Purity

"No! I'm sorry! No! I can't!" Abigail said, panicked, and rushed out of the dressing room before Purity could stop her.

Sadly, Purity slumped down into a deep chair, looking at the closed door. "Too bad", she thought. Abigail had been so close to going for it, and Purity had no doubt she would have been a willing and exciting lover, eager to be taught the ways of lesbianism.

Purity had another beer, thought about whether to shower and change there or just call for the limo and go home. Just as she was about to call Cheryl, there came a timid knock on the door. She answered, and there was the stage door manager with a scrap of paper.

"Telephone message for you, Miss Purity!" He said and handed it to her. It read, simply: "Wait. I'm coming back."

Purity's heart skipped a beat. She was more excited than she would have expected.

"Er, it sounded as if the call was coming from an in-car telephone, Miss. The lady did not leave her name."

"That's OK. I shall be expecting a visitor. Show her in when she arrives."

The man nodded. He was used to discretion -- the doings of the rich and famous were secrets he could be trusted to keep.

As soon as he had left the room, Purity began to prepare...

*

A little while later, Abigail nervously re-entered the dressing room. She looked around, but Purity was not there. The door to the bathroom was closed, and she heard the singer's voice from inside:

"Hi, Abi! Get yourself ready -- I'll be out in a minute!"

Abigail looked around. What did Purity mean by get herself ready? She realised that Purity had put a chair in the centre of the room, on which her stage costume had been laid out -- or at least, the dress and knee boots. Could she mean? Abigail was unsure, but it was a night for doing reckless things. She stripped off her expensive jacket and skirt letting them fall unheeded to the floor. She kicked off her heels. She ripped her blouse off eagerly, and -- looking at the dress, at how close-fitting it was -- she undid her bra and let that fall too. Then, muttering: "in for a penny, in for a pound!", she slipped out of her panties too. The evening air felt cool on her wet, naked pussy.

Picking up the PVC dress, Abigail slipped it on. She could feel Purity's sweat on it. It felt disturbing, dirty, but so arousing. She pulled the edged of the dress together and zipped herself in, right up to her neck. The dress felt like a warm, constricting second skin. Still getting used to the feel of PVC on her body for the first time, Abigail inserted her stocking-clad toes into the boots and fitted each one on, zipping them up tightly. She found a full-length mirror and looked at it. The sight took her breath away. No more sweet princess, she was a slutty vixen in black PVC and white nylon stockings, her raid hair in striking contrast with her skin which seemed white in the black outfit.

"Oh my God!" Purity cried as she emerged from the bathroom. "You are hot!"

"Wow! So are you!" Replied Abigail. Purity had put on her costume from her first album, Mixed Signals. She was wearing a black leather buckled up bustier with silver chain suspenders holding up fishnet stockings and also similar chains running from the shoulders to keep a pair of fishnet shoulder-length fingerless gloves in place. It was teamed with a short tutu skirt, and her hair was in girly bunches, while she wore a pair of frilly pink panties. Her feet were in spike-heeled boots with silver studs. Her sensational body was displayed to its fullest effect, and she knew it. Abigail was looking at her with wide eyes, looking her over as a starving person would look at a banquet.

"I knew that lot would fit you," Purity said. "I think we're exactly the same size. This is going to be like fucking myself! Lucky I'm my own type!"

"I left my stockings on -- I hope that's OK?"

"Oh yeah, babe. Stockings are for sex!"

Abigail sauntered over to her.

"When you mentioned coke before, I thought...well, here, I've brought some of mine!" She handed Purity a little silver box, which proved to contain white powder, a little silver razor and a little silver straw.

"Well, well, miss prim-and-proper-princess, you are a bad girl!"

"Yah! And I think I'm about to be even more bad!"

They prepared and snorted the cocaine. Only later did Purity tell Abigail she had meant Coca Cola earlier. The drug heightened their senses, increased the sexual frisson between them. Emboldened, Abigail took Purity's hand as she had done with her earlier and hook a finger in the zipper hoop of the dress. To her surprise, Purity didn't unzip her there and then but used the hoop to pull her forwards, bringing their mouths hungrily together. Abigail made an involuntary squeak of joy as her lips felt another woman's on hers for the first time, and then she was opening her mouth to the punk goddess and enjoying the most intimate, exciting kiss she had ever known. She felt Purity's expert tongue probing and exploring her mouth as voraciously as any man but more subtly, more gently, and she felt herself responding in kind. Purity was caressing her long hair, her bare arms, and her nylon-clad thighs, and she began to respond, feeling naked soft flesh under clinging fishnet. She instinctively raised her left leg, wrapped herself around Purity, clinging to her hungrily.

Purity broke the kiss, disentangled herself from Abigail, stepped back. She held her hand to her own throat, finger crooked. Abigail understood, and once again there was silence except for the buzz of the zipper as she slowly unfastened the dress. She felt it stick to her skin and heard the PVC crackle as she peeled it off and let it fall. She stood before her idol, her crush, her soon-to-be-lover, displaying her naked body wantonly, defying her to desire her.

Purity licked her lips in anticipation. Abigail naked was glorious -- white skin, full, firm breasts, narrow waist and pert well-rounded arse. Great legs in her expensive white lace suspender belt and sheer white stockings and Purity's own come-fuck-me boots. Her pussy was well-trimmed, and she was wet with excitement.

"Kneel before your princess, Abigail!" Purity commanded.

"Yes -- Highness!" Responded the young royal, relinquishing her own status in submission to her lover.

"All the way down!"

She lowered herself onto all fours then onto her belly. A spike-studded boot toe was proffered and she began to kiss and lick it, then to work her way up. She caressed and kissed her way up Purity's leg until she reached the flesh at the top of her stocking, and felt experienced hands guiding her to kiss across to Purity's crotch through her frilly panties.

"Take them off, Abi!"

She did as she was told, and slid the panties down. Purity stepped out of them and kicked them aside.

"Perform!"

Abigail knew what her lover wanted. She raised herself up onto her knees again and felt the stiff material of the tutu pressing against the top of her head as she gazed at Purity's pussy. Perfect, wet, and completely shaven. Knowing that she was doing something new and forbidden, Abigail brought her mouth onto that pussy and went to work. She was unsure of how to perform, but Purity was very vocal both with words of encouragement or command and with her gasps and groans and moans. Soon Abigail was lost in a moist, scented heaven of woman-flesh, lost in the act of pleasuring her mistress. She stroked and fondled her legs, so long and strong, through the fishnet stockings. She began to use her tongue more freely, seeking out Purity's clitoris and teasing it mercilessly until the other woman cried out in orgasm.

"Oh God, Abi, you're a natural! And now it's your turn!"

Purity raised her up, took her place kneeling. Then she ravished the princess with her mouth, making her come again and again.

Afterwards they slaked their thirst with ice cold drinks then joined each other on the long couch to slowly explore each other's bodies. Abigail unbuckled the leather bustier, freeing Purity's breasts from their confinement.

"My God, Highness! Your tits are amazing!" Abigail declared.

"Well, I have had a little work done. Was 36C, now 36D and firm as you like!" She guided her lover's hands to them and let her caress and squeeze her impressive breasts, while she started to do the same to hers.

"Yours are the same size, though? 36D? And all natural! So nice! Good enough to eat!" And she lowered her head to suckle and kiss and then bite at Abigail's luscious breasts. Soon the redhead was moaning and screaming and begging to be fucked again. Purity positioned herself facing Abigail, their long legs in boots and stockings scissoring over each other's shoulders, their pussies meshing, their clitorises grinding at each other. Understanding what was happening, Abigail started to match Purity's thrusts, as the two beauties, fuelled by alcohol, cocaine and desire, fucked each other to another sweating, screaming, threshing orgasm.

Lying in each other's arms, they kissed long and lovingly again. Until Abigail caught sight of the time.

"Oh shit! It's almost midnight! I have to get back!"

Purity laughed ruefully.

"OK, Cinderella! And hey -- you can keep your glass slippers!" She nodded to the boots Abigail still had on.

"Will I -- can I -- see you again?"

"Oh yeah. Cinderella, you shall go to the ball!"

*

Highness and Cinderella. Those became their pet names in the bedroom. Over the next few months their love affair intensified. Abigail managed to attend a few concerts at larger venues, and they discreetly met afterwards in the dressing room. Secret visits to each other's homes wherever possible, and an overseas holiday that just happened to coincide with a sell out concert at a Spanish stadium. And their charity work seemed to conveniently overlap...

It was all going so well. Until the envelope arrived on Purity's doormat one morning. It contained only a photograph and a business card. But the photograph, taken with a long lens, clearly showed Abigail in a black lace basque with Purity's hands squeezing her breasts as she nuzzled her neck, the princess's face a picture of sexual arousal, her usually immaculate hair wantonly splayed over her shoulders. The card was black, with a crown and "ER" embossed in silver. Elizabeth Rex, the "Queen Bitch of Fleet Street". The most feared tabloid editor in the business. A woman whose newspaper exposes had ruined careers and lives. On the back of the card was a date and time.

So, at the appointed time, Purity was shown into the office of the tabloid tyrant. She entered, to find a big desk with a low chair on her side (she was no fool and remained standing), and a huge leather swivel chair with its back to her on the other. The chair slowly rotated round, and she came face-to-face with her nemesis.

She recognised her at once. The long black-dyed hair was now its natural blonde, and done in an executive power style. Shoulder-padded power-dressing had replaced the Victorian lace. But it was the same woman.

"Hello, Susan!" Said Elizabeth Rex.

Purity was stunned.

"Lizzie?"

"Oh, you do remember me. I certainly remember you. The woman I knew at university. The woman I was in love with. The woman who awakened me sexually then discarded me and moved on to her next conquest. You hurt me, Susan -- or I suppose I should say Purity now. You hurt me, and now it seems I am in a position to hurt you. It doesn't help your position that I have had almost as strong a crush on Princess Abigail as I have on you ever since that spread we did when she was twenty-one. "She's Abi-g girl now", you remember, with all the most revealing pictures of her we could find. Oh, I really don't know which of you two I'm more jealous of. We helped her become so popular with the public you know, and now we can ruin her in their eyes!"

"You bitch!"

"Bitch Queen of Fleet Street, remember. And yes. I learned to be a bitch. From you, really. You were cruel to me, and I learned to associate cruelty with sex. And I found I was very good at it. IT helped my career. Oh, I know all about how you use your sexuality, how you like to play the whore for powerful men. Well I have learned that powerful men secretly like to be dominated. While you were in your knees sucking cock to earn your next record deal, I was walking all over millionaires and newspaper owners in my stilettos telling them to give their mistress that next promotion or I'd never do this to them again!

And I'm good at my job -- that's the real reason I'm editor of the most widely-read tabloid in the country. I know how to get the stories and how to use them. And now I have this story! I can imagine the headlines now! Pervert Popstar in Romps With Royalty!"

"You wouldn't..."

"I would! And it would ruin you both. Especially with this government's new Clause 28 banning promotion of homosexuality. You'll lose your record deals, your fans will desert you, you'll be reduced to playing cruise ships and holiday camps -- if you're lucky! And pretty little Abigail will be ostracised by polite society. No more glamorous royal jet setting. She'll be the spinster royal they grudgingly let turn up and sit in the corner on the big occasions. Her own family will treat her like dirt."

"Hypocrite!"

"Well, yes. But I don't care. Of course, there is another story I could write. Princesses Win Hearts! A touching friendship between two popular and beautiful women, untied in their love of charity work. Wouldn't sell as many copies, but would still do OK, and all the publicity you would both get would be favourable."

"Are you blackmailing me then?"

"No, Purity. No, I'm not. I'm giving you -- and Princess Abigail -- a chance to change my mind about which story I run. If you can both be, shall we say, persuasive enough, the photographs get destroyed and the world sees you as sweet, sisterly friends and nothing more. If you don't please me, well..."

"Please you? You surely don't mean..."

"Oh but I do..."

*

A week later, Purity and Abigail entered Elizabeth's country mansion. As instructed, they had cleared all their engagements for the weekend. As instructed, they were dressed exactly as had been specified, latex catsuits clinging to their luscious bodies like second skins, gleaming with oil, and matching thigh boots. Abigail was in red, Purity in purple.

Waiting for them was Elizabeth. She was identically dressed but in black. She carried a whip.

"Now, my princesses. Now you will serve your queen!" She commanded.

She was, in her way, as striking as either of the others. Taller, whip-thin yet with high proud breasts. Purity realised that she too had had work done on her body. Beautiful and imperious. A woman used to being obeyed in the bedroom. Both princesses felt a stirring of genuine desire mixed with trepidation at what decadent games the Bitch Queen was going to play with them. They looked at each other, squeezed each other's hands, and replied in unison: "Yes, Your Majesty!"

Then they approached. As she cupped Elizabeth's firm breasts from behind and started nuzzling her neck, seeking out the erogenous zones she had discovered many years ago, Purity saw her lover exchange a tongue, teasing wet kiss with Elizabeth, feeling the first of the many frissons of jealousy that weekend at Abigail's willing surrender to Elizabeth. The women, three of the most beautiful and powerful women in the country, moved to the pleasure dungeons, there to begin the most debauched weekend any of them had ever known. Purity reflected as Abigail bound her to a bed at Elizabeth's command that the price of Elizabeth's silence might not be one she minded paying. As Elizabeth slid on top of her and began to fuck her with a huge strap-on, she decided that she did not mind this one bit...

Epilogue

"Fairy-tale Wedding For Two Princesses!"

So said the headline. It was thirty years later. Princess Abigail and Susan Milton, the artiste formerly known as Princess Purity, were married in a private ceremony at Windsor Castle. The first royal same-sex wedding saw the middle-aged but still handsome couple finally make their long-term relationship permanent. Among the guests was their great friend Elizabeth Rex, the doyenne of Fleet Street, whose newspapers had subtly supported them and campaigned for marriage equality since the 1980s. No-one who was there quite understood why Susan's last words to her old friend Lizzie as she and Abigail left for their honeymoon were: "I'm so glad we persuaded you..."