tagLesbian SexA New Adventure Every Day Pt. 01

A New Adventure Every Day Pt. 01



This is the first part of the story of Sam and her new life. It is a long story, by far my longest to date, and have split it into six parts to make it manageable.

Thanks must go to Winterreisser for editing beyond the call of duty putting up with and uncomplainingly correcting my silly typos and repeated mistakes. Further thanks must go to Kat for advice, encouragement and, well, being Kat.

FAIR WARNING: While this story (all six parts) is, at its heart, a lesbian romance (hence its categorization), it does contain pee play in this part and in later parts and also scat (shit) play in later parts. If you have an aversion to such sexual activities then please, please do not read this story. I cannot make it clearer than that!

After reading, please take a moment to rate the story and, if you have the time and inclination, comment on it; this has taken many hours of writing so it would be good to hear what you think of it.

I hope you enjoy the story.


CHAPTER 1 -- A New Start and a New Resolution

It's half past nine on Friday morning as I take the narrow left-hand turn into Ladywood Lane and congratulate myself that I didn't miss the turn and end up in the centre of the village as I did the previous three times I have visited. Of course, there is no street sign indicating that this is Ladywood Lane or even that there are houses here until I round the first bend. Then I can see the row of five little cottages with mine at the far end, where the tarmac of the lane gives out to become a dirt track into the wood. Outside my new home a large removals lorry is parked and I'm impressed: they weren't due to be here until ten o'clock.

I drive past the lorry and park up then go and say hello to the three men in the lorry cab, congratulating them on being so prompt. "I'd offer you all cups of tea but unfortunately the kettle is back there somewhere!" I say, pointing back to the body of the lorry. "If you can find a box marked 'Kitchen Stuff, Box 1' then there'll be tea ten minutes after that's in the kitchen, I promise."

"Sounds good to me, love!" replies Alan, the foreman. "Come on lads, let's get crackin'."

As they exit the cab I open the garden gate and walk up the short path. The front garden and hedge is overgrown; it looks like I'll need to acquire some gardening skills. Once in the house I recall that I need to turn on the electricity and water so I head into the cupboard under the stairs. I flick the main switch on the fuse box and test the cupboard light, which works. The stopcock for the water is hard to turn but I am determined not to have to call on one of the removals men to help. I pull the sleeve of my jacket down over my hand to get a better grip on the tap head and, finally, manage to turn it. Once started it is easier; I open the tap fully and can hear the faint hiss of the water moving in the pipe. I feel proud that I have kept to my determination to be independent.

I take a brief tour of my new home and then have to begin directing the men as they lug the furniture in. And so the day continues: directing, making tea for the men and unpacking some of the boxes. The day becomes hot and humid but the men and I push on. Finally, a little after four o'clock, the lorry is empty and the men leave. I find myself walking around the cottage, amazed that I'm here.

The cottage is small and old and snug. Downstairs there is the hallway off which is the sitting room, the extended kitchen and the bathroom, also part of the extension, the cottage having been built long before the days of indoor running water. Upstairs there are two bedrooms or, more accurately, one nicely appointed bedroom with my large double bed and one room filled with the boxes and odd bits of furniture that I have been unable to fit in as yet.

The house is nominally in the little village of Frehurst, that the locals pronounce FRAY-hurst. I say nominally because the cottage, along with the other four at the end of Ladywood Lane, is some half a mile from the village proper. All five cottages back onto the Ladywood: several square miles of ancient woodland. In addition to the small garden at the front, my cottage has a larger garden at the back with a gate that leads into the wood.

I finish my tour and, despite the heat, set to some serious unpacking. Now that I'm alone, I find that I cannot help recalling memories of the previous eighteen months and the mess that my life became. After years of marriage and a job I enjoyed, my life was like a high-speed express train that, having been gliding smoothly and effortlessly along, suddenly jumps the rails to become a broken, tangled, smoking wreck.

At age thirty-eight I was Mrs Samantha Dowler, a teacher of English in a secondary school (that's twelve to eighteen year olds, for those who don't know) and deputy head of the department; who had been happily married to Steve for eight years and still had a decent figure -- I work hard to keep it that way. Okay, I might want a bit more on top and my hips a bit smaller, but my breasts are a decent size, my waist is reasonably trim and legs and bum toned. I have bright blue eyes, pale, brown shoulder-length hair that was blond until my late teens and a slim face with, if I were being critical, a nose that is a little too long and lips that appear rather thin without lipstick. Not that Steve ever said anything to criticise my looks. The only thing he complained about was my occasional smoking.

It started to go wrong when the Head of English, Jane Thomas, went on long-term sick leave with stress. Margaret Walker, one of the Deputy Head Teachers, came to see me and told me, assuring me what a fantastic opportunity this was for my career. My anxiety and suspicion must have shown. "Don't you trust me, Samantha? Of course I'll make sure that you get the help and support you need to cover for Jane.

I felt I had little choice but to trust her; it was a great opportunity and I was, after all, the deputy in the department so this was expected of me. If only the promised support had been there...

Even at the time I thought I sank surprisingly quickly. Jane had left a huge backlog and I had to cover my own work as well. My working hours grew longer; I took more work home; my sleep worsened and my smoking increased as I worried about work; I had no time for Steve or friends...

I had been struggling like this for three and a half months when Steve, the husband I had adored and whose support I needed more than ever, decided to leave saying that he was tired of being ignored and with my ill-temper. It was only later that I discovered he'd been having an affair with a work colleague for the previous eight months!

Things went bad but fast after that as the figurative train of my life catapulted off the rails. Another week and I was off with stress. As the divorce began, stress became depression and there followed months of anti-depressants and therapy as I gradually pulled myself back together. I gave up smoking, sleep returned and I even managed the occasional smile. I was left with the payoff from the school and the house as settlement from the divorce; this last a somewhat mixed blessing owing to the memories with which the house was filled.

The few stalwart friends that I had helped and supported me and someone, Ruth I think, planted the suggestion that I move out of London and make a new start. So I did: I took the money from the pay off and the sale of the house and bought a small cottage on the edge of a village, miles from London and planned the move for the beginning of June.

There was one thing I did agonize about: my name. Did I keep Dowler or revert to my Maiden name of Cummings. Dowler was obviously a name of which I was no longer enamoured but Cummings, as you can imagine, had the baggage of many years of teasing as I was growing up. It was a difficult choice and in the end I was tempted to settle it with the toss of a coin; heads for Dowler, tails for Cummings. It was tails and therefore it was Ms Samantha Cummings -- no, not Samantha, definitely 'Sam' -- so it was Ms Sam Cummings who packed up and left London one Thursday early in June.

This is my fresh start, my new beginning. Sam Cummings has arrived and moved in; I am determined that she is not going to make the same mistakes and miss out on the fun and pleasure life has to offer. After all, as a friend had pointed out, no one on their death bed ever said, 'I wish I'd spent more time at work' or 'I wish I'd done more ironing'! No, I'd had a year or more of misery, now for a year or two of fun and adventure. That's it, that's my resolution: a new adventure every day.

CHAPTER 2 -- An Adventure in the Dark

The light is starting to fade as I heat a can of soup for my supper. As I eat I realize how tired I am: it has been a busy day and I decide on an early night, promising myself an early start tomorrow, determined that I will finish the unpacking. Despite my tiredness, I have trouble getting to sleep; the bedroom is hot and humid and I kick off the duvet and try just a sheet. That is still too warm. Finally, uncovered and naked, I drift off to sleep.

I wake in the sticky heat of the night. Despite the open window and the lack of any covering whatsoever I am hot and the sheen of sweat coating my skin glistens in the moonlight. It is very quiet, such a contrast to London.

I rise and head downstairs for a drink of water. I feel better for it but the air is still close and humid so I open the back door knowing there is no one to see me. Slightly cooler, fresher air wafts in and I cannot resist taking a step to stand in the doorway. The fact that I am naked and almost outdoors gives me a terrific thrill; this is so naughty! It is after midnight, so a new day. Another day, another adventure; that thought is enough and I step into the garden. The air and moonlight on my naked body feel wonderful and I feel my nipples harden, but not from cold. I can feel my pussy moistening too as what I'm doing arouses me.

I walk through the cool grass to the gate, knowing my garden is not overlooked. I feel so wanton and uninhibited as I look from the gate into the woods beyond. There is an area of grass and undergrowth like a small glade outside the gate; through this a path runs from the trees on the left and bending slightly to head away from the cottage on the right of the glade. The moon, not quite full, turns the view into a chiaroscuro vision in white, deep grey and charcoal black. I wonder what it would be like to run naked through the woods when, almost as if conjured by my thought, I see movement through the trees to the left: a pale flash in the moonlight. Instinctively I duck down behind the gate as I wonder what it was. An animal? A person? I hear soft footsteps on the path and crouch lower as they hesitate for a moment. As the footsteps continue on I breathe again and then risk snatching a peek over the gate and glimpse naked buttocks, legs and feet: it's a person, probably a woman, as nude as I am.

I quietly open the gate and see what is, unmistakeably, the back of woman heading into the woods, dark hair and skin bleached white in the moonlight, dappled by the shadows of leaves. She passes under the trees and almost disappears in the shadows so I start to follow her along the faint path. A moonbeam through the leaf canopy illuminates her right arm and leg as I try to close the distance whilst staying silent and for a minute I think I'm succeeding. Just then there is a loud crack as I tread on a dry twig. The woman turns at the sound; her head is in shadow but her shoulder, arm and breast are brightly lit. She moves and vanishes into the ebony shadows then, a moment later, the sound of soft running feet. I look but cannot see anything as the sound quickly fades.

It occurs to me that I am naked and alone in the woods and for the first time I become nervous; what if I come across a man here? I also need to find my way back to the garden and, though I haven't come far, I do not know these woods at all.

I make my way carefully back, retracing my steps until I come to the garden gate. I feel safe again and, as I cross the garden, I become aware of how wet I am: my hairless vulva and inner thighs are wet from my now oozing pussy. I hurry indoors and up to my bed where I lay down and bury my fingers in my cunny. I haven't been this wet in ages and I bring my fingers to my mouth to taste myself, knowing that this will make me ever hornier. My fingers return down below as the taste lingers on my tongue. I am so wet that first three and then four fingers slip inside.

I am still not satisfied. I sit up a little and pinch my fingers and thumb together before pushing them through my swollen, dripping labia. It is tight as it comes to the palm; I have never done this before but I want to do it now. "I'm going to fist myself!" I say out loud, feeling that what I'm about to do is really kinky, as I push my hand and I feel myself open a little more. I relax and then repeat this, edging my hand ever deeper until it is buried inside me. Just the sight of it, knowing what I've done, triggers an orgasm. I groan as the thrill passed through me but as soon as it's passed I move my hand inside myself. The feeling is incredible as I continue it as my other hand rubs my clit.

Before long I am pumping my buried hand back and forth, rubbing across my g-spot wonderfully, while the fingers of my other hand frantically strum my clit. I feel my second orgasm building, and in my mind I see the naked woman in the woods and imagine it is her hand buried in my womanhood, slathered in my love cream, pumping inside me... With a scream my orgasm crashes through me and my body goes rigid, my hand pulls out from my pussy and I gush fluid that splashes off my hand over my abdomen and legs.

I lay back, my mind floating as my hand rub my love fluids across my body, coating myself in the smell of female sex before I drift off to asleep.

CHAPTER 3 -- Meeting the Queen of Innuendo and Flirtation

I wake, thinking of the vivid dream of being naked in the woods and fisting myself. Then I become aware of the scent of sex and the stickiness on my skin and the reality of last night floods back. I can scarcely believe what I did, indoors and out. That the thought of being with a woman turned me on so much is completely unexpected, almost disturbing since I have never had such thoughts before. However, I find myself smiling; I promised myself an adventure every day and here I was having them at night too! I spread my legs wide and begin masturbating, rubbing my clit as I remember the thrill of my night time adventure. I dip the fingers of my other hand between my cunny lips and suck them, quickly reaching climax. This country air is making me a horny bitch, I think to myself as I swing my legs off the bed and head down to the bathroom to shower.

Showered, dressed and breakfasted I crack on with the unpacking, working steadily and systematically from room to room. Midday passes and I work on until all the boxes are unpacked, the house tidied and cleaned: everything is just right. By now it is late afternoon, getting towards evening and I finally sit down, proud of my hard work and my new home.

I am just starting to relax when there is a knock at the front door. When I open it I see an incredibly attractive woman standing there. She looks to be in her mid-twenties, perhaps a little older. She has an oval face with clear grey eyes and soft lips. The most striking thing however is her hair: it is long and wavy, falling over her shoulders, and is glossy with the deep blue-black iridescence of a raven's wing. It is amazing!

Her figure is pretty amazing too: slightly taller than me and fuller in the bust and hips she has a definitely feminine shape, something emphasized by her tight deep V-neck tee shirt that shows her cleavage and shorts that show her shapely legs. Her smooth skin is lightly tanned and she glows with health, a radiant smile on her face.

I suddenly realize that I have been staring at her for far too long, almost eyeing her up. Heaven only knows what she's thinking of me. It occurs to me that she is doing exactly the same to me and quite obviously too! I don't know why; I must be more than ten years her senior and dressed in an old tee shirt and jeans, grubby from the unpacking and cleaning, my hair held back in a ponytail and I feel in need of a shower.

"Hi there, new neighbour," she says. Her voice is a soft, sensuous alto that makes my scalp tingle. "Welcome to Frehurst. I'm Megan but please call me Meg, all my friends do."

"Hello, Meg," I reply, holding my hand out to shake, "Samanth... um, Sam Cummings," I correct myself. "I'd prefer Sam." She smiles and takes my hand but instead of shaking it she kisses my fingers, which makes my scalp tingle as a little thrill passes through me.

"Cummings?" she asks, as she looks up from the kiss, a slight smile on her face and a mischievous sparkle in her grey eyes.

"Yes," I sigh, with an edge of resignation in my voice, "And I've probably heard all of the orgasm related comments on the name."

"Really? Even the question of whether you're multi-orgasmic? You know, 'Cummings' plural."

Even though I am little shocked by how outspoken she is I cannot help laughing. "No, I'll admit that's a new one. Well done, Meg."

"Anyway, my surname's Dike, so..."

"Ouch! That must have been really tough at school."

"Yeah, until I came out as lesbian at fifteen. That brought its own problems, of course, but at least they couldn't tease me with my name any more!"

Oh my God! I've been talking to this woman for less than two minutes and she's come out to me. She must be very brave and very trusting to be so open with a stranger and I am touched by that. However, I don't quite know how to respond so I say the first thing that pops into my head. "So was it a case of Nominative Determinism?"

"Nommy what?" she asks, confused.

"Nominative Determinism: did your name mean that you became gay?"

Now it's her turn to laugh. "Nooo! It was being unable to look at a cute girl without getting horny; I think that was the clue!"

We laugh easily together. Though I'm astounded at the conversation we are having, Meg is such a warm, open and welcoming woman that I cannot help liking her immensely and wanting to be her friend.

"Look, do you want to come in for a cup of tea or something?" I ask.

"Hmmm, something sounds nice!" she replies and the tone of her voice and the glint in her eye makes me wonder what she's thinking, giving me a nervous butterfly sensation in my stomach. Unexpectedly, she suddenly reaches down into the clump of lavender beside the path and pulls out a bottle of white wine, the condensation covering the glass showing how chilled it is. "I know it's a little early, but how about this instead of the tea?"

"Oh, that's much better -- especially as I don't have any more milk." I smile as I usher her in. "You're my first guest Meg and you're very welcome."

Meg steps through the door. "And let me welcome you to our village, Sam. I'm so glad I have such a beautiful, sexy and friendly new neighbour." She rests her hand on my hip as she leans in and kisses my cheek.

I feel warmth in my cheeks, both from her words and her kiss. "Me, sexy? Dressed like this? Hardly!" I laugh.

"Oh, sexy isn't clothes," Meg replies, her voice exuding that same sensuality as her first words to me, "sexy is the body underneath and on the inside. And you, Sam," she brushes my cheek with her fingertips, "are sexy."

I have never been flirted with so blatantly even by a man, let alone a woman! And yet, curiously, I don't find it threatening; I'm actually quite flattered. "Meg, you do realize that I'm not gay, don't you? I was married until ten months ago. I mean, I have no problem with people being gay or lesbian, I've friends and colleagues who are, but it's just that I'm straight, so..."

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