Twilight Time

Then the music changed, a slow mood tempo, and Imogen whirled me around so that our fronts melded into each other. Her arms tried to pull me closer, which was near impossible seeing that we were already as close as could be. A warm tongue found its way into my ear and lips nibbled at me, something that can be guaranteed to get me going. A shiver ran down my spine from the crown of my head to my heels—some shiver, some spine—and my honeypot started to leak. No self-control, that's the trouble with my honeypot. I seized one of Imogen's hands and licked from wrist to palm to manicured fingertips then took a couple of fingers into my mouth and sucked at them. I don't know who started it but the next second our lips met and our tongues were swirling together. Pussy lost even more control and I could feel my thong getting wet.

"We could go to my place right now," Imogen whispered, "and do this properly. Otherwise I'll have to go to the ladies' room and remove my panties—they're soaking."

"You and me both," I said. I looked around for Susie so I could tell her my intention to go with Imogen.

"Don't worry about your friend," said Imogen, "I think she and Anthea have got the same idea." She nodded towards the exit. The other two were there already, each with a hand clasping the other's backside. Susie looked back and gave me a wave to beckon me. She looked as hot as I felt.

"What are we waiting for?" I asked Imogen.

The four of us piled into a taxi—it turned out that the two lived in the same block of flats—and set off. I hoped the driver was keeping his eyes on the road because if his mirror had shown him too much of what was happening in the back, we'd probably have had one hell of a crash. Susie was sitting on Anthea's lap and the two were almost eating each other alive. Anthea's hand seemed to be hard at work under Susie's skirt and Susie was making tiny whimpering noises. Imogen eased up her dress, pulled the crotch of her panties to one side, slipped a finger into herself then presented it to me to suck. Yummy! Not wishing to seem ungracious, I did the same for her—and wow, was I wet? The juices from my pussy seemed to be far thicker than usual and Imogen moaned quietly as she cleaned my finger. Imogen's soft mouth found mine and our tongues carried on with what we'd started in The Twilight. I think I felt the taxi jerk then. The driver must have looked into his mirror. The exhibition was probably better than a good tip and would give him something racy to share with his workmates.

The place Imogen and Anthea lived was posh with a capital P, a Thirties Art Deco mansion block of six or seven floors. There was even a doorman who saluted us and a hall porter who didn't. What did Susie and I have? Auntie Edna who was deaf anyway. Susie and Anthea got off the lift—or rather sprinted off it—at the floor before Imogen's penthouse flat. It wouldn't have taken a Sherlock Holmes to work out that our hostesses weren't short of a penny or two.

Imogen's was some place. Almost every single item of furniture would have accounted for my month's salary at one go. There was a huge picture window leading to a balcony and the night-view out over the city's galaxy of lights was just spectacular.

Imogen fetched me a glass of wine, I think the best I'd ever tasted, and gave me a quick kiss on the mouth. "As they say in the films, darling, I'm just going to slip into something more comfortable. With you in a moment." I began to feel as if I was in some Thirties film. I looked around the living room. The furnishings were exquisite and in the best possible taste while a number of intriguing artefacts from around the world, such as African masks and Chinese carvings, decorated the room. But what really grabbed my attention was a series of framed pen-and-ink drawings on the walls, a dozen or so of them. All were of naked women, all were perfectly executed and all were very erotic. They were signed by the artist: Bertie.

"Love these drawings," I called out.

"Great, aren't they?" Imogen sang back, "The artist is a friend of mine, specialises in female nudes."

One drawing in particular caught my eye. It was of two women wrapped in a sixty-nine position and it was unmistakably Imogen and Anthea. I guess that at one time they had been more than just good friends.

Imogen returned and she had slipped into something more comfortable. Or perhaps slipped out of was more like it. She was naked. "Well, guess you can't get more comfortable than that," I said.

"Like what you see?"

I did, but...there were a couple of points. Her breasts for a start. I knew her boobs were fairly big from our lascivious dancing in the Twilight and my taste runs to small ones. My own are quite small—a modest handful—although firm and tip-tilted with large nipples and I'm proud of them. Perhaps this is why I prefer them small on my lovers, like calling to like as it were. Still, I wasn't about to quibble and walk out on Imogen over a little thing like several cup sizes. I'd grit my teeth and be a brave little soldier about it.

The other thing was her tattoo which made me flinch inwardly, not the actual design which was complex, artistic and clever, but where some of it led to. Her mound and pussy were hairless and the tattoo was a profusion of multi-coloured flowers and plants rising from a small urn, the base of which rested a fraction above Imogen's cleft with the foliage reaching almost to her belly-button. A number of exotic butterflies, along with a few honey-bees, hovered above and around the blooms. That was all fair enough. What made me wince was the two lengths of fully-coloured trailing vine which were tattooed all the way from the top of the flower display, past her mound and along her outer labia to intertwine, as I was to find out, at her perineum. Christ, I thought, that must have hurt like hell. I've got a large swallow-tail butterfly tattooed behind my left shoulder and that had made me wince a bit.

"Like what you see?"

"Yes," I said, "Love the butterflies." I knelt before her and gave each butterfly a lingering kiss. I threw my arms around her, pulling her close so that I could nuzzle her belly, as I did so revelling in the warm and intoxicating musk rising from her pussy.

Imogen bent to lift me to my feet. "Come on, let's get you out of those clothes." Before rising, I kissed her slit. She was so smooth there that I reckoned she waxed or used a quality depilatory rather than shaved. But then either one would have been necessary before she could have that elaborate tattoo.

I raised my arms so that Imogen could remove my top and this lifted my breasts so that they seemed even more perky than usual. Muttering: "God, but I love these nipples," Imogen leaned forward to fasten her lips on one, licking and sucking as she fumbled with the zip at the side of my skirt. It fell and she tugged my thong down, which was just as well because it was sodden by now and in danger of sticking to my pubic hair. Imogen stared at my closely-trimmed bush and smiled.

"Why, Vicki, you're a natural blonde."

"Yes."

"Mmmm, I like." Imogen grabbed my hand. "Bed. Right now."

Her bedroom was sumptuous. I reckon my feet sank up to the ankles into the wall-to-wall white carpet and I wriggled my toes in the sheer luxury of it. Dim concealed lighting cast a gentle glow over the whole room and a number of large church candles flickered. The bed was huge with a rich-looking quilt and big, comfortable pillows, while the room's overall décor was red and gold. It was like an extravaganza from an old Hollywood musical and there seemed to be mirrors everywhere. Either Imogen was very vain or she liked to watch the action, probably both. There were so many mirrors that it reminded me of the old joke about the man who had mirrors installed on the bedroom ceiling so he could lie in bed and watch his wife having a headache.

But this was no time for corny old jokes. Imogen and I were embracing fiercely, lips and tongues fighting for domination, as she backed me towards the bed. She won. Getting me onto my back and kneeling over me, she lifted one of my legs and started sucking my toes. She had definitely won. She had started winning in The Twilight with that energetic tongue in my ear and now this was the coup-de-grâce. Two sure ways to win my heart, or rather my pussy, are tongue in my ear and nibbling my toes. I'm a sucker for both and once that starts I'm anybody's. I know, there's tongue in pussy as well but that's the main course, not the starter.

I was tingling down below and could feel myself oozing copiously. I reached down a hand and started playing with kitty, soaking my fingers.

Taking my toes out of her mouth, Imogen said: "Pussy getting warm?"

"Getting warm?" I gasped, "She's boiling over."

"Okay, carry on helping her out until I get there. Won't be long." Imogen started licking down my legs in turn, concentrating her wriggling tongue on the hollows behind my knees. This is almost as effective as the tongue in the ear and the toes in the mouth. I groaned as I rubbed at my pussy. Then Imogen took over.

"Can't waste this." She licked the hand I'd been masturbating with and then slid two fingers into me. Withdrawing them, she held them up for me to see. I'd been right, my juices did seem to be thicker than usual, possibly because I hadn't had sex for several weeks (except with Mrs Palmer and her five daughters, of course). Imogen's fingers were smothered with an abundance of milky-looking mucus. "One for you and one for me," she said, offering her index finger to my mouth. I sucked it off then she cleaned the other.

Imogen slipped her fingers back into me. "Nice snug fit," she commented. Lying full length on my body, she started to kiss and lick all around my throat and shoulders before settling on my mouth for a prolonged battle of tongues. "Not really sure where to start," she whispered, "Love your nipples, nicest I've seen in a long while, but then again pussy is crying out for a good tongue-bath. Still, she's keeping my fingers busy so I'll work down." Finger-fucking me very slowly and gently, Imogen kissed my lips again, flicking them with her tongue, and then battened onto my nipples in turn, sucking them hard and taking as much of my breasts into her mouth as possible.

My honeypot was making lovely squelching noises as Imogen's fingers worked away inside her and Imogen released the breast she had been working on with an audible plop!. "It's no good," she said, "I've got to have a mouthful of pussy."

Pausing only to have a quick lick of my belly button, Imogen dived between my legs to lift them over her shoulders and give me a flat-tongued initial lick from bottom to top, causing me to gasp out loud and to gasp even louder when she pushed her stiffened tongue into me as far as she could. Imogen then set to work in earnest, exploring the whole of my pussy with tiny tongue-tip licks, slowly in and out of all the folds and nibbling gently at my inner lips. I could feel myself building up and up and up and when Imogen took my clit between her lips and sucked it hard I came long and loud and then just laid there gasping for breath as my shaking body slowly calmed itself down.

Imogen crawled back up the bed, licking her way up my body, until she was able to gather me in her arms. "If you could bottle your taste, Vicki, you'd make a fortune," she said.

"Your turn now," I said once I was able to speak in a normal voice. My mouth latched onto one of Imogen's nipples and then the other as a hand crept between her legs to find that she was as wet as I was. I slipped a couple of fingers in and they were met by a warm, welcoming grip as her passage clamped on me. I began to kiss my way down towards kitty.

"Hang on, I've got an idea, wait here." Imogen said, pulling away from me and jumping off the bed.

She was back within minutes, carrying a half-bottle of champagne and two flutes which she filled. We toasted each other and took a sip or two and then Imogen dipped her finger into her flute several times, spreading the wine all around and inside her pussy. "Voilà!" she announced with a fake French accent, "A special cocktail de champagne pour Mam'selle."

"What do you call this cocktail?"

"I haven't thought of that yet—Pussy Galore perhaps?"

"Nah, old hat—how about 'What's New, Pussy Cat'?" I suggested.

"Parfait! Now drink, ma cherie!"

I kissed my way down from her belly button, through the elaborate tattoo and to her pussy where I tongued champagne from her outer lips and spread them with my fingers to enjoy the bounty within. Looking up, I told her: "You could get twenty pounds a time for this cocktail in The Dorchester's lounge bar."

"Only twenty? Worth more than that. I would have said at least forty." Imogen and I both started laughing which made drinking from her honeypot a bit difficult for a few minutes. I made things worse by adding: "All the bar staff would have to be gay men or the customers would never get their drinks."

Imogen began to laugh again and then a firm hand pulled my head back to pussy-land. "Just get your sweet little tongue working, Vicki."

"A pleasure." It was while licking at her perineum that I saw where the tattooed vines were knotted together—the very thought almost brought tears of sympathy to my eyes. Anyway, Imogen tasted good, her natural tangy flavour enhanced by the champagne, so I piled on the enthusiasm and she came very quickly, coating my mouth and chin with her juices.

It was a great night, exactly what I needed after a few weeks abstinence. We made each other come several times and then slept the just sleep of the labourer who knows that she has laboured well.

We had almost finished breakfast in the morning when Imogen's phone rang. She spoke for a few seconds, said "Okay," and turned to me. "When you're ready, Vicki, Susie will be waiting in the lobby for you." I guessed I was being told to leave but it was done in a very nice way. I did notice that there was no suggestion of a return match. At the penthouse door, Imogen and I hugged and kissed goodbye. "Thanks for a great time," I told her, "And don't forget to patent that cocktail—it's a winner."

When I got down to the lobby and met Susie, the doorman came to greet us, touching the brim of his hat. "Good morning, Ms Vicki, Ms Susie, there's a taxi waiting outside to take you wherever you wish. Don't give him any money, the fare and tip are both taken care of." Well, we may have been getting the bum's rush but it was certainly done with style and generosity. Once the taxi was on the move, Susie and I looked at each other.

"Well?"

"Well?"

"Whey-hey!" we chorused with big grins and high-fived.

"Anthea even gave me breakfast," said Susie, "A luxury breakfast too, smoked salmon and scrambled eggs. What did you have, Vicki?"

"Hot pussy followed by warm croissants and Blue Mountain coffee," I told her. I thought I heard an amused snort from the front of the cab but when I glanced at the rear-view mirror, the driver's face was impassive.

Susie and I started giggling and high-fived again.

* * * * *

We work shifts at the library. On a particular Thursday a few weeks following my encounter with Imogen, I started at midday so I decided to have an early lunch at a coffee shop near work. Nothing elaborate, black coffee with a simple chicken salad sandwich. I started in on my meal, at the same time looking at the day's Telegraph crossword. One Across was a doddle: Breathe like Blackbeard (8). Answer: 'Aspirate'. Made my day. I don't often get One Across so quickly. I like cryptic crosswords but I'm not very good at them, lucky if I complete one in ten. After One Across it got a bit harder, in fact it got a lot harder. I was ruining my pen by chewing on it as I concentrated, lost in my own little world, and a voice right by me made me start. "It's Victoria, isn't it?"

I looked up at a tall woman, maybe an inch or two taller than my five-seven and perhaps a little older, say thirtyish. It seemed that she knew me but I didn't know her. She was quite attractive, with short, dark hair in a neat bob, well-dressed in a navy pin-striped business suit—the sort of outfit my grandma would probably call a 'costume'—with a cream silk blouse fastened at the neck by a small cameo brooch. "May I join you?"

Puzzled, I nodded. She sat, placing a briefcase down by the side of her chair. A moment later a waitress brought her an espresso with a Danish pastry. I'd been studying her and knew that I had seen her some place but I couldn't say where.

"You don't remember me, do you Victoria?"

"Vicki," I corrected automatically, "You look vaguely familiar but sorry, I can't place you."

She leaned across the table and whispered: "Would you little darlings like to be fucked by a real woman?"

Good God! Of course, the slight resemblance to Diane Baker. She was the woman called... "...Jody!"

"Joanna, please. Joanna Lloyd. Jody's my alias in Nancy's."

"But you're... you're..." I came within a whisker of saying 'normal' but realised that could be offensive, so I waved a vague hand about as if lost for words.

Joanna laughed. "Scrub up nicely, don't I?"

I wondered what next. "I suppose I should say 'Nice to see you again' but I'm not so sure about that."

"That's okay, Vicki. I'm not really the crude bitch you met before. I was playing to the gallery that evening." She ate a piece of pastry and sipped her coffee before continuing. "I've got pretty sharp hearing. I was sitting right behind you and overheard most of what was said between you and Nancy, her putting you under her protection. I owe you an explanation. I'm a solicitor, specialise in criminal law and defence cases. Without giving anyone away, quite a few of the Nook's members have been clients of mine. Some time ago one of them, whom I'd got off a charge on a technicality, had somehow found out I'm gay and insisted on taking me to the Nook to celebrate. It got to be expected that I'd show every now and then and dispense advice to anyone needing it, pro bono of course. I try to dress to fit in there. I approached you playing the coarse butch knowing full well that Nancy would warn me off. It gained me a bit of street cred with the others, which was the intention. Anyway, I apologise, for what it's worth."

I stuck a hand across the table and we shook. "Apology accepted."

And then Joanna became a little hesitant. "The girl with you... Susie, wasn't it... are you and she...?"

It didn't need a flash of brilliance to see where this was leading. I guessed that Joanna was another one of those about to howl at the moon over Susie. "We love each other very much," I said, straight-faced. Unkind of me but I wanted a smidgeon of vengeance for Nancy's Nook.

"Oh, I see." Joanna looked crestfallen and swallowed down the last of her espresso. She began to collect her things as if to leave. "Okay, I'm sorry to have bothered you, Vicki."

My conscience pricked me—Susie had talked as if she fancied Jody. Don't be a bitch Vicki Clarke, you've had your petty revenge, I told myself and reached out a hand to stop her. "Wait, Joanna, Susie and I love each other very much and that's the plain truth. But we're not in love and we're not lovers. We've known each other since we were small children and we're best friends, more like loving sisters than anything."

Joanna's face lit up. "That's great! I mean...I thought she was lovely... Oh, sorry, you're nice too but... perhaps I'd better stop digging before I'm in too deep."

"Good thinking," I agreed, adding: "But you thought Susie was special."

"Yes. Other circumstances and I'd have tried to get to know her... I mean... get to know the two of you... I mean..." For a lawyer, Joanna was having plenty of trouble making her case. Embarrassment showed. "I'm making assumptions here. Susie is gay, isn't she? Is she with anyone?"