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Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32
Pixie’s bum looked so enticing that June could not help herself, and, anyway, unless her radar was letting her down badly, she was pretty sure that the older woman wanted the attention. The fact that instead of protesting and saying no, Pixie had wiggled her cute ass and pushed back, told June all she needed to know.
This was new for June.
With Kate, and in her imagination, she had always been the pliant one – the submissive one, if you would. She was a nobody, a simple working-class lass from the north with few prospects and no education beyond school. Yet (and the thought actually send shivers to her core) here she was caressing the bum of this very well-spoken posh girl. And what was more, she was liking it. What she liked most was that it seemed like the lady wanted this – and June did like to please.
As Pixie seemed to be enjoying it, June decided to be more daring. She lifted the overall and seeing the tights, pulled them down. She was shocked. She was not sure what she had expected, but what she saw surprised her.
This posh girl had a tramp stamp just at the top of her ass crack – just an arrow pointing down; but all the same! She had expected a pair of silk panties, but what she saw was a rather slutty black thong. Neither of these things were in line with the estimate she had formed of the woman.
“What is this?” If there was surprise in her voice, June thought, it was genuine.
Pixie’s voice was even higher than usual.
“It’s my tramp stamp, it’s only a transfer.”
“These are very slutty panties; do they go with the tattoo?”
“Yes, June,” Pixie gasped her answer because June was caressing her bum cheeks.
“I did not have you down as a woman with a tattoo,” June said, “was this your idea?”
“No,” Pixie protested in a voice which quavered.
Drawing on her own experiences and on what she had read, it was not a huge leap of the imagination for June to work out what might be going on. She liked Pixie, and she liked the feeling she was getting, but she wanted, no she needed, to know more.
“Okay, Pixie, what I suggest is you finish tidying up and we go back to the Carlton, how would that be with you.”
“Oh, please,” said Pixie.
So, June spent a delightful fifteen minutes watching Pixie clean the floor, with her arse on show. She was so aroused that she slipped a fingers down her own panties. “Fuck,” she thought, “I’ve soaked them!” But June knew she could wait.
When Pixie had finished, June told her to get dressed, but this time to face her.
June smiled when she saw Pixie from that angle. Her breasts were so small that June could see why she had not needed a bra. But above the line of her panties was another transfer tattoo – another arrow pointing down.
Pixie looked at June and blushed, hurrying to put her dress on.
June locked up and, holding Pixie’s hand, they walked to the hotel together.
“Who were you supposed to meet, Pixie? Is that why you had the tatts?”
Pixie squeezed June’s hand, liking the sympathetic tone she had adopted.
“It’s a bit embarrassing.”
June could sympathise, but was not going to let Pixie off the hook.
“What, more embarrassing than a working-class girl seeing your posh bum and belly with tramp stamps?”
Pixie giggled.
“I guess not.”
“So, we’re about fifteen minutes from the Carlton, tell me all.”
“I was meeting a woman I met online. She knew I was here for a conference and arranged for us to meet. She ordered me to get those transfers and to wear slutty panties.”
A shiver went down June’s spine, before rising up it again. Surely not? But who else could it have been? She hazarded a guess aloud.
“Was that Mistress Kate?”
The gulp from Pixie was palpable.
“OMG, you’re not her, are you? Sorry Miss.”
“NO!” June said with more emphasis than she had meant to add.
Pixie turned to her and looked up.
“I don’t understand, how could you know?”
“Let’s just say for now that I know of her.”
“Okay,” said Pixie, clearly intrigued, but equally knowing not to press. June recognised the training.
“So you have not met her?”
“No, we were supposed to meet tonight, but she did not show.”
June felt something well up inside her, something that had been buried so deep for so long that she had forgotten it was there. She stopped. She turned Pixie to her. She hugged her. Pixie’s arms went round her as her face pressed between her boobs. She stroked Pixie’s hair. Pixie hugged her tighter. June felt tears welling up. Pixie looked up. By the streetlights, June could see her eyes were glistening too.
“It’s okay, little one, I really am not Kate, but I recognise the style.”
Pixie looked at her, June’s face lit by the halo of the streetlamp.
“You, too?”
For the first time in an age, with a woman in her arms, June smiled.
“Me, too. Let’s get back to yours.”
Pixie smiled, just the sweetest smile, June thought. She had never imagined that this confident, posh lady could be istanbul travesti in any way except the basics, like her; and how wrong she had been. How misleading appearances could be.
The pair squeezed hands as they walked back to the hotel.
As they went into the lobby, June felt as intimidated as she had on that fateful night. It was very upmarket, and as then, June felt that this was not her place. She felt sure the staff knew she was just a simple working-class girl and that she had no place there. By contrast, she could see that Pixie felt entirely at home there.
Confident in her social status, she simply went to the desk with no fuss, got her key, asked if there had been any messages, and then, taking June’s hand, walked with her to the lift.
The contrast to the way Kate had treated her could not, June reflected, have been greater. Pixie had been happy to hold her hand, as though she was proud of June, not at all minding her lower status.
In this lift, Pixie smiled at her.
“Did Kate bring you here?”
“She did. How did you know?”
“An educated guess.”
Then, unexpectedly, Pixie leant up and kissed her
“Thank you.”
“For what?” June asked when she had finished.
“I suppose for being there. I am not sure what I’d have done.”
“Well,” said June, grinning mischievously, “you don’t know what I am going to do, do you?”
Pixie loved the glint in June’s eye.
“No,” she giggled.
Truth to tell, Pixie had been worried about Kate for some time. Being older than June and with more experience, she could still fall for a manipulative woman, but she could also spot warning signs. Kate had been taking her deep into subspace more and more often. Pixie had felt herself slipping deeper. At the time she liked it, but there was a part of her which, from experience, said “be careful.”
Pixie had not been altogether surprised when Kate had let her down. No doubt she would get a text telling her to do x or y, reinforcing Kate’s dictum that she was in charge, and that Pixie was just a “cunt” who would do what she was told. Pixie had known women like that. She had never, however, known one like June.
If Pixie had a tendency to gravitate to other upper-class woman who liked to take control, she had what she called “a thing” about what her friends would call “common girls.” She had almost succumbed to one when she had been just eighteen, but after a brief, if intense episode of oral sex, she had never followed it up.
She’d actually decided to stay in the restaurant because of the quality of June’s welcome. Had she fancied her at first sight? As the lift reached her floor, Pixie grinned inwardly, yes, she had. That, she supposed, was why she had played the scene with June back at the restaurant. The idea of exposing her “tramp stamp” to this girl was at once embarrassing and arousing. Kate’s instructions had taken her into the border of subspace, and the way June had caressed her bum had carried her over into it. But now? She was not sure, she thought, as the lift opened.
As the two women walked back to Pixie’s room, unknown to them, their minds were further aligned than either of them could have supposed.
Now the initial sexual excitement had subsided, June was wondering what on earth she was doing here. But Pixie, like her, had been used by Kate, and she had to reach out to her. Yes, that was it, she told herself, she was being helpful. Who could have imagined that a woman like Pixie could have needed help from a woman like June? But, above everything, June was a kind soul, indeed her friends thought if her as the kindest of souls, but they would never have vocalised that. But they thought it, though for June, that was just who she was.
Pixie was still conscious of her “stamps” and their effect on her, not least on her libido, but she was equally aware that the woman she was with was rather gorgeous. Pixie’s real “thing” was her intellect. A genetic problem meant that Pixie had never grown above four foot eight and she lacked the curves which her older sister and June possessed. She had long ago become reconciled to that, but her sexuality had been a problem for her family, so Pixie had always felt a little alienated. The journey from there to being submissive sexually was not a long one. But Pixie had learned, sometimes the hard way, that it was unwise to give too free a rein to that part of herself. The self-discipline and stamina which had enabled her to overcome the health problems associated with her genetic defect, came in useful at such times.
But then she had met “Kate” on the chat site, ironically, not long after June had left her. Kate had slowly worked her particular black magic on Pixie, and that weekend, when Pixie was attending an academic conference at the university, was supposed to have been the real-life consummation of their play. When Kate had not shown, Pixie had determined that instead of waiting and hoping, she would be sensible and go and get supper for herself. Then, well, then istanbul travestileri the unexpected had happened – she had met June.
When the younger woman had suggested that she might like to help tidy up, Pixie had agreed, mainly because she did not want to go back to the hotel and mope. But then, when June suggested that she change into an overall, it had pushed one of Pixie’s buttons. Then, when June had felt her ass and then exposed her “tramp stamps” that was too much.
But the revelation that June knew Kate had struck her like a blow to the stomach. She was relieved that June was not Kate, indeed, how on earth could she have been? But Pixie was still intrigued to know more.
As she put the card in the door and it went green and she opened it, it hit Pixie that she was taking a risk. So why did it not feel that way? She had well-developed defence mechanisms, so good in fact that it had taken even Kate nearly a year to undermine them, and yet with this young woman, she was prepared to go back to her hotel room and take a chance.
June admired the room. It was big. It was opulent. It breathed of wealth and exclusivity – the world from which June and her kind were excluded forever. When Kate had brought her here, it was not to a room this expensive, but the whole thing had made June feel her social inferiority, not least because of the way Kate had treated her. But with Pixie, she did not feel that way.
June was not the sort of woman to opt for casual sex with a stranger. Had she been, she would have had plenty of takers, but that was not June’s way. She was honest and straightforward, and the Kate experience had made her wary. So, she asked herself, what was she doing back here with this posh woman?
They both found an answer to their questions when they turned and looked at each other. The height difference was marked – Pixie was a foot shorter – but she lifted herself on tip toe to put her lips to June’s, and arms round her neck, she kissed her.
June bent, she saw, then felt Pixie put her arms round her neck. That felt good. As her lips touched Pixie’s, that felt even better. Then it happened.
June prided herself on little, but reading people was the one talent she acknowledged, but this was that to the power of infinity. It was like she could read Pixie’s mind; no it was more than that. It was like she was inside Pixie.
June had liked Pixie from the moment she had seen her, but the social gulf between the posh woman and the poor girl had been too great for her even to have harboured the thought that something might happen between them. And then there had come that strange episode when Pixie had been cleaning up and June had felt, for a moment, how she imagined someone like Kate must sometimes feel. But this, no, this was something else. June went with her instinct.
June was no domme, no Kate. She’d enjoyed seeing Pixie’s bum and loved her reaction to having her “stamp” exposed; but she would never want to harm her. Then suddenly she knew what Pixie wanted; indeed what she needed. She did not know how she knew, and it was not anything she had imagined she would ever do. But she wanted to do it for this woman. She liked to serve.
As Pixie’s lips touched hers, June’s tongue pressed against her sweet lips, opening them, and as Pixie raised herself on tip toes, June gripped her tight, cute bum, and pulled her up. Pixie responded at once, jumping to put her legs around June’s waist, opening her lips to allow June’s tongue to explore her mouth. As their tongues played, June could feel Pixie yielding to her. She had been right, she realised. So she went with her instinct; though in truth it was more than instinct.
With Pixie wrapped around her, June moved them both toward the bed, the older woman seemed to want her so badly, which was as well, as June felt that way too.
As she reached the bed, June slipped her hands under Pixie’s skirt and pulled her panties down before depositing her on the bed; she was no weight at all. As Pixie fell back, June grabbed her legs and pulling them up, removed her panties. She could see how wet she was.
As she saw Pixie lying there, her legs open invitingly, her skirt up around her waist, June smiled and looked at her.
“You look so hot, Pixie.”
Pixie looked at her. That look, June thought, could it be, was it?
Then, instead of doing what she had intended and ravishing Pixie, June unzipped her skirt and removing it, pulled her panties down. She was soaked.
“Did Kate have you bring any markers, Pixie?”
Pixie looked at her and blushed.
“Yes, June, she did.”
“Yes what?” June heard herself saying.
“Yes Miss,” Pixie responded, as shivers passed through June to her core.
“Assume the position,” June said, knowing that Pixie would understand; and she did.
The sight of posh Pixie with her tramp stamp, her arse up and her head down, made June touch herself.
“Where are the markers?”
“In the drawer, Miss June.”
“Good girl,” travesti istanbul June replied, getting them.
In black she wrote on Pixie’s right cheek, “June’s” and on her left cheek the word “Slut.’ The tramp stamp pointed down to the words.
“Look in the mirror behind you, Pixie.”
Pixie gasped as she saw the words.
“What are you, Pixie?”
“Your slut Miss June.”
“What. a posh girl like you a slut to a common working-class girl like me?”
June moaned as Pixie did the same. It was like, no it was not like, it was that she could access Pixie’s emotions. They were one.
“Open, slut!”
Pixie spread herself for June, who felt as though she could be on the verge of the same orgasm Pixie was edging towards.
“You are so wet. slut, why is that?”
“Because of you June.”
June noted, with pleasure, that Pixie had not used the word “Miss.”
“Oh Geeze, Pixie, you are so wet. On your back, slut.”
“Yes, Miss June.”
As Pixie lay back, June straddled her face, pushing her pussy into her lover’s face. As she felt Pixie’s hands on her hips and her tongue on her clit, June moaned so loud that people three rooms down could hear her; she did not care. What she knew for certain was that Pixie wanted this, she wanted it more than her own orgasm. It was her gift to Pixie – herself.
That thought, combined with Pixie’s tongue and hands send June into ecstasy, and she ground her pussy into her lover’s face, feeling her whole self shake to the core. She had intended to rest when she came, but Pixie’s tongue carried on feather-licking her.
“Geeze, Pixie, you are so good at this.”
Something like a muffled “thank you,” issued from between June’s thighs, but as they were firmly clenching Pixie’s head, and as June’s pussy was pressing against her mouth, the only wonder was that any sound at all emerged. She continued to ride Pixie’s face, and Pixie’s tongue and lips continued to delight her until, inevitably, she came again, not as hard as last time, but she was conscious she had flooded her lover’s face.
June dismounted to take a look.
Pixie seemed to be in seventh heaven. Her face glistened with June’s juice, and she was licking her lips and whimpering. What she was not doing, June noticed, was rubbing her very swollen and wet pussy. As Pixie opened her eyes, June’s eyes locked with hers. Not a word was spoken. None was needed.
June lay down next to the half-naked Pixie, helping make her completely naked before lying next to her and pulling her into her arms. Pixie snuggled contentedly.
They lay like that for a while until June pushed herself up on one elbow and looked at her new lover.
“Did you like your new decoration, slut?” The last word was said with tenderness, not disdain.
“I did, Miss June, thank you.”
“What for, I had the most fantastic orgasm, then another, and you had nothing.”
Pixie grinned.
“I did,” she said, “I had you.”
The words just came to June.
“You know you are mine now?”
“Yes, Miss June,” Pixie beamed, “it says so on my bum.”
They both giggled.
Pixie had never felt so wet, so aroused and yet so safe. She had surrendered to June because somehow, she knew it was safe. But there was more to it than that.
From the moment she had set eyes on June in the restaurant, she had felt something go “ping” inside her. She’d tried to ignore it. June was so pretty that there was no way she’d want someone as small and plain and Pixie; forget it, girl, she’d told herself.
Then there had been that odd exchange afterwards. Pixie had surrendered. She had just done it again. She hated to be vulnerable, and yet for this stranger, she had made herself just that. Except, no, surely not? What if she was not a stranger? Pixie had never met her before, but the moment their lips had touched when they had entered the room, Pixie felt a kinship – she knew it. She had met her soul-sister – except her feelings were not very sisterly.
As their lips had touched, Pixie had felt an epiphany, an awakening. It felt as though she was sharing every thought and feeling with June, and when June had used the markers on her, Pixie had almost cum, not because she was feeling submissive, but because she felt that June was doing it for her. And now, even as she was telling June that she was her slut, she felt something shift. Usually cautious of making assumptions about what people were feeling, Pixie knew what June needed.
“I am yours, June, and if you want, I want.”
June smiled as she looked at her sated lover. She knew what she needed, but it was clear that Pixie was submissive, and could they really satisfy each other’s needs?
But even as June’s mind was wandering down that sad path, it was brought back with a jolt.
“And from the state of this pussy, I’d say you want me!”
June’s nectar flowed, and she shivered, looking at Pixie, wondering – and then knowing.
“What sort of girl gets this wet on a first date?”
June blushed, could it be?
“Well, girl, tell me!”
“A slut.”
“And, June, are you a slut?”
Pixie could hardly believe that she, of all women, was saying this to someone as gorgeous as June, but she knew, that connection between them told her, that this was what June wanted; and Pixie loved to serve.
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