroking Samantha's thigh. She has gorgeous legs, long and slim, and I love to stroke them, slowly sweeping my hand upwards from the backs of her knees to her ever-so-cute bum.

Sam looked into my eyes. 'He's the best fuck I've ever had,' she said decisively, and, after she said it -- before I could reply -- she kissed me full on the mouth, and her tongue slid between my teeth and, finding my own, pressed hard until I had to break off for breath.

I didn't want to think about Mark any more. I wanted to do all those things that weren't possible with him, the things that I had discovered with Sam. But mostly I wanted to make her cum again. And then she would make me cum. And afterwards we could sleep and forget this conversation ever happened.

But, as I leaned into her face to kiss her, Sam pulled back and said, 'You know I do love you in my way, don't you?'

'Yes,' I answered, 'and I love you too. Always will. Until we're toothless old hags. Remember.' It was a promise we'd made to each other -- our private joke.

'You're good to me,' she said. 'The way you still let me have boyfriends.'

'It's alright,' I replied. 'I know what you're like.' I would have preferred it if she didn't, of course, but then, it's probably best that she has her little diversions. It makes her appreciate me. Sad, aren't I?

Then she announced, 'Well, I want to fuck Mark again.'

I must have looked astonished.

'Not just me. You and me together.'

I stared at her blankly. I've never had a threesome, never even wanted one.

Before I could say a word, she continued: 'Just think how cool it would be. He could watch us, and then I could watch you two -- and then .... It would be brilliant.' I looked into her eyes. They were huge and wild. And, just as I had known what was going to happen from Mark's eyes, I was certain that if Samantha had her way, she and Mark and I would soon be sharing a bed and each other.

I tried to rationalise it to myself. Why shouldn't it be just another sex game like the ones we already played together? Anyway, I had liked doing it with Mark. And with Samantha. So what was the problem? The problem was, of course, that Mark was the 'past Kat' and Sam was the 'present Kat' and I wanted to stay in the present, thank you. We had each other and we didn't need him.

Nevertheless, I didn't want an argument, not just after our glorious, sleepy sex. Instead, I just shrugged. But since I knew she was becoming aroused at the thought of the three of us, and since at that moment she was mine alone, I figured that I could easily divert her attention. So I slipped one hand between her legs and the other drew her face to mine. And, whispering in her ear, I told her all the things I wanted to do to her. Without Mark.

She must have enjoyed my plans because she giggled her sexy giggle and then gasped as my fingers found her wetness.

After that, she didn't laugh again for quite a while.

I know what you're thinking -- that I'm a sex addict or, at best, obsessed with getting laid. But I'm not like that. Honestly.

In fact, I've always approved of a maxim my mother once told me: 'It's better to go to bed with a good book than a boring lover.' That's why, after Mark and I finished, I had only one proper lover, Jake, in a year and a half. In that time I read 37 books! I just didn't fancy anyone else enough.

If for a while I did become a little sex-mad with Sam, it's not so surprising, is it?

Firstly, it had been a while, as I've said, since I had had a lover (other than myself!) and, it's true, I was feeling neglected and horny when this fabulously sexy lady (well, hardly a lady) stepped into my life. Secondly, since Sam didn't really like living with her sister, Pru, and Rog, her sister's husband, she was at my place all the time: one moment, I was fearfully and sleepily asking: 'Do you want to meet up again?' and the next her toothbrush was snuggling up to mine and her knickers were in my washing basket. I suppose inclination and opportunity were just too powerful to resist. Thirdly, this was all new to me and I was curious, hungry for experience and eager to do all those things that I had never even imagined. Plus I had my new toys to play with!

I did try to slow things down. I persuaded Sam to teach me French. She works for a travel company and speaks it fluently. Mine is only so-so. But her lessons were doomed to fail. We would sit opposite each other on the floor or the bed, propped against a pile of cushions, and she would ask me something in that smokily, seductive accent. It would always be suggestive: did I like her tits? What undies was I wearing? I would try to answer, and she would laugh at my feeble efforts, then the conversation would move to amour and baiser and soixante neuf. Soon we would be tearing at each other's clothes and she would be pleading, 'Leche ma chatte!' Or 'Oui, fouts-moi, maintenant!' I have to say that Gallic sex was incroyable.

That's how Sam was. And, sadly, it wasn't just with me. I had presumed -- not unreasonably -- that Sam was exclusively lesbian and that she didn't fancy men. How wrong I was. She soon let me know that she would continue seeing her men friends.

For some reason I didn't mind at first. Blinded by love, I suppose. I'd have been jealous if Sam saw another girl. Why should she need to bed other women, when she'd got me? Men seemed to be different though. A need I couldn't fulfil. So I didn't stop Sam seeing men. Nor did she discourage me, though, as it happens, I didn't.

Because of Pru and Roger's restrictions, she usually brought her men to my flat for the night. Then, lying awake under my duvet on the couch, I had to listen to them in my bed as they'd go at it hammer and tongs (or perhaps I mean 'tongues'). She always put on a performance for me. She thought it turned me on. But it didn't.

The next morning, she'd usually kiss her man goodbye and straightaway drag me into bed. Then she'd describe every sordid detail of what they'd done together, sigh and say, 'He was okay, I suppose, but not as good as this.' And that did turn me on. So much that provided they had used a condom, I had to have her there and then even though she'd been with someone else ..... To be honest, especially because she'd been with someone else. It didn't matter that I could smell him on the sheets and on her skin. The thought that she had dismissed him for me was the most powerful aphrodisiac imaginable.

Perhaps, then, I shouldn't have been surprised when she suggested sharing Mark.

My favourite meal of the day is Pussy Pie. Served in bed. For breakfast. Yum yum.

Sam and I were helping each other to seconds one Sunday morning. My legs were helpfully splayed out in a long letter Y and Sam was inverted on top of me in a 69. That's how I like it, my face clamped by her thighs, my breasts pressed by her belly and my crotch enjoying the attentions of her tongue and lips. Her slit was damp from my drool and her juices. Slowly I slid two of my fingers into her.

'Mmmm,' my lover mewed encouragingly and sat up, bracing herself on her forearms, in order to arch against my jaw.

In and out of her, my fingers pumped rhythmically. My lips suckled upon her delicious clit. As her own fingers returned to trace the line of my own slit, the phone rang insistently.

Damn!

'Don't answer it!' I tried to yell but my protest was smothered by her thighs and only a muted gurgling spilled from my lips.

She reached for the phone.

'Oh ..... Hi ..... No .... It's Sam,' Her breathing was ragged and urgent.

I slid a third finger into her weeping pussy.

'Uh .... Oh .... No.....' Then, 'God!' she yelled away from the receiver. 'She's fine ....' she groaned.

I could sense her struggling to hold herself together but it only stitrred in me more devilment. In and out of her my fingers quickened. My tongue flicked across her clit playfully.

Her own fingers eased into me whilst she cradled the phone with her other hand.

'Kat? .... She's busy ..... Downstairs ....' I laughed silently.

'Yeah .... Yeah .... Friday....' Her voice was rising and falling manically as she struggled to achieve some coherence.

'Eight .... O'clock .... Right .... Got to go .... Someone's .... aaahh ..... coming ....'

We both knew who was cumming. She slammed the phone down and cried out.

'Oooooohsweeeeetjeeeesusssss!!!!'

Sam's belly arched against my shoulder. I could feel the stiffening in her limbs as her knees and heels dug into the mattress. She was braced on one arm, crouched above me, pressing her crotch down on my face and prising my mouth hard against her sex. Later I could see nail prints where she had squeezed her tits tightly with one hand. My fingers pressed in and in and into her. Leaning forwards, she bit into my thigh.

'Don't stop .... Don't ....' she was sobbing.

'Oh .... Oh .... Oh ....' Her body convulsed in the sweetest agony.

'Mmmmmm'. A long cooing sigh as she began to come down.

Gradually I relaxed my fingering and then left them in her, still. Gently I kissed around her sopping pussy.

At last, she said what I had suspected.

'Mark. Friday. 8.'

I said nothing.

Climbing off me, she said, 'We're going to fuck him senseless.'

By Friday, my misgivings had started. But a promise is a promise. And besides, you never knew, perhaps Sam would realise how well off we were without Mark. Or maybe it was a test for me? To see whether I still wanted a man. I decided to go a long with it. After all, que sera, sera!

I bathed and shaved my legs. I decided to wear my short tartan skirt and black knee length socks, a black V neck tee shirt and biker boots. Underneath just a pair of black, silk panties. I remembered how he liked his girls and had shaved myself but for a little crest of trimmed pubic hair. I was wearing Oudh perfume which always makes me feel sexy and knowing that I looked as good as I could and smelled better gave me much needed confidence.

Samantha arrived already dressed for the evening. She looked gorgeous. An alice band pushed her hair off her face, showing off her clear skin and lovely eyes. She was wearing a long turquoise dress and, if that sounds reserved, the plunging back, displaying her tanned back, and the slit to the thigh, revealing a bronzed thigh, spoke eloquently of her intentions for the evening.

We each swigged a glass of white wine (in truth, it wasn't my first) for Dutch courage and then Sam announced: 'Let's shag him rotten, sister!'

Mark was already at the restaurant when we arrived. He was seated at our table perusing the menu and sipping on an orange juice.

'Hey, great to see you!' he declared enthusiastically. 'You look fabulous. And, Kat, you haven't changed a bit.'

Mark had changed though. It's true that they he looked (to use Sam's term -- not mine) very 'fuckable' but there was something, I don't know, withdrawn about him. Distracted, I suppose.

He ordered us a drink -- God, I thought, I'm going to be under the table if I don't slow down -- and he told us all about Italy. For the most part, it was the usual stuff: the job had been good, Umbria was wonderful, the people so hospitable. But then, the conversation took a shift. Sam and I told him our news but without explaining our relationship. It was all very cosy. Friendly, if not, intimate; comfortable but not romantic. Sam, of course, kept trying to move the talk onto his love life and sex in general but Mark kept changing the subject.

Then, he declared, 'Well, I suppose I ought to tell you my big news.'

Thank the Lord, I thought, he's engaged. We won't have to do this! In fact, the news was even more startling.

'I've discovered Jesus,' he said. His face was beaming.

Sam looked non-plussed. 'Jesus who?' she asked. 'I hadn't heard he was lost.'

Mark merely ignored her. 'It was in Rome. I suddenly felt lost and ....'

Sam interrupted him, as she slowly gathered the significance of Mark's declaration. 'Does this mean that you don't want to fuck us?'

A lady on the next table almost choked on a mouthful of pork.

'Sorry?' he spluttered.

'Look, Kat and I had been expecting a good fucking tonight. Do you think that we dress like this every night? We've gone to a lot of trouble. I've had my bush waxed especially. Is a fuck so much to ask?'

The red-faced lady was now gagging on her napkin. Her husband was desperately summoning the waiter.

Meanwhile, I was saying to myself: 'Oh, thank you, thank you.'

'Come on, Kat,' commanded Sam as she rose from the table.

I smiled helplessly at Mark. 'Sorry,' I said. 'You know what she's like.'

As we reached the door, I heard him call after us, 'I'll pray for you.'

'Let's get a drink,' said Sam as we emerged into the night air.

'Zebras?' I said, my voice slurring.

The club was dark and packed with revellers in varying stages of inebriation. Raucous music pounded out from a dozen speakers and you could hardly hear yourself think, let alone talk. Across the walls, vivid geometric patterns flashed, interspersed with graphic sexual images.

Sam gestured towards the bar.

We forced our way past snogging couples in every combination: boys with girls, boys with boys, and girls with girls, and some that might have been either. As Sam bought us each a Sangria, I took in the heady atmosphere. The noise was overpowering but strangely liberating too. And completely intoxicating.

Suddenly there was push from an incoming throng and I barged into a small young girl in front of me, spilling her cocktail. She turned around angrily but her wrathful expression turned instantly to a smile.

'It's Kat, isn't it?' she exclaimed. It was Mesum Da. But a completely different creature from the office drone at the bank. Her silky black hair was loose and her lips were a glossy mauve as was her eye shadow. Her eyelashes were long and jet black. But more striking were her clothes. She was wearing a black fishnet cut-out top over a skimpy black bra. Leather hot pants were also black and tight and showed off her butt handsomely. Her slim legs were clad in mauve and black stripy thigh-length hold-ups. On her feet were a pair of butch biker's boots. God, she looked gorgeous. We hugged affectionately.

'Who's this?' she asked interestedly, as Sam fought her way back from the bar. She handed me my drink. 'Your friend?' and, as she said the words, she made quotation marks with her fingers.

'Yes,' I answered and, turning to Sam, I hollered above the din, 'Sam, this is Mesum. You know, from the bank.'

'What? Oh yeah,' said Sam, her eyes lighting up as she squeezed past the revellers and saw my banker in all her exotic loveliness. 'Nipple clamps! Great idea.' We all laughed.

'Well, she needs looking after, doesn't she?' she replied and stroked my shoulder protectively. 'Come on, let's go somewhere quieter.' She waved bye to a group of women and led us around a corner to some sofas. There it was much quieter. We all squeezed on to one sofa, Mesum perched on the arm rest.

'What are you girls doing here?' she asked curiously.

'We were supposed to be hooking up with someone,' Sam answered and, then deliberately (I think) hiding Mark's gender added, 'but they didn't want to come out to play.' She made a mock-sad face.

'Oh,' exclaimed Mesum mischieviously. 'And you're looking for a new playmate, are you?'

Knowing exactly where this was leading, I gestured to Sam surreptitiously 'No, please, no.' After all, she was my bank manager. But Sam just took her hand and said, 'Maybe. Do you want to dance, Mesum? Come on, Kat.'

When we reached the dance floor, it began to empty as the song ended. Then a slower anthemic piece began. We danced in a small triangle. Mesum held her arms behind her back, wrists crossed,and swayed her hips and shoulders sensuously. Her little breasts were thrust out and every now and then, she would flick back her long, jet hair with a hand. Sam only took her eyes off her to smile suggestively to me. Soon they were rubbing up against each other and exploring one another with eager hands. They motioned to me to join them and tentatively (but with a secret keenness) I did so. The heat and smell of their bodies, the lust in their eyes and the alcohol in my veins were utterly maddening.

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