Bewitched

The first thing she could consciously remember were two forms, each twining around the other. They alternately rose and crashed against each other. Hands appeared and disappeared into folds of flesh. Cascading hair covered unknown faces, and then swept along a breast and then a navel, a back then a buttock. As the two figures arched and writhed, rose and fell in passion, she could never be certain if she was dreaming of a man and a woman or two women.

This image swished about in her mind and then evaporated as Sandra slowly floated back to reality. Very slowly. Her eyes were closed, and as she rose to the surface she could feel a strong tingle inside her sex. And not just from the dream either. She felt the delicate point of a tongue prodding her lower lips. The tongue swirled, darted, swept across her clitoris, and then focused on another delicious, wet fold. Tom had done this to her many times before (in fact, he tended to crave it even more than she did), but never with such deliberation and...assuredness. It was the confidence with which he pleasured her that aroused her even more than the pleasure itself. Her lower lips were softly splayed apart and clamped in between his teeth, his tongue toying with her clitoris.

He alternated from gentle to rough, and each change in tempo forced her to exhale heavily, or even moan. She was at the brink now and he knew it too, the way he attacked and then at the last second retreated. The he stopped. And then like a cat he started to very slowly and very sensuously lap with his tongue -- starting from just above her anus up to her clitoris, leaving behind a wake of saliva and her juices. This caused her whole body to relax, but her sex was on fire. She languidly opened her eyes, as always, to look into his when she came. But below her was not Tom. She had short red hair and bewitching green eyes. And although the woman's mouth was suctioned to Sandra's lower lips, she could have sworn the woman was grinning.

Sandra awoke with a start. There was no red-haired, green-eyed woman in front of her. The only trace the phantom woman left behind was a damp circle on her sheets where they had covered Sandra's dripping crotch. Tom was sound asleep beside her.

Sandra stumbled out of bed, her entire body throbbing, begging for release. It was 7:15. Time to start the day. She marched off to the washroom and threw her nightshirt into the hamper on her way.

She turned on the shower, but paused in front of the mirror before stepping in. Her nipples were hard, so hard they hurt. Her breasts were large and firm, her waist small, and her butt was too big as far as she was concerned, but in Tom's mind it was just right. But looking at herself at that moment Sandra was not thinking of her flaws. She imagined crossing that magical glass barrier and making love to that very desirable twin on the other side. She didn't want to just pleasure herself. She was so aroused, by herself that she wanted to be both the giver and the recipient at the same time.

She decided to take matters into her own hands. She stepped into the shower and aimed the showerhead at that magical place. She knew she would cum in seconds, but that green-eyed woman appeared again, bewitching her in her mind's eye.

She had never thought of another woman in that way. She had never done anything like that before. Or had she...? Sandra stopped cold. Frustrated and scared, she soaped and rinsed her body without further incident, trying to ignore that throbbing itch between her legs that she dared not to scratch.

She didn't mention her dreams to Tom over breakfast. Instead, she and Tom spoke of their daily grinds. He had a lunch meeting that he thought was pointless and she had three new clients and therefore three new homes to evaluate and redecorate.

Her first client, Maureen, was in the 'burbs, and was pleasant but draining. Maureen had firm ideas of what she wanted, but was indecisive as to what that was. She definitely wanted a new coffee table, but one that would match this couch she had in her head. It was leather, didn't look like leather, but had to be made of leather.

Her next client wanted a Victorian look. Her husband didn't give a shit what the four walls looked like, as long as nothing blocked his view of his big screen TV from the couch. Five thousand dollars worth of accessories later Sandra rushed off to her next appointment. Not bad for an hour's work.

Tom did not fare as well. He was pitching Max Snell of MS Logistics. They had chitchatted over salad and got down to business when the main course came. Tom was trying to convince Snell just what direction his tool and dye company's web site should take. Tom knew better than to get caught up in the concept at the risk of losing his client, but he also knew when a company had money but no direction. Tempting, but ultimately not worth it unless you can guide them along.

"So what is your corporate identity?"

"Tom, we have complicated machinery, but we're a simple company. We make good products."

"I'm sure you do. And your competitors say the same things. So if I'm shopping around why should I use you?"

"That's the problem with computers," began the elder businessman. "No face-to-face dealings. You lose appreciation of the simple things in life." He pointed with a raised water glass as he took a sip.

Tom looked in that direction and saw the most striking creature. Red hair and green eyes, looking right at him! He knew he should look away, but there was something hypnotic about her gaze. He lost the showdown and looked away.

"You see what I mean?" asked Max.

The two returned to their food and the business at hand, but when the bill came Tom still did not have a clear idea if he had the account, and if it was even worth his while. He could usually depend on his instincts, but not on this one. He plopped his Visa on top of the tab.

And on top of that dropped someone's business card. In a long and slender font it declared: "The Cheshire Cat," with an address, but no name.

"Drop by," came the sultry voice behind him. It was her. "I think I have something you'll want to see."

Max made small motions to get her attention, but she left without another word. The tapered skirt showed off her curvy bottom and the slits revealed lots of leg. Both men watched her leave until she rounded a corner and disappeared from sight.

Danger, Tom's instincts told him as he pocketed the card. If she's dangerous why are you taking her card?

Max made several comments, but Tom did not hear them. He may have even told him if he got the gig or not. All that was on Tom's mind were those eyes and those legs.

At the first opportunity he bolted for the car and reached for his cell. He called Sandra on hers. Her voice would bring him back to reason and away from temptation. Just hearing her and the love in her voice would be enough.

Her cell rang incessantly in her parked car. Twenty feet away Sandra rang the doorbell of what seemed like a hybrid home and business establishment. The elder gentleman who answered could have been a butler, but she was not sure. His demeanor was formal, but his suit was too casual, too modern.

"Welcome," he began. "She's been expecting you."

Sandra stepped in and followed the directions he had given her: up the stairs and the second on the left. It was closed. When she knocked she heard a "Come on in" on the other side.

She stepped into a large marble bathroom. Except for the gold-coloured faucets, everything else in the room was white, including the rose in the slender vase, the fluffy towels, and the foam in the tub. The next thing she noticed there was a painted red toenail peeking out from the slowly dissipating suds. She followed the toe along and down her leg, which was submerged at the knee. Her gaze shot across to her green eyes.

It was her. Sandra breathed heavily and could not take her eyes off of her. The woman swiveled slightly. She enjoyed watching Sandra's spacey gaze move with hers as more of her breast peeked up for second, along with some leg.

"Who are you?"

"Won't you join me?"

Sandra put her briefcase down and just stood there. She couldn't tell if she was warm and flush from the steam or the invitation. Her mind said no, but Sandra was not thinking. Usually when she was aroused it started in her centre as a warm glow and spread out. Now all she could feel was that her cunt was on fire. She hated that word, "cunt," but right now it seemed the most appropriate. Hers was connected to this woman, and her whole body was being drawn in.

She had no idea why, but she insisted on folding her clothes as she took them off.

Tom tried her cell again for the umpteenth time. Still no answer. Frustrated but determined, he put the phone in his pocket. He was determined because as far as he was concerned he was going through with it, but nothing was going to happen. He was not going to play with fire. He was a very happily married man. He was--. So why am I going through with it?

Her opened the door to what he though might be a bar or a night club. The lights were low and intimate. Tom did not have any kind of real intimacy in mind, and certainly not with the two other men who sat at the only occupied table. One of them pulled out a chair for him. Tom sat down. His new friend pointed, and Tom looked. Not a word was spoken.

They sat opposite each other. Sandra was naked -- that was the easy part. But she had no idea what to do next. The woman gave a mischievous grin. As the woman leaned back Sandra could feel the point of a toe swim up to her leg. It nuzzled against her bum and then stopped. That was followed by a hand. She could not see it but she could feel it: at first at her ankle, then gliding along her leg and resting above her knee, but only for a moment. The fingers explored and caressed from the knee to mere inches from Sandra's crotch, then around to the back of her thighs. The woman's expression went from a grin to something non-challant.

I've never done this before and I don't even know her name. That was what made it so easy: the anonymity. She didn't want to know her name. She didn't want to see her lurking hands. It was more exciting to not know where they were coming from -- aiming for her shin, the back of her knee, her inner thighs -- to only rely on touch.

She too leaned down and let her body slide along hers. So smooth. She slid until her crotch was pressed up against her opposite's fingers. The woman gave her a questioning look. Sandra swiveled her hips, urging her, but the hand remained poised yet inert for now.

So Sandra began to explore, starting with the woman's supple thigh and followed by a sleek leg. She caressed her opposite's hips. When she got to her navel Sandra's hand broke the surface and then quickly retreated, almost seemingly ashamed. She desperately wanted to reach out to those breasts, unrestrained and jutting out proudly above the water. She wanted to hold them, squeeze them, play with them. And then she realized everything she wanted to do to this very enticing woman she also wanted done to her.

Again she pressed against the hand, which remained firm, but would not caress or penetrate. Very familiar stirrings rose in Sandra building towards the same unbearable tension she felt this morning.

What the heck, she thought, and leapt at the woman, her breasts bobbing. They were cushioned by the woman's own as she landed, water splashing over the rim. For that split second four nipples touched. It was like an electric shock. Sandra's mind was a fury of heady confusion and desire, but her tongue was gentle, seeking, flitting along a lip, slowly sliding along teeth, and tasting everything along the way as she swished against her tongue.

I can't believe I'm going to-- she thought as she possessively grabbed the woman's crotch. She had no idea what to do, other than to seek out her clitoris and do what she herself was crying out inside to be done to her. Even underwater she could feel how wet and slippery this woman was. Her forefinger grazed her clit and the green-eyed woman's face changed. Not melted, but changed. Even as Sandra pleasured her she felt that it was she who was yielding to her. Her fingers slid down into and inside, and then back up again. The woman rocked against her. Sandra tried to keep her still by sucking on an erect and inviting nipple. Her other hand stroked downwards from a high and proud cheek to the other breast. So warm and full.

With her hands now on her hips she pulled the woman down, craving her contact. Her hands traveled to her bum while their nipples, centimeters apart, sought each other out. They rubbed briefly and then got separated over and over again; two pairs of lovers clumsily kissing in the dark.

She grabbed a hand and forced the woman's finger inside her. That wicked grin came back as the phantom lady hooked the finger slightly and sloshed it about inside Sandra's cunt and in swirls around her clit. Sandra was paralyzed with pleasure. She simply lay there as this woman aroused her in ways she had never before experienced...until this morning.

She only became vaguely aware of being raised from the tub. The next thing she knew she was sitting on the edge, tufts of bubbles still clinging to her breasts, and a pair of green eyes were between her legs.

"Now where were we?"

Sandra took a second to get a mental picture of this beauty below her. The first word that came to mind was exquisite, like a French fashion model. She was extremely slender, with high cheekbones and piercing, exotic eyes. Her breasts were smaller than Sandra's, but were very firm. The mixture of the sweat and water that coated her made her whole body glisten.

She started by lapping like a cat again. Sandra threw her head back and spread her legs even wider. The woman lapped in wide arcs and then changed the pace with small kisses that lead to her clitoris. She stopped, eyed her prey, and then stroked the clitoris several times with her fingertips. She gushed something incomprehensible as she lunged forward and latched on. Sandra wanted to scream but she could not even breathe. How she didn't fall in the tub she would never know. She was not over the edge; she was at the edge. One more nibble and--

Her clit stood there, vulnerable and begging while the green eyes narrowed and her mouth opened, a mouth she was begging to suck her. But instead the lips curved up, and it turned into yet another wicked smile.

Tom could make out the women's figures, but not their faces. There appeared to be a one-way mirror in font of him with a gauze sheet on top of that. One of the women was just, just so sexy, with a body that reminded him of Sandra. Several times during the "show" he stopped breathing, and after a while he realized he was not the only one. This was the most erotic thing he had ever seen, and he knew he could do nothing about it, didn't want to do anything about it. Seeing this was a fantasy come true in itself. As much as he wanted to jump through that mirror and gauze he knew it would shatter the reality and cast it back to the world of dreams.

After a moment or two of waiting and waiting the intensity went down a notch or two

"I," her new-found lover began and followed up with an abrasive and exciting lick. "...have something..." she nibbled, "...that I want." She sucked for a moment or two. "That I want you to do for me."

Sandra was about to breathe "Anything," when the green-eyed woman stood up. She toweled herself and slipped into a waiting kimono.

The dressed woman exited the scene and Tom was able to focus on the naked woman who sat on the tub's edge, but only for a moment. A plush curtain fell, as if to say that the act, if it was one, was over. Tom could only see the bar again. But what he had failed to see before was that in front of the curtain, a few mere feet from them, was a real stage, complete with stage lights angled down at the centre.

He wanted to say something about the spectacle they had just seen, but all he could do was exhale out the air he had seemingly held in since the two women began. He needed a drink. Boy, he needed a drink.

No sooner than he rose to get one than he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder. The guy beside him arched his brows with a "Just wait and see." Tom sat back down.

A blonde stepped out on to the stage and seemed almost as confused as Tom did. With her tan and her long, blonde hair, youthful looks, and accentuating makeup she looked like a cross between a pinup girl and housewife. As soon as "You Can Leave Your Hat On" came on over the speakers there was no doubt what she was supposed to do next. The only question was: was she going to go through with it? The guy beside Tom waved to her. She acknowledged him with a smile. That single wave was all she needed. She started to sway and then somewhat awkwardly dance. In no time she was out of her jeans and top. Her bra was lacy and her thong was high cut. She undid her bra, but supported it with one hand, refusing to let it go. She took a deep breath and let it fall. Her breasts were perfect. Too perfect, in Tom's mind. Definite boob job, he told himself. They weren't unattractive, but they did not leave him panting either. She twirled, and her taut bum too was "perfect," but there was nothing that made it hers. She was something out of a men's magazine, the kind Tom had fantasized about years ago as a teen, and now that he was face-to-face with her, he was both delighted and disappointed. Her breasts bobbed only slightly as she danced. She tugged at the thong teasingly, but never pulled it down. The song faded out and she stopped dancing. She left the stage with a radiant smile: a mixture of thrill and embarrassment.

Less than a minute later the lights dimmed again and the stage ones rose to take their place. With a jolt from the stereo came an initial hiccup and then the gentle waft of oriental music. It lulled, invited. Another woman leaped on to the stage in time with the first drumbeat. The stage lights picked up every gleam every glitter she had to offer. The bra and bottom were metallic gold. She also had gold bracelets and a zircon stud in her navel. Even her skin had specks of golden glitter on it. The only clothing she wore which did not shine was a loose and filmy burgundy skirt. She gave a glowing, radiant smile to her audience. When she knew she had their attention, had them captivated, she ripped her skirt off.

She held the material in front of her, dancing with it with a false sense of modesty, dancing with it as if it were here lover, her body gyrating. She flicked the skirt out at the men, hooked it around the neck of the one furthest from Tom, and then pulled it in slowly, so slowly, without her catch, while her pelvis kept gyrating.

Tom took a second to actually look at her, and not at what she was doing. Truth be told, she was far from being the most attractive woman he had ever seen. Her breasts were copious, but far from firm. There were more dimples in her ass than he was used to, and her legs were kind of chunky. But she was so sexy! And what made her even more sexy was that she knew she was.

As she danced and twirled she undid the clasp to her bra. It drooped, slid, but did not fall. She convulsed her chest and belly, but he feet remained planted. The men watched, leaning forward, as the metallic bra shook and jingled, showing most of her breasts, followed by a hint if nipple, and then fell, just as she raised her filmy skirt and held it out in front of her. Tom could see right through but he still felt teased, that there was still something hidden from him when there really wasn't.

She slowed the tempo of her dance down, which allowed them to get a better look at her breasts and her nipples that poked through the fabric. She stepped back and blew hard. The fabric sailed up, and they got a clear view of all of her, but only for a moment, before the skirt drifted down and covered her once again.