Gentle Dominance by Kate

In Loving Memory
May 6, 1957 – March 5, 1999
May she rest in peace

Amsterdam

The She-City manifested confidently in full schizophrenia–a content rose-cheeked housefrau shopping for apples by day–the darkly tantalizing dominatrix by night. The clear spectrum of light is singularly magnificent here; the same quality of light immortalized so many years ago by artists of the Renaissance. Living canvases of bright round peasant faces juxtaposed with dark shadows highlighting luxurious translucent flesh, elaborately framed in captivity to last through the next millennium. The distinct morning light reveals entire streets transformed into a temporary heaven by blocks upon blocks of fresh flowers sold in open air markets that line the dark murky canals.

By night, her centuries old stone shadows reek of the acrid scent of hashish where the watchers warily creep into dimly lit arcades and their wildest dreams are had for a mere guilder. Deep sensuous strains of a lonely jazz saxophone drift out like smoke from behind closed sex club doors. Whores recline seductively on divans in the shadowy shop windows of the city’s red light district. The taunt is open here, curtains hastily pulled across shop windows can only mean that the full range of the Kama Sutra is occurring mere inches away from the time-watered glass. The scent of raw sex curls down from the open windows above the street. And in the clear light of dawn, small armies of shopkeepers and housefraus scurry to sweep and wash the walks clean of the night just ended.

It’s no wonder that it was Amsterdam where she found such a deceptively innocent and manipulatively cunning female contest. Her lover, James, had a fascination for the rare videos–she watched with mild interest at first, indulging him sweetly as he spoiled Inga with her own softer female fantasies. It was only later, after he left her bed, that her fantasies began to take on the decidedly different attributes of his own.

Female sexfighting, the very words would send James scanning reams on Internet data, intent on sleuthing out another rare piece of video. Inga preferred to call it pussy fighting, a slam dance of bi-sexual women where the jolting and slapping of pubic bones resonated down past wet lips and hard clits. A contest where the loser would dissolve in exquisite female-to-female orgasm and the winner would symbolically take the vanquished panties. While James dreamed of seeing her clash pussies in a form of combat strictly forbidden to men, fascinated all the more by what they could not give, she fantasized about running her tongue along the delicious soft slit of a lovely woman. He wanted her to win. Secretly she wanted to lose and have that ultimate vulnerability, that undeniable pleasure of letting the winner overcome her with superior strength and the torment of exclusive female hedonism.

Her lover, James, had surfed the Net for months before booking the trip on KLM. Hours turned into months as he probed cautiously, weeding out male imposters that yearned after the elusive duel in this carefully guarded she-arena. When he thought he was near an arrangement, Inga would sign-on reluctantly in the same sex talk room to query the prospect and validate the liaison. A multitude of potential encounters had turned out to be men desperately seeking women who would stage the arena for their voyeurism. Inga was frustrated. After she tapped in the challenge, “Put the bitch on-line,” most of them surrendered and typed, “My girlfriend does not understand.” “I’m so sorry,” she would delicately tap the keys, then sign-off and block the man from their e-mail address.

After a month of conversations on-line, the COM address from Amsterdam to a man named Peter continued to hold promise. James’ message of, “You may not touch my lady,” was answered promptly with, “I only want to watch mine win. But, if she wins, I’ll have your lady, too.” After a week of sparring over details as to who could come to which country, it was decided that the Americans would fly to Amsterdam for the arena.

Over the years, Inga and James had learned monogamy the hard way through long strings of broken loves. The affairs always started with an acute awareness of another, followed by a heady whirlwind of seduction, each feeling sixteen years old again and sated with the incomparable joy of new love–ending painfully with the dying agony of love lost. The aching pain of old rash actions clawed anew at his heart and seized his breath. Would he risk it all for one evening of fantasies fulfilled? Would she?

This time when Inga tapped in, “Put the bitch on,” she was rewarded with lovely feminine keystrokes, “Let us go to a private room where we can chat freely and leave our men.” There they arranged to speak secretly on the telephone the next evening. Her name was Claire.
The pussy fighting videos had subliminally permeated Inga’s subconscious until her fantasy of making love to a woman fused into a haunting half-crazed need. She edited James’ fantasy by dissolving the battle into soft woman-to-woman sensuality, gently touching and licking each other to sweet orgasm. The secret female place that no man could comprehend, where orgasms went on for hours and entire days were lived in wine and lace and roses. During the flight to Amsterdam he sternly reminded her that female sexfighting was a fight to win, not to weakly spread her legs and let the winner’s wet mouth and tongue fool her into taking her panties as a prize.

In preparation for the trip she had soaked her skin in a warm bubble bath every evening of almond oil scented with rare herbs and had abused his American Express card at expensive lingerie boutiques in Boca Raton. She spent the day before their flight behind the Red Door at Elizabeth Arden’s Salon in Miami. One of James’ videos had shown women preparing for the arena by working out on machines and doing deep pussy bends; Inga wanted only to be softly scented and silkily pliant.

They flew First Class to Shipoli Airport drinking champagne in flight as she fondled him under the blanket and whispered her fantasy stories in his ear. In the cramped airplane lavatory, he lifted her onto the sink and made rough love to her as they approached the Dutch airspace, coming blindly together as the stewardess knocked on the door and urged them to take their seats. Inga fantasized that the stewardess forced her way into the small lavatory and took her into her mouth as James watched.

Inga hesitated only a moment before stepping down on Dutch soil, then clicked her black high heels confidently down the endless hallway to Customs. James lagged behind deliberately enjoying watching the material of her short skirt pull against her buttocks revealing the shape of her thighs. Inga felt his eyes behind her and knew exactly what she planned to accomplish in Amsterdam. At Customs, the officer asked why she was visiting the Netherlands; she tossed her blonde hair, gave a low sensuous laugh and whispered to the officer, “I’m here to have my lover watch me make love to another woman.” He stamped her passport, rolling the red rubber stamp slowly across the page as his eyes studied her slowly from her high heels to her breasts, meeting her clear blue eyes.

“Welcome to Amsterdam, Mademoiselle.”

They checked into a small bed and breakfast pension located on a narrow cobbled side street. As they registered at the front desk, the graying proprietor, Herr Peter Schoenbeck, mentioned that he and his wife lived in an apartment just across the alley. With a kind smile that made his sky blue eyes crinkle at the corners he invited James and Inga to have coffee with them in the morning. Inga looked at James through lowered lashes; her lips curled into a small shy smile and James declined politely.

The tiny room was dominated by the lace and down covered bed. A long, low window served as the headboard for the bed, draped with lace curtains. The proprietress had thoughtfully left two glasses of sweet Madeira wine on the bedside table along with a bouquet of fragrant garden roses. The lace-trimmed sheets had been turned down and a note on heavy cream-colored stationary was propped against the pillow. In black flowing Catholic schoolgirl script it read,”Welcome to Amsterdam…Claire.”

The sun was high overhead when they awoke. Inga pulled open the curtains to let the glorious summer light into the room. Sleepily, James pulled her back to cuddle against him. She stroked his thighs and buttocks through the heavy sheets, gently at first and then more forcefully as she felt his hips rock against her like the slow rhythm of a boat at sea. She ran her tongue down his chest pausing to delicately kiss his hip bones then slid her tongue down that lovely alley where his thighs and body become one.

With a slow teasing smile, she looked up at his face to see if he was awake yet and met the blue eyes of the proprietor through the window above the bed sitting on a balcony crowded with potted flowers across the narrow alley. He was having coffee with a beautiful red-haired woman in a filmy white robe. They looked back at her with the kindest, most appreciative smiles and nodded with a quiet dignity for Inga to continue.

James, still in mid-sleep, was moving his hips against her cheek caught between dream and gradual awakening that the dream was real. She rested her cheek between his thighs and felt him getting harder and let her silky blonde hair brush his hardening penis. Gently she kissed the tip of him and ran her tongue around the clefted rim. Coming awake he maintained the slow rhythm until she had almost all of him in her mouth. Her hands spread his legs open wider and she took him into her mouth with long luxurious strokes glancing up shyly at the proprietor and his wife. Inga caresses James with her tongue to hard pulsating life. She looked back at the woman and felt weak at the thought of her tongue drawing down along the woman’s thighs.

She felt James’ strong hand encircle her wrist directing her to move up, still unaware of the watchers, pulling her hips up even with his face. She glanced down at him, then looked at the woman across the way and whispered, “They’re watching.”

Almost shyly she knelt towards his face. He pulled her to him and sent his tongue swiftly straight between her lips to her clit causing her to arch her back and throw her head back as he kissed her pussy in slow delicious swirling strokes of tongue. Her lips were slightly swollen and sensitive from the night before and tasted of her sweet female sex. At his touch, she leaned further over his face and felt her breasts brush the edge of the rough starched lace curtain and glanced back at the watchers.

Looking up at her with a knowing smile, he asked, “Are they still watching?”

At her whispered, “Yes,” he put his hands on her buttocks and drew all of her into his mouth. She looked up at them and the proprietor smiled back at her knowingly, then took the red-haired woman’s face in both of his hands and kissed her deeply. Her delicate hands ran down the back of his robe outlining the strong muscles of his thighs.

James clasped both of her wrists pushing her down until her face met his. She let her wet pussy rub against his hardness and kissed him deeply to taste her own scent, his mustache wet from her. She imagined that the woman would taste like this and glanced across the alley at her. The man had her robe hiked up around her long legs and was stroking the creamy white flesh. The woman stood like a statue in the morning light planted amidst the red geraniums.

As Inga watched she let her robe fall to the floor as the sunlight danced on the wondrous red hair curling around her cleft. Then she took his head in both her hands and drew his face down between her thighs. The woman stroked his gray hair and pulled him closer. She smiled like a joyful child with half-closed eyes, her lips parting as a little moan escaped. Then her eyes turned and she winked at Inga mischievously.

Inga could feel James hard beneath her, probing and demanding entry. She made him gasp as she slid down hard, taking all of him to the hilt as the air escaped in a scream from her throat. Then she ground her pussy against him connecting so tightly that she could feel his pelvic bone hit her clit. He was so deep inside that her muscles contracted around him and he grew even more rigid. She ground down on him and squeezed to make him moan. He clasped his hands on her hips and directed her to ride him hard.

“No, no, don’t make me do this,” she said breathlessly. “Don’t make me do this to me, James.”
Inga looked back at the woman as she rocked wildly on top of James, his hips rising to meet Inga’s making a slapping sound whenever they met. She breathed in the tantalizing musk of wet sex and rode James looking up at the woman. The woman nodded again and pushed the man’s head away from her and ran her hands down her sides. She caressed her milky white body in the bright sunlight and cupped her breasts to show them off to Inga. Her hands traced the V between her thighs and made slow sensuous circles on the soft pink spot in the middle of her red bush.
Inga began to feel that old urgency well up inside of her.

James was rock hard as he watched the woman tease Inga. Her body was like alabaster in the light, with hand-colored rose lips, hair and pubis. He pulled Inga down harder and harder on him, his hands directing her to ride him rough the way he knew she loved. He could feel her lips and clit swell as they brushed against his pelvic bone. Inga felt the warmth start to rise from her pussy all the way up to her hairline. Trying to make it last a long time, knowing she was already coming and wanting to keep on coming forever like this, to crest even higher and sustain that high as long as possible. She pressed her pussy down on him to delay and in response he forced her hips down harder on him, rising and bucking to meet her with hard thrusts.

She wanted to open her eyes to see what the man was doing to Claire, but an unrelenting orgasm began pulsing through her body. She could feel the heat rising from her clit like blue flames and knew she was helpless and overwhelmed by her body’s sensations. Wild screams were coming from her lips and her whole body was involved in waves of delirium, the hot blue fire, and the glowing iridescence that surrounded him so deep and hard inside of her. Inga ground down on him harder, drawing it out, screaming each time, pulling away involuntarily from sensory overload only to feel him thrust deeper and pull her down to his hilt.

In spent weakness, her whole body trembled and he held her as she lay across his chest, soft little sighs escaping from her lips. Smiling like a child, she nuzzled his ear in total contentment. He waited; caressing her hair lovingly until the wild beating of her heart slowed and then his hands grasped her forearm and forcefully, but gently, moved her in position to receive him from behind without pulling away.

Now they both faced the watchers, James reared up on his knees as Inga waited on hands and knees, her blonde tangle peeking out from beneath her smooth white ass in front of him like a tropical oasis. He teasingly prodded her with the tip of his cock, rigid and probing and then pulled away. Inga’s soft white buttocks pushed back at him to force all of him inside, brazenly asking for more of this lovely hard slippery sliding sensation. Now the watchers played for James, she drew off his robe and kissed his thighs, leaving traces of the heavy red lipstick she wore, then took his hard cock in her mouth and slid her red lips up and down on him.

James shook his head to tell her, ‘No that is not what he wanted.’ The proprietor handed her an old-fashioned dial phone and then the telephone on the bedside began to ring. James slowly picked up the receiver and brought it to his ear saying nothing.

“Put the little bitch on,” she said quietly, the underlying challenge ominous and menacing. James knew it was Claire and let Inga share the receiver with him knowing that Peter was listening with her. “I want to sexfight her while you watch helpless in another room. You can’t protect her and you’ll have to listen to the sounds of our pussies hitting. She’s so petite, such a tiny one–it won’t be much of a fight to take your lady.”

“Tell me how you are going to win,” James said brusquely, feeling the hot urgency swell and pulsate inside of his being. Rock hard and burning, he slowly, rhythmically, stroked his cock deep into Inga’s slick wet pussy, aware of the soft mounds of her buttocks crush against him, his balls spanking her swollen clit, poised on the threshold of coming.

“Why, I’m going to cuff my breasts against hers until she gives in. I’ll batter her and push my big clit up against hers and, after that, I’m going to climb on top of her and tear her panties away with my teeth and grind my pussy down on hers until she can’t move…I’m going to slap my clit against hers so hard until she begs me to stop…then I’ll make her come for me over and over again.”
At that point James couldn’t hear her for the rushing in his brain, he pulled Inga down on the bed beside him, his hands over her breasts as he came in long pulsating rushes, waves of orgasm passed over him in animal groans. The receiver fell unnoticed into the folds of the pillows.
The day was clear; the sky a bright blue as the two happy couples on holiday drove the tiny cramped Audi to the coast of the Zuider Zee. At a small seaside cafe they dined on delicately fried plaice and cold Amstel beer. Sailboats bearing brightly colored spinnakers aloft danced in the winds over the seas in the late afternoon sun. The two women shopped in the open-air markets for blue delft china and bits of hand-made lace. Occasionally, their bodies touched as one or the other leaned over the shop counters to admire an unusual piece and their eyes would meet in challenge. Inga’s soft blue eyes looking up over lowered lashes at Claire’s brown eyes with a flirtatious taunt. The men lazily reclined drinking the good Dutch beer from tall hand blown glasses sharing an easy camaraderie as they spoke of sailing and videos.

On the drive home they agreed to meet at ten o’clock in the red light district for a bit of nightlife.
“How will we find you? We don’t know the city and I’ve heard the crowds are so thick there!” Inga asked, her blue eyes wide with innocence.

Claire answered, “Just look for my red hair, it stands out like a siren anywhere, Inga darling. You will have no problem.”

Back in the tiny room, James prepared her toiletries and they both scampered naked down the hall to the lavatory. He filled the claw-footed tub with hot steaming water and liberally poured the scented bubbles. Taking Inga by her soft shoulders he gently undressed her and lifted her into the steaming tub, scrubbing her clean with a new loofah sponge purchased that day on their excursion to the Zuider Zee. He toweled her dry with rough white cotton towels and massaged more oil over her body, paying close attention to her breasts, thighs and blonde pussy. Gently, he drew the ivory colored silk stockings over her legs and fastened the multitude of hooks on her lace-covered bodice arranging her small pert breasts within the petals of lace to fall just so. His hand stroked her pussy as he pulled the silk open-crotch panties over her hips.

“James, darling, do me now, please.”

“No, honey. You have to win tonight, there’s no time for this,” he said kissing her forehead.

“James, what is she slips her tongue in my pussy? You know I won’t be able to resist that. What will I do?”

“Inga, we didn’t fly three thousand miles to fall victim to a woman with a clever tongue. You have to remember my needs, and I have waited months for you to win her panties.”

“Oh, James, I love you so! Don’t worry, I’ll bring you back her panties still wet with the scent of her. You know that I’d far rather DO her. I think she is an exciting woman…that red hair just drives me wild, I can imagine my face buried in her puss!”

“Inga!” he scolded.

“Well, what’s so wrong about wanting her, James? Does it make you jealous? Oh, James, tell me you didn’t make a deal with Peter!? Does he get me if she wins? I saw the two of you talking today and Claire told me that she thinks you are ‘a very sexy man’.” She imitated Claire’s husky voice and well-bred Cambridge accent. “Just what did you two agree on?” In a small voice she asked, blue eyes pleading, “Do I lose you if she wins?”

“Inga, darling, after all this time with me…you still don’t understand!”

“All I know is that you have gotten me into this game that I don’t comprehend. I fight Claire, Claire fights me, and one of us wins. Claire and I have talked and we both agree that what we would like to do is jump into a nice soft bed and dive into each other’s pussy. What have the two of you wagered that we don’t know about? I am completely fascinated by Claire…she is the woman of my dreams…and then I also want to buck pussies and sexwrestle for you. What’s it all about, James? I don’t want her to take you!”

“Then don’t LET her,” he answered sharply, softening immediately at her hurt look. He drew his hands down along her face, down her smooth back and across her buttocks, “Honey, when you are there, you will finally realize what I’m talking about. I promise.”

“Well, alright. Can’t you at least do me a little bit to get me ready, James? Just a little lick for luck to send me on my way?”

“No,” he answered teasingly as he drew the peach colored silk sheath dress over her body and slapped her firmly on the ass. “Here are your heels, let me slip them on for you.”

The evening air was cool as they walked the Red Light District. Inga shivered and James covered her with his jacket, his arm over her shoulders protectively. Amsterdam’s whores were in full bloom in the softly lit shop windows; the scent of hashish and raw sex permeated the air.
Claire arose from the rose colored divan like a sex goddess when she saw them, her milky white body awash in black silk lingerie. Black garters stretched down across the delicious mounds of her soft white buttocks. Her red hair gleamed from the glow of the streetlights. She was inside the shop window displayed like a delicately packaged Bon-Bon, chilled to perfection to preserve the taste. She stood, softly tapping her black gloved hands on the windowpane to summon them and pressed her red bush against the glass leaving tiny wet pussy prints.

Inga gasped, “There she is!” James knocked on the door marked 619 and Peter opened the door smiling like a concierge and graciously welcomed them into the tiny room with long low display windows on opposite sides. He kissed Inga on both cheeks and let his hands rest on her firm bottom for a brief moment.

“Welcome, Inga, my love…and welcome…James,” he said, turning away as he carefully drew the front shop window curtain closed.

He led James to a small door on the other side of the room, exiting to a dark alley. A long window into the room gave them private audience where the crowds of watchers on the next street walked by unaware of the scene about to unfold. They sat on orange crates in the cool night air sharing a pipe of strong Turkish hashish.

In the soft light Claire reclined majestically in a black lace push-up bra, garters and black silk stockings on the rose divan. From the alley, Peter swept his hands in the air towards Claire. “May I present the unvanquished champion, Claire of Amsterdam, whom you brash Americans dare to challenge.”

James drew the hashish deeply into his lungs, exhaling as he spoke, “And may I introduce Inga, the untried lady from Miami. May history repeat itself, Peter. You Europeans will never understand the power that grows from true independence.”

James nodded with an outstretched index finger to cue Claire and Inga to begin. He whispered, “May the finest woman win.”

Poor Inga stood like a frightened deer blinded by headlights at James’ direction. Claire advanced and caught her by the shoulders, pressed her black lace brassiere against the smaller woman’s breasts and slammed her pussy hard against the peach silk of her dress. Inga looked helplessly at James as Claire bit into her shoulder and banged her pussy against Inga’s. James worried, Inga had never been in an actual fight before and now to see her in full view of the shop window—he worried about losing her to Peter. She was a petite little thing, a full ten pounds lighter than Claire. The size difference had seemed miniscule on the Internet, a few inches, and a few pounds—now, Inga looked pale and fragile in the sharp lights, Claire looked solid with muscle. Claire held her in a vice-grip and crushed her breasts and pussy over Inga. The black silk brassiere and garter belt seemed menacing against his Inga’s innocent peach and ivory.
Claire pushed Inga into the front corner of the shop window and unzipped the back of her dress, revealing the ivory lace bodice and stockings. Inga’s eyes turned to James wide with total fear. Claire removed the black gloves and ran her bare hands down Inga’s exposed back and let her right hand travel sensuously under her dress up her thigh. Gently, the red-tipped fingers traveled dangerously closer to the prey, a knowing smile crossing her face as she discovered the crotch less panties and the ready wetness of her pussy. Inga trembled visibly.

Again and again, Claire attacked and ground against her forcefully, then drew back holding her in a dancing embrace. The red haired woman ran her hand up Inga’s soft ivory covered thigh. She grabbed Inga’s bush in her hand and squeezed making her gasp for breath then pulled her pubic hair roughly as she squeezed Inga’s ass with her other hand and then bucked her pussy against the silk of Inga’s dress powerfully. All Inga could do was press back in response, feeling the need overwhelm her, excited by the scent and touch of a woman and the exposed window to the two men. She felt Peter’s blue eyes on her telling her to let go and James’ hazel eyes pleading with her to maintain control as Claire’s pelvis continued to bang against hers.

Rallying, she bucked against Claire’s red bush as hard as she could and felt a rush at the raw power that overcame her. High-heeled legs spread firmly on the floor, she braced herself and pushed again, feeling Claire’s soft mound come forward to meet her until they both sank into each other’s cleft. The muffled slapping sound beneath the rush of silk was unexpected and exciting. They clashed again, each pushing the other away until the woman’s sheer strength overwhelmed her and now Claire’s rhythm dominated one-two-three against her bush. Inga could feel the banging reverberating deep inside of her awakening old illicit Catholic schoolgirl memories.

She struck back, one-two-three times, mocking Claire’s rhythm and felt a new surge of strength that she didn’t understand. She only knew that the woman wanted her James and that made her angry. She advanced on Claire’s red bush and smacked against it making Claire wince and fall to the rose colored divan, black-gartered white thighs encircling Inga’s waist in a vice-like grip, her black stiletto heels dangerously clawing the air. The power rush was tremendous this time and Inga slammed her pussy heavily into Claire’s until she felt the hard little button of her clit and ground harder against it. The edges of the hot blue flame of orgasm began to creep into her being causing her to look up at James helplessly.

He shook his head quickly back and forth, No!

She paused for an instant, then felt Claire rise up and buck against her and that prickly blue heat flared up once more as she looked down to see Claire’s black stockinged legs and strappy heels around her waist. Standing over Claire, she pulled the peach silk dress over her head to reveal the ivory lace outfit James had dressed her in, showing her strong buttocks to the two men on the other side of the window. Roughly, she pulled Claire up to a standing position, turned her by the shoulders and pushed her face down on the divan. She mounted Claire and slapped her pussy hard up against the cleft of her black lace trimmed buttocks, making the mounds of white flesh quiver beneath her.

Breathing heavily from exertion, both women stood up holding each other at arm’s length. Blonde hair and ivory lace confronted flaming red hair and black lace—the lamplight catching the sheen of sweat on their bodies. Claire puffed her chest and brushed her hard lace-covered nipples roughly along Inga’s. Inga pushed the taut nipples of her breasts back at her, slowly drawing them side to side against Claire’s reveling in the touch of lace and the cushiony softness beneath.

Encircled in Claire’s arms, she drew a long breath, tilting her head back to take in all the air that she could. Focusing as she exhaled, she shoved Claire down straddling her on the divan pinning her by the hands against the sofa and ground her pussy against Claire’s. Riding her pelvic bone as the delicious friction of red and blonde pubic tangled making both women ache and scream for release. The blue flames rising up licking and consuming the feminine fuel in sheer heat.
With a loud ‘Ungh!’ Claire regrouped and forced Inga to roll beneath her. She banged her soaking wet pussy hard against Inga’s until Inga gasped, and stretched the muscles of her arms to reach out to fend her off and push her away until Inga was on top again looking at James and Peter. Caught in the moment she banged down hard on Claire’s exposed red clit hearing the pubic bones hit. In a sneaky move, Claire stroked Inga’s wet clit, momentarily bringing her to a standstill. Inga’s face arched slowly to the ceiling, lips parted as she reveled in the sensation, she spread her legs further apart, her back arched as she swayed to the rhythm of Claire’s probing fingers. Deftly, Claire slipped her index finger into Inga’s bottom and pressed down hard as she forced her to roll over in subservience.

Peter applauded and James brow furrowed in consternation. Claire took Inga’s lapse and thrust her swollen pussy against Inga’s on the divan. Forcing her legs open with both hands, holding her by the ankles in the air, Claire bucked against her wildly. Inga screamed in pleasure, drawing the blue flames out then threw her off violently. She pushed Claire down on the divan and mounted her, bucking her pussy hard in rapid frantic strokes against Claire’s angry red and swollen lips while sneaking her index finger into Claire’s bottom and causing her to scream over and over.

With consummate force, Claire pushed Inga away and tore at her ivory bodice, freeing her large pink nipples. She grabbed at them pinching hard and forced Inga to the subservient position and banged noisily against her wet pussy in a white-hot heat. Claire placed both of her hands on Inga’s breasts squeezing and pinching hard as she leaned forward to force her tongue into her mouth, grinding her slippery wet pussy into Inga’s. She could feel the hardness of her clit rub against Inga’s through the oozing wet cunt lips that clung and sucked together as she reached down to tear the panties away in victory.

Inga opened her eyes and screamed, “No!”

She shoved Claire off of her, rolled her over and ripped her black lace panties, bucking her and riding her pelvic bone, fast and hard.

“No, no, no, no!” she whispered breathlessly, punctuating each thrust with her words.
Holding her breath, she ripped the remainder of Claire’s panties from her hips and held the crumpled black lace shreds against the woman’s ankles as she lifted Claire’s long white legs into the air.

Climbing on top she slammed her sloppy-wet pussy onto Claire’s face, covering her nose and mouth with her sweet feminine juices, she placed her mouth firmly over Claire’s pussy. Both women began to lick and suck the other’s pussy like sex-starved she-cats. The red bush was sweet and wet, she closed her eyes and drove her tongue deep into Claire’s slit, just as she felt her own hole being invaded in a similar fashion, licking her into oblivion until both women were ready to explode. It was Claire who came first with long screaming sobs and rivers of ultimately female essence flowing into Inga’s mouth. Then it was Inga’s turn to release as she bathed Claire’s face with her hot sticky fluid, the smell of sex stronger with each spasm and contraction; Claire bucked her pussy up as Inga finished her off for good.

After a few moments, Claire’s bucking subsided and Inga released her. She held Claire gently and after a brief interlude, raised the black panties gently aloft waving them as she beamed at James and heard both James and Peter scream her name in victory.

Inga pulled Claire to her feet and wrapped a warm soft coat around her, tied it carefully at the waist like a doting mother and patted her backside urging her to leave quickly.

Hushed, James entered the room and drew the curtain. Slowly, sensuously, Inga removed his clothes and then he peeled the rest of the wet ivory lingerie from her body until she was naked. Beads of perspiration made her body glisten in the soft light. Kissing her deeply, he clasped his hands around her waist and lifted her up into the air in victory then laid her gently back down on the rose divan. There, firmly, with great authority, he parted her legs, taking in her wet swollen pussy with his eyes.

Holding her ankles in both hands, he placed them on either side of his neck and looked down at her. Lashes lowered, she held out the shredded ruins of Claire’s black panties shyly to him. Her words came out in a soft whispered rush.

“Oh, James…I’ve never done this before…but I MUST do it again…and soon…because I loved it so…loved the feeling of power when she came! James, I was so close to coming myself…I thought I would explode at any second…I was so unsure if I could hold out long enough, especially when I felt her tongue slide in and out of my hole…I just tried to sink my tongue deeper into her! Oh, James, I understand now! I understand what you have been trying to tell me, I do, I do! Can Claire and I sexfight again? Tomorrow, maybe? Please…I want to hurt her like she hurt me only MORE! Please make love to me, James, and tell me I can sexfight again…if not Claire then another woman…soon?”

“Don’t worry, my love. I know just what to do. And after this, I’ll take you home and we’ll have a nice hot bath together in the morning. I have some contacts that Peter shared with me, other women who sexfight just like Claire. We can call them in the morning. Would you like that, Inga, my darling?”

“Oh, James, I love you more than ever!”

The End

AFTERGLOW
I’d like the memory of me to be a happy one.
I’d like to leave an afterglow of smiles when day is gone.
I’d like to leave an echo whispering softly down the ways,
Of happy times, and laughing times, and bright and sunny days.
I’d like the tears of those who grieve to dry before the sun,
Of happy memories that I leave when life is done.

Thank you for reading! For more stories from the Michael WingClick Here!

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