|Chain Letter Pt. I
by Mark Anthony ©
This story is copyrighted 1999 by Mark Anthony. This is a work of erotic
fiction, involving explicit sexual acts between consenting female adults.
If it ain't your cup of tea, read something else. If you are under 18 years
of age, ditto.
She brushed a lock of blond hair out of her face absentmindedly, looking for a sender's address. She knew better than to reply to the message when she saw it was some kind of anonymous mailing list. The contents of the message, unfortunately, reminded her all to well of her ongoing boyfriend problems of the moment, which centered around a dufus by the name of George Torelli. Instead, she tried to focus on the annoyance of having to filter through the mess of unwanted messages and other junk mail, but ten seconds wouldn't go by before George's face cropped up again and again in her mind.
"What the hell," she muttered, clicking on the forward icon and sending a copy of the "love mail" to three of her girlfriends--she sure as hell didn't lose much by resorting to that desperate kind of help. The message was forwarded instantly, and she erased it, shut off her computer, stretched her arms, grabbed her coat and purse, and went home.
By the time she got home, she had forgotten the whole thing.
"So what's the deal with the agency?" George asked, with typical nonchalance. "Are you gonna keep the job or not?"
Andrea was slowly discovering that her boyfriend had a gift for making his inquiries sound mechanical and coldly ritualistic, as if it were a particular burden on their relationship. She sat tensely on her chair, in a conservative but nicely cut evening dress, which tightened around her delicate, bare shoulders, and emphasized her soft silhouette. She had bought it recently, more to please herself than for George.
"I still don't know George. Can't we talk about something else for now, please?"
George was good looking to say the least, a bit of an unexpected catch for Andrea, following a double date with a cousin and two of her acquaintances two months ago. He was tall, striking, with sharp features and the body of a consummate athlete. She, with her shoulder-length natural blond hair, gentle brown eyes and sexy figure, was certainly a catch for *him*.
The first two weeks had been great, the couple quite taken with each other... but the routine of a normal relationship had soon begun causing a great deal of friction. George was very much self-absorbed. Looking back on the last few weeks, Andrea really wasn't sure they were going anywhere.
"You're always talking about the job when we get together Andrea", his biting sarcasm catching the attention of the young waiter who was passing by their candlelit table, "Now that I *indulge* you for a bit you don't wanna talk about it?" His emphasis on the word indulge carried all the snobbery he would have used in reprimanding a child.
Andrea made a dismissive gesture, trying hard not to let the mounting frustration in her ruin a perfectly good meal in the romantic surroundings of the Italian restaurant. She desperately wanted to enjoy a smooth evening for once.
So George dropped it. But his voice kept that nagging acerbic edge all evening, as he made a point to recount the trivial details of his own little life, most of it growing more and more uninteresting in her eyes. The gap in common interests had appeared quite early, but had been ignored by the both of them in the excitement of a budding relationship. It was now coming back with a vengeance. By the end of desert, both were silently looking into their own empty plates. Andrea was trying to come up with reasons for staying with him. By the time the check arrived, George announced he was coming over her place to grab his stuff.
"Fine" was all she said.
A single tear was slowly coming down her cheek by the time she got to Fey's place. Her friend opened the door and quickly got her into the lofty apartment, sitting next to her and being supportive as she struggled with her emotions.
The tears were of frustration mostly--that and the feeling of trying to give yourself wholly to another while receiving nothing in return. George was a son-of-a-bitch, and she wasn't unhappy to be rid of him--she was just angry at herself for having wasted time on him.
Fey nodded sympathetically, with an understanding forged since they were both little girls. They sat on the large couch, in the middle of spacious surroundings, soft lights illuminating part of the mostly dark apartment. The purposefully somber and reserved atmosphere was the sort of thing that was part of the cathartic ritual, something that went back a long way in their friendship.
"Don't worry about it" Fey assured Andrea with a impish smile, "at least now the wish-mail can do its work". Andrea looked at Fey, momentarily puzzled. "Oh--that e-mail. Yeah, I guess" she said, unconvinced. "I never put much stock in those things. And it's not as if the breakup wasn't going to happen."
She could feel that anger rising in her once again, but Fey calmed her down. She hugged Andrea tightly, stroking her mane of rich hair. "Believe me Andrea," she offered, gazing in her lovely eyes, "you can't avoid this kind of thing. Meeting this jerk may have been a low point, but at least you got rid of him in record time. Now if it had been me..."
"You never went out with a jerk like that!" Andrea protested.
"Harrison Nichols" Fey reminded her.
Andrea's mouth closed tightly, unable to think of a comeback.
Fey's expression was soft, even amused. "Two years, remember? And I'd still be hanging on to him if it wasn't for you."
Andrea smiled ever so slightly, for the first time of the evening, which delighted Fey.
"I still lead the 'most jerks dated' category, though..." she mused jokingly.
"Damn straight" Fey said, with a mock 'better you than me' expression, and yelped when Andrea poked her in the ribs.
Both women exploded in laughter.
Days turned into weeks.
Andrea soon forgot about George. In fact, her "mourning period" was short lived, ending abruptly when she discovered that she was in line for a promotion at the agency. Before the end of the month she was in charge of several projects, and was even allotted a budget and given administrative responsibilities. Someone had noticed the long hours she had put in and things were definitely looking up.
Two weeks later, she took time on a lunch break to pay Rachel a visit.
She was a mutual friend of Andrea and Fey, was a tall and stunning brunette working in a modeling agency, easily the best-looking girl Andrea knew. She had provided useful contacts to Andrea who had landed her the job at the Publicity Agency. Understandably, Andrea wanted to drop by and thank her again for the lead--it wasn't the ideal job she had conceived of securing when she had left college, but it was pretty close. If only she could get PR assignments, she was sure she could really stand out.
The studio Rachel worked in currently was about fifteen minutes away from her workplace--about halfway to a fast-serve restaurant she liked, not much of a detour for her. She walked into the older looking building, nodding to the receptionist in the main hall and asking on which floor she could find the shooting studio. After a quick ride up an elevator, she walked onto a vast indoor expanse, crammed with projectors, lighting equipment, cameras and wooden panels which served as subdivisions for the extensive number of simultaneous shoots presently going on. The ceiling was easily twice higher than normal, and it seemed that everywhere she looked, there were two kinds of people: gorgeous female models in various states of dress (or undress), and neurotic, focused short men holding on tightly to their cameras, meandering their way through the slightly crazed shooting schedules to make their deadlines.
She inquired quickly to a short and dungy techie who scarcely gave her any attention until she repeated three times that she was here to see Rachel, and then proceeded to yell her friend's name in an ear-splitting voice that made her wince. Seconds later, Rachel's head popped from around one of the backdrops. The techie pointed over his shoulder to Andrea, mumbling something before making a quick exit between the labyrinth of backdrops.
Rachel wore a light robe, under which Andrea could see a revealing dark negligée, a garter belt and long, black stockings with intricate patterns. The model stood a good inch over her on account of a pair of black stiletto heels, and she walked over with an ease and detached informality that seemed to contrast with her state of undress. Other women, similarly attired, came and went, presumably part similar shoots, all of them coldly detached and uncaring of the occasional lewd stare from a technician taking five and admiring the scenery.
"It's been a while Andie" said Rachel brightly, hugging her friend with enthusiasm. "I've been hearing good things through the grapevine."
"Well," Andrea said, unable to conceal her excitement, "I guess I've been doing something right. They might move me up to the public relations department if I can handle the ongoing projects."
"Moving up, mmh? Does this mean I get a finder's fee for getting you in?" Rachel teased.
"Only if I were doing as well as you apparently are" Andrea countered, on the same playful tone. "Now you're doing Victoria's Secret? When are you leaving for Paris?"
Rachel winked as she straightened her bust, as if to show her tits off. "You gotta use whatcha got baby" she managed, in a low, baritone voice, nudging Andrea with her elbow. Both laughed heartily.
"How are you doing?" Rachel continued, in an obvious reference to Andrea's ex. "I haven't been keeping up with my e-mail lately."
"Who?" Andrea inquired, with a wink.
"That was over quickly!" Rachel giggled. "I've talked to Fey, but I didn't know how you still felt about all of this..."
There was a bit of an embarrassing silence then, as if Rachel had run out of things to say--as if she needed to keep going but couldn't quite figure how. It was a peculiar feeling, especially since Rachel wasn't usually much of a motormouth. The sudden silence drew attention to it.
"You got time for lunch in your busy schedule?" Andrea said, quick to break the hush.
"Not at the moment," Rachel answered briskly, with a slight sway in her voice "we're doing catalogs. On the other hand, early next month might be possible--there might be a lull in the shooting schedule. Say... Saturday?"
Andrea frowned momentarily. "I though Saturdays were out since you started going out with that guy from the New York agency? Rob-something...?"
"Who?" Rachel asked, in her best imitation of Andrea's voice and expression.
Their eyes locked. Andrea laughed again , shaking her head. "Jeez! *I* haven't been keeping up with *my* mail! Since when did you break up with him?"
"Since when he started trying to screw me over a deal--not to mention the 'if you want a lucrative contract, I'll have to know how far you're willing to go' routine. Scum, like the rest of 'em." She seemed only slightly annoyed despite the bitter comment, which struck Andrea as a bit odd considering that Rachel was a rather passionate girl about these things.
Andrea caught sight of someone coming out of the sea of people and projectors, and quickly spoke up. "Hey--Hey, is that Vivian?" She called out her name, and the woman indeed stopped and turned, smiling back to the two women.
Rachel's face froze for a second, and she gestured to Vivian to join them. She did so immediately, though she seemed almost reluctant.
She was slightly petite, a semi-pro basketball player turned aerobics instructor. Vivian took care of herself better than any of Andrea's friends, and she had even benefited from a staff discount at the old gym Viv used to work in two years back. She was well proportioned, with slightly Mediterranean features--long dark hair, hazel eyes, and a seemingly year-round soft tan.
"You still here?" Rachel asked Vivian. "I though you had left."
Vivian shrugged, her eyes shifting briefly towards what Andrea assumed to be the ladies' room. "How are you?" she asked warmly, looking at Andrea.
"Doing better at work. Just thought I'd drop by to say Hi--I guess that means we're synchronized."
Vivian nodded, but winced as she looked at her watch. "My boss is going to kill me if I'm not back by One. I have to get going now if I want to beat traffic." She gazed to the pair with apologetic eyes. "Can I make it up to you both? A bitch session at Fey's one of these days?"
"Sounds good" Andrea said. Then: "This place is a fair's way from Wilson and Wilson, Vivian. You came here during lunch?"
Vivian acquiesced nonchalantly. "We've been drafting contracts for Rachel's agency lately. Since she counseled a few of her photographers to come our way, I thought I'd come and thank her personally. I'm sorry, I *really* have to get going."
Rachel and Andrea both nodded understandingly. "I'll talk to Fey," said the latter, "we'll get together soon, I promise."
"Sounds great!" called out Vivian as she turned her heels and made off. "Love ya!"
She waved, and for an instant, Andrea could have sworn that she had winked at Rachel. She turned to see her friend looking on towards Vivian with a strange, far-away look. She blinked and seemed to return to reality moments later. They made small talk for another ten minutes or so, before the techie who had called for Rachel earlier screamed for her once again, and she ran off, apologizing and promising to keep in touch.
Work piled up something fierce. The recent transfer to the PR department was an opportunity for Andrea to show off her people skills, and show off she most certainly did. Her new boss, the third in as many months, was pleased with the feedback from the long-standing clients, and had decided to increase her responsibilities.
And her salary. With her commission bonus, she would rake in an extra ten, maybe fifteen thousand by the end of the year.
She saw Fey from time to time, but that was pretty much all the time off she could afford. She found deadlines to be a rather effective antidote to the occasional longing for romance she still felt. The workdays were long, and she was content to come home, eat a bite, and take a long shower before bed.
Hot water streamed down her body as she stood in the shower, knowing it to be the highlight of this calm and quiet Wednesday night. She stepped out after a few minutes, urinated, put on a bathrobe and fixed herself a diet strawberry shake before slumping in the single couch that sat in front of the newly purchased 17 inch television to watch the 11 o'clock newscast. She got as far as the International news before shutting it off. She finished the shake, left the empty glass in the sink and headed off to sleep.
Lying in her bed, trying to doze off without thinking of work, she closed her eyes and concentrated on her breathing. Sleep eluded her, but she felt her muscles relax. She shifted between the satin sheets of the massive double bed, delighted to have it all to herself.
And then, with that strange kind of mental spark that generates unrelated thoughts, she began thinking of Fey. Soon after, she drifted into a light sleep.
She felt free, secure and happy. She would later remember her dreamlike surroundings as that of a sunny tropical beach on a remote island, though in the hazy, fantastical atmosphere of reverie, it could just as easily have been a beautiful mountain scenery or a sophisticated expanse of luxurious gardens hidden away behind a sumptuous manor.
Fey was with her. Both stood face to face, ghostly dreams in an imagined realm, holding each other in an embrace that was far more than sisterly.
Neither was adorned with clothing of any kind.
And in that strange, out-of-body experience not altogether uncommon in dreams, Andrea saw herself touch and caress Fey in ways that would have made her conscious self blush furiously. Fey reciprocated approvingly, her soft smile seductive and inviting. Soon, both women were locked in a passionate soul kiss, their lips softly touching, their tongues roaming and searching with delirious passion.
It was as if the universe around them gravitated slowly, deliberately, an audience to the display of beauty, love and lust. Their nipples hardened, as each woman used their fingers to softly caressed the other's pussy. Their delicious fondling soon produced orgasmic results. Still locked in a kiss, their climax came quickly and effortlessly, a beautiful thing.
Andrea awoke with a start, unsure of how long ago she had dozed off. Her sheets were damp, her breath was shallow, and a strange and not altogether unpleasant warmth had invaded her pussy. She fell back in bed, eyes searching the ceiling, trying to understand the fleeting dream she had just had. Her mind, clouded and confused, had trouble putting the pieces together. The urge grew inside her, and she instinctively realized she needed release. Her hand quickly found its way under her nightgown, and she discovered that she was even more wet than she thought. She closed her eyes, falling into a slow, familiar rhythm, her agile fingers beginning their work.
She conjured up several images and fantasies in quick succession, but it was not long before Fey's delicate face came to her. In the heat of lustful passion, she did not feel overly alarmed--she had once fantasized about making love to other woman as she fingered herself. But she had never seriously considered a sexual encounter with another woman. The sudden fantasy seem both unexpected... and welcome.
Without thinking much of it, she settled on the image, picturing Fey's shapely and feminine body, and felt her arousal increase abruptly. She focused on the feelings inside her, on the pleasure she felt as her fingers began stroking her wet pussy. As she imagined Fey's nakedness, her soft skin, she saw herself drawing near her, caressing her feminine body. Fey had long auburn hair, down to her lower back, and her soft features combined with her hauntingly dark green eyes, her slim waist and long legs, made her attractive... desirable. Before long, Andrea's fingers were buried deep in her own slit, her knees parting of their own accord as if to accommodate an invisible lover. Her back began to arch as she neared a powerful climax, reflections of Fey's breasts, face, legs and cunt dancing behind her closed eyelids.
Her orgasm overtook her brutally, and was strong and long. She found herself shouting incoherently and without reserve, unexpectedly intense pleasure coursing through her. Her body trembled and shook for the next minute or so, and all energy left her as the tremors subsided. She stayed in her bed, motionless, warmth and sweat and juices seeping inside her sheets. Her eyes opened, and looked up to the ceiling for the longest time, her face devoid of expression. Slowly, absentmindedly, her fingers rose to her lips, brushing against them. She licked her own juices.
And found herself wondering what Fey would taste like.
|Another top quality story by Mark Anthony.|
© Copyright 1999 by literotica.com.