Play Practice

Sometimes an image is so stunning that it never manages to lose its potency, no matter how many times you see it. I looked down between my thighs and thought I'll never forget this view--how lucky am I?--moved to ecstasy by the familiar scene below: Alyssa's face nestled between my legs, cum glistening on her cheeks and around her mouth, her long ponytail wrapped in my closed fist as I held her head to my cunt. She was working on my fourth orgasm of the night by then, her fat ass rippling residually from each impact of her face against my pussy as I ground it against it her. Oh, that ripple. That ripple alone was enough to push me over the edge and I convulsed as I came.

We both caught our breath and she tried to wipe my juices from her cheeks with the back of her wrist. I snatched her wrist from her lips.

"Not yet. Up, girl."

She climbed eagerly from her knees on the floor and up onto the bed, across my lap. I kneaded the considerable dough of her ass, parting the cheeks enough to see her hole.

"Count them for me, bimbo."

I brought my hand down on her left ass cheek and the whole bottom jiggled. The fucking jiggle.

"One; thank you, Miss Erin. Two; thank you, Miss Erin."

"All these lessons have paid off. You've become such a good slut. I think you're almost ready."

I took out my phone and took a quick snap of her red ass over my lap and sent it to Paula. Bimbo training almost complete for little Alyssa I wrote, and sent it off. I spanked Alyssa again, harder this time so I could fully enjoy the ripple.

"Three; thank you, Miss Erin."

We got up to fifteen before I heard my phone chirp with Paula's reply.

"Fuckkkkkkkkk dude. Let me have a go," she wrote.

"Soon."

We'd been inseparable for years, Alyssa and I, sharing the sort of charged best-friendship that sometimes raised eyebrows-- there are those two weird girls who are always together. But in the end it came down to dumb luck--there's no other way to attribute it when you consider how unlikely the circumstances had been: me turning my best friend into my lesbian bimbo slave girl.

It was the spring of our senior year of high school when the wheels were put in motion. I was eighteen as of the previous October and she had turned nineteen in March. It was the last hurrah before we went separate ways that fall. But that spring--it was probably late March--we were at the cast party for a play Alyssa had been in. She played a lady-in-waiting or something like that. She only had a couple of lines, but good ones--she got a big laugh in her biggest scene and she was on stage nearly the entire second act. And still, on what should have been a triumphant night, I returned from the bathroom to find her sulking in the corner of the party.

"Out with it."

"The play's over, which means my lead role is next."

"Yes. You should be proud."

"There's a kiss scene."

"Yes, you told me."

"It's pivotal. But I've never kissed anyone before."

I looked at her--she was gorgeous--pale skin, chestnut hair, thick in all the most amazing places--she would've been buxom in a more body positive era. Almost immediately, a plan came together. It was kind of crazy, and relied on a lot of good fortune, but I had to shoot my shot.

"You want to seem natural?"

"I'm so nervous it's gonna look awkward, or look fake, or everyone will know that I've never kissed anyone."

"Why don't you just practice?"

"How?"

"You can practice at my house--no one will see it there and I can film you with a pillow. Give you notes. Just you and me."

I was almost afraid I had laid it on too thick. If I did she never let on. We left the cast party immediately and went straight to my house. I marched her straight past my parents to my bedroom and locked the door (this was not actually unusual--we'd done that basically all of high school). Then, I coached her for thirty minutes as she kissed a pillow in my room, interjecting periodically with feedback: "That looks pretty good but your lips still seem too firm. Can you make them a little less taut?"

The next part was crucial. I had to be sly if I was going to pull it off.

"I'm not sure this is working, Alyssa. A pillow is just not a person."

"Is this dumb?"

"Not necessarily. But I think you need a person to practice with."

There was silence.

"Erin, I'm not..."

"I'm not saying you are. I'm saying I'm a set of lips here offering to practice."

"Well..."

"Just to get a sense of it."

Good God, it was working. I sidled up next to her and we kissed, gently, for a few minutes. Her breathing quickened and it was time to up the ante--I put one hand behind her head and started to cup her breast with the other.

"Erin, I..."

"This is how people kiss in real life, Alyssa. This is naturalism. How can you be natural if you're starting with stage kisses?"

"That's true."

A few minutes later we were rolling around on my bed, my hands roaming tracts of her body I'd always dreamed of touching. That night I brought her to three orgasms (supposedly to teach her about the culmination of desire, or some shit--I could barely imagine the bullshit that was coming out of my mouth). After that we were off to the races--her reluctance all but evaporated, replaced instead with insatiable lust. She'd come over to my house for "play practice" most afternoons that she didn't have actual play practice, and spent every weekend in my room. I'd drive us there straight from school on Friday afternoon and make her surrender her clothing just inside my bedroom door. I'd put them in a drawer and lock them until she went home on Sunday afternoon. We clung to the flimsy pretense of "getting ready for the play" long after it strained credulity. It was a kiss scene in a school play, so when I first popped the ball gag in her mouth she either didn't register the cognitive dissonance or didn't care. Nor did she ever acknowledge the fact that her sucking and getting fucked by my strap-on was unlikely improve her stage kissing abilities. I was draining my meager savings (meant for college life) on sex toys, lingerie and slutty clothes to put on her. She looked so good in everything: her body was pure sex and she seemed to be the last to know. When I looked at her, I felt the same urgent need that caused Venus of Willendorf to be chiseled. You could blame porn for the intricacy of my desire, but in truth I'd always felt this urge--always got wet at the thought of a damsel on the train tracks, though I didn't know why. I had always wanted to possess someone wholly--to be in control and needed for once in my life. To be the lion and have someone put their head inside my mouth to prove their trust.

One Friday afternoon we arrived at my room. She started peeling her tight black leggings to strip down.

"Hold on. I want to be serious with you for a second."

I stopped her and sat her on the bed.

"We're not rehearsing for the play anymore."

"No."

"What are you, to me?"

"We're best friends."

"That's all."

"No."

"What else?"

She blushed.

"Most of the time I'm your 'lesbian bimbo sex slave.'"

It was a mouthful, I admit. I felt slightly bashful hearing it come out of her mouth.

"That's right, bimbo."

She blushed.

"So we agree. You belong to me."

"Yes."

"Every part of you?"

"Yes, Erin. Miss Erin."

"Then why the fuck are you kissing Henry?"

Alyssa hesitated.

"You mean in the play?"

"Yes in the play. I know you're a bimbo but I thought you were a lezzie bimbo, Lys. You plan on kissing this boy next week without so much as my permission?"

"Please, let me Miss Erin. It's my first lead role. Probably my last ever. I don't want to do anything to betray you. What can I do to earn it?"

"I suppose it's not totally out of the question. But there's a problem."

"What's that?"

"You've become such a good little rug-muncher. I worry what kissing some stupid high school guy might do to your bimbo brain and training. You belong to pussy, right?"

"Yes, Miss Erin."

"If you're going to kiss Henry in the play, I need to be sure that it won't set your training back. I need you to prove you're a fat assed lesbian bimbo slave who will do anything I say, and that kissing Henry is just acting."

"What can I do, Miss Erin?"

"I think it's time to have a sleepover with Paula."

Her eyes turned to saucers. I had been threatening this for a few weeks at that point, having told her lots about my family friend, Paula. Paula had been a soccer star at the other high school in town, but by that point she had graduated and was finishing her sophomore year of college nearby. We'd lost touch in adolescence but after I came out my parents asked her parents if she could reach out and talk about anything I might be going through. Since I wasn't going through anything that needed to be discussed, she mostly just told me stories about making out with girls.

I texted Paula immediately after seducing Alyssa the first time.

"I think I just tricked my straight girl crush into making out and I ate her pussy three times."

"Your best friend? The curvy one?"

"I've got big plans, Paula. It was so easy. And she's so fucking sexy."

"Got any pics?"

"Not this time. I think I'll have to work her up to pics. You'll be the first to see 'em."

Eventually, I'd send Paula a picture anytime I was with Alyssa. I loved showing her off: pictures of her pleading eyes as she sucked my strap, her red, round ass in the air; gagged and blindfolded on my bed with a wand humming; videos of my fingers guiding her new gently plug into that tight asshole. And the whole time I was telling Alyssa how impressed Paula was--how I had looked up to Paula and how, with Alyssa, I had surpassed her. Alyssa's pussy gushed when I talked about showing her off, and I detected an exhibitionist streak in her. How had I known her so long and never suspected the depths of her depravity rivaled my own--I thought again how lucky I was.

My phone chirped. It was on.

"Paula cancelled her weekend plans. She's coming over tonight. She said she wouldn't miss your performance anything."