Chapter 9 - Tribute

After Heather invited me to Cyndy's party, I decided to splurge on a new dress. This was before I'd savaged my monthly budget at the adult store, but since I'd bought online it wasn't as expensive as it could have been.

In fact, I'd been looking at a version of the dress since it first popped up as an ad. In the way of Internet ads, once I'd clicked on it, it kept popping up in random locations, and every time I saw it I'd be tempted by it. But when I visited the site after the invitation, I discovered the vendor now had a version in fall colors; a leaf pattern in dull gold and dark orange, that looked even better than the one I'd been considering. The reviews were very positive, and the pricing good, so even though I'm never entirely comfortable buying clothes online, I decided to order it.

I'd also decided to have my hair styled by a hairdresser who'd been recommended to me. I expected to have to take time off work, but when I called she'd just had a cancellation on the Saturday of the party, which was perfect for me.

Then I'd acquired my "necessities" from the toy store, with the result that my monthly savings contribution was going to take a hit. I considered whether I could skip the hair styling, but no, I really wanted to do it. I'd try to make up the savings shortfall next month.

Elaine, the stylist, was impressive. She was middle-aged, motherly, and friendly, but she had a seriously thorough understanding of fashion concepts for younger women. She had the usual commercial books of suggested styles, but she'd also taken many photos of her clients with her own work, and they were excellent, including ruler-straight geometrically perfect hair with rainbow dyes, bright red, magenta, yellow and cyan jobs, spiky hair, wavy hair, braids of separate colors, along with more conservative styles, wedding styles, and the like.

I wanted a style that was half and half, like the wide braid I'd done for myself, but with better braids and more interesting styling of the unbraided remainder. When I described what I'd done and how it had turned out, Elaine was convinced that I hadn't taken enough hair into my braid, and that it might have been from the wrong places. Since I had such thick hair, she'd recommend... and she deftly pinched out several places to be braided, holding them out of the way, letting the remainder fall naturally. Even with that quick demonstration, my hair lay better over my back than it had.

For the longer term, she wanted to persuade me to let her curl my hair, and to cut it shorter, just below the base of my neck. But for today she'd add some waviness by blow drying, then braid my hair using the design I'd selected. I promised to think about the options for perming.

So after a long session, I had soft waves of dark hair falling well below my shoulder blades, the body formed by teasing out enough hair to create two braids on each side. Each pair of braids joined in an arc on either side of my head, merging in a single braid, woven through with an olive ribbon, a bow at the top, tied off just above the base of the braid. I'd shown her a photo of the dress for her color selection, and she'd chosen the olive to work with its colors.

When she was finished, I was thrilled with the look, and Elaine was well enough satisfied with her work that she asked if she could take a photo for her book. I consented gladly.


I had tried on the dress briefly when it was delivered. Arriving home from the salon, I put it on again and studied the overall effect in the mirror.

The dress was maxi length, backless, and the colors and shapes of the leaf pattern were perfect, working well with my hair. But there was a problem.

The bodice consisted of a pair of narrow triangular cups, tapering to a point close to the upper edge of my breast, supported by thin straps which crossed behind my shoulders. The aim was to anchor my boobs in the center of the cups, the triangles meeting at the base of my rib cage, giving a deep center slash with an audacious view of cleavage and almost as bold a view from the side. I'd never worn anything so daring in public before.

However, although this had worked well for the online model, her cup size was around a B. It did a poor job of holding my Ds in place. Possibly the cups were just not shaped well, or possibly the model used some additional support, but I could feel my breasts sliding around. Standing still, the dress looked amazing, but when I moved, my boobs swayed and jounced unattractively, and I wasn't certain they wouldn't slip out completely.

Any bra I owned would be visible within the deep wedge, as well as spoiling the effect, and my only backless bra would be particularly noticeable in the front. So I drove to a nearby boutique to pick up boob tape. After some experimenting, I found that a strip of tape on both sides of each triangle of fabric gave both stability and lift.

The final result, when I studied my reflection, redeemed my opinion of the dress. Except that next year, I decided, I really needed to work on my tan lines.

When I was ready, I was already running slightly late, though I thought I'd left plenty of time. I packed the rest of the boob tape in my purse, and headed to the coffee shop.

Parking wasn't hard, but only because most of the stores were closed. After what was still a long walk in heels through an uneven lot, I found the coffee shop full. The tables and chairs had been moved to the side, but even with everyone standing the rooms were crowded.

I seemed to be attracting more attention than I was used to, especially from men, and I wondered if maybe the dress was too over the top.

The first group of people who weren't complete strangers included Anita and Heather. Anita held up her hand, then mimed looking for something on the floor. "Hold on," she said. "I think my heart leaped out of my chest. It has to be around here somewhere."

I rolled my eyes. "Nice to see you too, Anita," I said.

She moved in to hug me. "Seriously. You look amazing," she said.

I kissed her lightly on the lips. "Thanks, Anita," I said. "That means a lot to me."

Then I released her and hugged Heather. She stiffened, then returned my embrace briefly before I disengaged.

Heather's cheeks had colored, but she smiled. Taking my arm, she led me around, leaving Anita with the group they'd been talking to. She introduced me to friends and strangers alike. Margot was nearby, of course, and Tiff and Emma. I hugged them all closely. Dylan seemed surprised by the hug, but not unreceptive. She introduced me to her boyfriend beside her, Austin. I didn't think Dylan would be okay with me hugging him, too, so I took his hand.

Austin opened his mouth to say something, but Dylan interrupted. "No, you are not going to ask her to model for you."

I laughed, though I wasn't sure how serious she was. Dylan spoke up, saying, "I was going to ask what she did for a living. But now that you suggest it..."

Dylan slapped his arm, though her expression was amused, and Austin mock-winced. Heather asked if she could leave me with them, since she had other duties, so I stayed with Dylan and Austin for a while. Dylan realized I didn't have a drink, so she vanished for a moment, locating some champagne somewhere.

Cyndy showed up as we were talking. She got an extra special hug, since the celebration was about her. Cyndy was shorter than... well, than everyone I could see, though her fiery red hair and her confidence made her seem larger than she was. Her boyfriend, Josh, was behind her, and after I'd released her from my embrace, she took his hand and drew him forward. After talking to him for a while, I found that I liked him, especially his sense of humor. He was shorter than me in my heels, but still well above his partner's height.

A woman standing with a group by the far wall glanced my way, catching my eye. I recognized the glasses before I realized who it was. "Is that Michelle?" I asked, to no one in particular.

It was Austin who replied. "Oh, yeah. I guess you'd know her. I invited her. She's a friend of mine."

That was interesting. I'd assumed the invitation came from one of my friends, though as our bartender, she'd never seemed to be part of any particular friend group.

I asked Cyndy how it came about that she was buying the shop. She started to reply, but more of her friends showed up, and she had to excuse herself. In her absence, Josh took over, telling me about her plans and the previous owner's - Pam's - desire to avoid selling to a chain. Cyndy was studying business at the community college, and was well-versed in what the shop needed to survive.

He was winding down when a hand curled around my right arm, and I heard a voice from too close to my right ear. "You look so hot today that I wanted to see if I burned up."

Turning my head, I found myself looking into pale blue eyes behind lenses in a large rose-gold frame. "Hey, Michelle," I said.

She turned to Austin, her hand still on my arm. "I'm taking this young lady away from you before you get her in trouble."

I heard Dylan say, "Good plan," and I gave Josh an apologetic shrug. I'd catch up with him later.

Michelle led me a few yards away to a relatively quiet spot, then released me. "Are you doing anything after the party?"

"Not that I know of," I said. "Why?"

"Wanna have some fun with me?" she asked.

"Could you be a little more obscure?" I asked. "The clarity is killing me."

"My band is playing the Duck," Michelle replied. "I can get you in, waive the cover, free drinks. Don't drive, take an Uber from your home. I need to leave, right now. What's your number?"

I told her, and she sent me another number by text. "That's our manager, Joe. If you can make it, text him when you get there. And damn, I really do love that outfit." Putting her finger to her lips, she whispered, "Don't tell anyone. I try not to mix band duties with real life."

She bolted. I guess she really did need to leave. I took out my phone and replied to her text. "I'll try to make it. What time would be good? That's Moby Duck, right?"

My phone was silent for ten minutes. When it pinged, I was talking to Fi, who had just shown up.

Michelle: "Yes. If you arrive before 10:30pm, we can catch up on the last break. Playing to 11:30 so later is okay, too."

I had another champagne with Fi, but that would be my last. I was driving from here, whether or not I took an Uber to the Duck. After I moved on from talking to Fi, I saw Anita in an animated conversation with an attractive redhead. This must be the date Margot had mentioned.

I tried not to glare at the girl, turning away to look for Josh.

The crowd started to thin at nine, and though by nine-thirty it wasn't exactly quiet, it seemed a good time to say my goodbyes. I'd spent a half hour with Austin and Dylan, learning about their comic project. The first issue had been released, to a good reception. There was a surprising degree of tension between the two when they talked about creating the series finale, which was almost upon them.

A text arrived. I thought it would be Michelle, with instructions or updates, but I was wrong.

Fi: "Looks like ur getting ready to leave. Wanna do something?"
Me: "Can't. Have plans 😢. Another time?"
Fi: "Damn. Not the early bird, I guess. We'll talk at Gabby's."
Me: "Did you just call me a worm? 🤔"
Fi: "Possibly."


I was overdressed for Moby Duck, but I didn't want to take the time to change. The boob tape seemed to be holding up well, so I left it alone. Firing up the Uber app as soon as I arrived home, I booked myself a trip to the Duck.

Arriving a little after ten, I texted Joe and waited outside for him. He showed up, then led me inside, past the bouncers, depositing me at his table just before ten fifteen. He leaned toward me as I sat, and shouted over the noise of the band. "Whaddya want? Shell says they have a hard cider with poblano and habanero that you'd probably like, but she said to get you anything."

"I'll try the cider," I said, then settled back to watch the show.


Michelle's band was good. Metal has never been my favorite musical style, but I could recognize quality and imagination. Michelle played bass and sang - or often yelled, but yelled musically, with good intonation - lead vocals. She'd traded her delicate rose gold glasses for tortoiseshell-framed smoked glass, dark at the top, fading to clear at the lower rim.

The guitarist was a short girl in large black plastic glasses who didn't look like she had the strength to shred her instrument the way she was doing. She wore a tee shirt, shorts and boots, and her face was outlined in dark makeup. The drummer was a girl with dark hair as long as mine, which flew in all directions as she played. The final member was a bearded guy who played keyboards and guitar.

Michelle was wearing a shirt and jeans, except that she wasn't really wearing the shirt. It was fully unfastened, hanging from her shoulders, revealing a bright red cage bra with too many straps, over inked skin. At the end of the song she handed her bass to a stage hand, shucked the shirt off completely, earning a few whistles and revealing the tattoos on her arms I'd seen when she tended bar, then traded it back for her instrument. Glancing to Joe's table, she saw me and gave me a thumbs up.

Just after ten-thirty, Michelle held up her hand. "Last set break, guys," she said. There were good-natured groans. She held her hand up again. "Listen, my friend arrived, and if you think I'd rather be around your sweaty bodies than her, you haven't seen her yet."

Oh, great, now every guy in the place is going to be staring at me in this highly unsuitable outfit. Thanks, Michelle.

I raised my glass to her as she approached. "Thanks for the cider recommendation." Another glass appeared before me, Joe having brought a beer for Michelle.

She kicked her chair so that it slid across the floor to mine, then dropped into it, leaning against me as she sank a good third of her beer in one draw. Then she lowered her head to my shoulder, an arm around my back. "God, this is hard work."

"Looks like it," I said. "You're all very good."

"Thanks," Michelle replied. "We used to be mostly just a cover band. Lately, we've been able to play more of our own material. We will have a few covers in the last set if you don't like ours."

I shrugged, "Metal isn't really my thing, but the atmosphere's great, and I haven't been bored yet."

"I'd say we were more hard rock than metal," Michelle objected.

"Guess I'm not up on the difference," I said. "The band name seemed metal."

Michelle chuckled. "I see. Well, when we were mostly a Halestorm tribute bad, we used to be called 'Daughters of Darkness,' which is the title of one of their songs."

"I know it," I said. "I know several of their songs, and I think the first time I saw you, you were wearing a Halestorm tee shirt."

"Probably," she agreed. "Then we fired our keyboard player, and the name didn't fit so well when Jon joined. As I say, we're playing our own material now, so changing the band name to 'Of Darkness' seemed to fit the style and still touch on our roots. The point stands, though. If you can take another forty-five minutes, maybe we can get to something you will enjoy." She turned her head to look directly up at me from my shoulder, and raised her eyebrows suggestively.

My first cider was almost finished. I lifted the glass and swallowed the rest. "Michelle..." I began. She raised her eyebrows again, expectantly, this time. "This is a weird thing to say, and I'm feeling a bit weird saying it, but you seem very flirty for a straight woman."

At that she leaned back, her laughter deep and genuine. Her grip on my side didn't waver, though. "So wait..." she said, getting her laughter under control. "You thought I was straight? Whatever gave you that idea?"

My face heated, though I guessed it wouldn't be noticeable in the bar's low lighting. "I had it on the authority of someone... who has misrepresented the truth to me and about me more than once, now. Fuck."

"Besides," she said. "I heard that you like seducing straight women."

That gave me pause, and after a moment, I laughed, too. "I think your source and my source just might happen to be the same woman."

"Huh," she said, turning a shade more serious, though her eyes still sparkled with amusement. "That adds up. So, let me be clear. I want to take you to my place and suck you senseless. Does that fit your plans?"

"I..." I had to clear my throat. "I could go for that. It does remove the ambiguity I've been feeling."

She leaned in close. Her lips brushed my earlobe, making me shiver, as she whispered, "I'm always extra horny after a good gig."

"I'm in trouble, aren't I?" I asked. Michelle chuckled, her lips still touching my ear, then leaned back.

Taking a long sip from my second glass of cider, I turned to find Michelle's eyes fixed on the deep plunge between my boobs. I cleared my throat. She looked up, grinning unapologetically, then drained another third of her beer.

Knowing her intentions didn't ease my apprehensions much. Her playing proved that she had a metric ton of energy, and her gig-induced horniness was going to be focused on me. I shivered, causing Michelle to raise her eyebrows.

"So, umm," I said, reaching for a neutral topic. "You know Dylan's boyfriend, rather than the coffee shop employees?"

"I know them through him, yes," she said. "I work with him most weeks at O'Neill's. He had me posing for drawings for his comic."

"Nude modeling?" I asked, recalling Dylan's objection to him recruiting me.

"No," she stated. "I think he turned me into an orc, or maybe an ogre, but also into a human CEO of a criminal organization."

"I wonder what he'd do with me," I mused, thinking of the near-offer that Dylan had shut down.

"I know what I'd do with you," she said.

"You made that clear," I replied.

"I'll make it clearer yet," she confided. "Gotta get back to work," she added, then drank the rest of her beer. "Don't go anywhere."

Back on the low stage, the other musicians were preparing. Michelle slipped the shirt off her shoulders and tossed it toward the back. She turned to blow me a kiss, then made a couple of hip thrust motions that left no one in doubt what her plans were for me. I sighed as she strapped herself into her bass and checked her tuning, before the band broke into Halestorm's "Familiar taste of poison," which showed that Michelle didn't need to scream. She had a great voice.

The last of my cider vanished during that song, but I discovered that Joe had already set up the next. I raised my glass to him.

After my third cider had bitten the dust, I avoided the fourth that was sitting in front of me, joining the crowd dancing by the stage, quite buzzed. Though I was out of place among the jeans, tank tops and leather, no one at all seemed to care, guys and girls alike including me in their gyrations.

When the band started unstrapping their instruments at eleven-twenty I was surprised, but the clamor from the audience made it clear this was expected, because they were all yelling for one more song by name. Of course the band all picked up their instruments for the encore, the bearded keyboardist taking a guitar.

After a count, they broke into Halestorm's "Amen," and while the initial focus was entirely on Michelle, with only subdued chords from the male guitarist, bass and voice with light strokes from the drummer, it was the small girl playing guitar who stole the show, with her crashing chords as she bounced around the stage, circling and arching her back toward Michelle, before breaking into a long and amazingly good guitar solo, with Michelle and the other guitarist keeping the rhythm while she strutted around the stage tearing amazing sounds from her instrument. When the solo blended back into Michelle's vocals, the cheers vied with the band's volume level.

Back at the table, I drank some of the fourth cider while I waited for Michelle to pack her equipment and get away. I felt that I understood what she'd whispered to me better than I had at the time. The wall of sound, the showmanship, the dancing, and partly the buzz combined to create an excitement in my belly, and I realized I was getting turned on.

Michelle came over carrying her bass. She'd switched her shades back for her metal-rim glasses. "No need for Uber," she said. "Jon's going to drop us at my place. Let's go."

Holding up a hand in a gesture to wait, I guzzled most of my fourth cider, leaving an inch in the glass. The spice was addictive, but cumulative, and I didn't want to wait until I was able to finish it. Suppressing a belch, I nodded and stood.

The night had turned cold, and I hadn't brought a jacket. I should have thought to bring one when I'd visited home earlier. I held my arms, shivering, while Michelle and Jon, the keyboard player, stored their guitars in the trunk of his SUV. Then I climbed into the back seat with Michelle. Jon started the vehicle, turned up the heater, then went back inside, returning with his keyboards in a couple of cases, and a brunette I hadn't seen, presumably his partner.

"I take it you keep that last song for the last spot in each show?" I asked. "The audience seemed to expect it."

"You noticed that, did you?" Michelle responded. "Yeah. It's always been our best cover."

"I might be a fan of hard rock after all," I said. "That was pretty awesome. And great to move to."

The car hadn't warmed up much when Jon started to drive, but being out of the night air stopped my shivering. "I might be a little drunk," I said.

"You think?" Michelle replied. She put a hand on my shoulder and turned me to face her. "But you don't need to be sober to kiss me, do you?"

She meant right now, not at her house. She was about to pounce on me. I glanced at Jon and his girlfriend. "Don't worry, they know. Right, Jon?"

"Not looking in the mirror," he responded, agreeing.

That was all the concern Michelle needed to pay to my reservations. Her mouth was on mine, and I groaned into the kiss, as her body bore me down to the seat. I wrenched free. "They're used to this?" I whispered. "You pick up a girl every gig?"

"When I find the right one," she agreed, "and when it's not inconvenient." She narrowed her eyes. "Don't sound so self-righteous, Ms. new-girl-every-week," she said. "I've seen who you take home, remember."

"Jesus, that's not what I meant," I said, with a laugh. "I always thought you didn't hook up at the club because you were straight, now I find out that your bandmate has a custom protocol" - those words sounded better in my head, especially when I had trouble pronouncing them - "for your dates. And it's not every week!" I objected.

She chuckled. "Right, but sometimes two different girls in one night." She must know that, too, from Ann. "I want someone in my bed who has that stamina." Then she fastened her mouth to mine again, and I couldn't have resisted her if I'd wanted to. And I didn't, even when she pulled a strap over my shoulder and yanked it down - Ow! Shit! Boob tape... - and began kneading my breast.

One of the tape strips had stuck to the dress. The other stuck to me, but Michelle ignored it. Instead, as she squeezed, she bunched up the hem of my dress and pulled it up my legs until she could get her hand to my crotch. "You're wet already," she whispered.

I was also panting with need. "Tell me something... I don't know," I gasped.

"We're here," said Jon, the car slowing.

"That's something I didn't know," I said, aloud. Michelle reluctantly drew back, and I tugged my strap back over my shoulder, then straightened my dress as I sat up, and my glasses, which were hanging off the side of my face.

Jon pulled into the driveway of a pleasant suburban single-story. When the car stopped, he hopped out to get Michelle's bass from the trunk. She took it from him, and led the way to the front door. My boob was slipping around since neither tape strip was in place, but I avoided bursting free by holding the cup in place as I walked a little unsteadily behind Michelle.

Inside, I asked for the bathroom. Michelle directed me to a half bath, where I could pull my straps down and remove the tape carefully. It was still a little painful, but I didn't leave a pink stripe like Michelle had done. Then I bunched up all of the tape, tossed it into the trash, and realigned the straps.

"How about a dirty martini?" Michelle called as I emerged.

The smart answer would be to say no, but after almost four glasses of hard cider, I wasn't feeling smart. The buzz had faded slightly, possibly due to the exertion in the car, and I wasn't quite as drunk. I could handle another cocktail or two. "You have everything you need for that?" I asked.

Michelle turned from the cupboard she had open to frown at me. "Oh, right," I said. "Bartender. Sure."

She took bottles through to the kitchen. I heard the fridge grinding ice, then the sounds of a cocktail shaker. She really did have a bartender's tools.

Bringing the cloudy cocktail glasses through, she handed one to me, then hooked a finger into the band of the bodice of my dress where the triangles met, using it to drag me forward, into her bedroom.

Once beside the bed, she raised her glass to me. "To a very good night."

In my tipsy state, I wasn't sure if she meant the gig, or the possibilities of the coming night, or both. Probably both.

Raising my own glass, I said, "Can I get a..."

Michelle only hesitated a second before responding, "Amen!" and we both sipped our martinis, holding each other's eyes until by some unspoken signal we set the glasses down and came together. Michelle pouted as I folded my glasses, setting them on the nightstand, but she took hers off too, laying them down beside mine.

Our kiss didn't build in strength; it went nuclear as soon as our mouths touched, and we started to fight over who had priority in stripping the other's clothing. I needed her shirt down her arms, while she needed my straps over mine. We compromised by me unbuttoning her shirt, drawing back momentarily to let her free each strap, after which I drew each of her sleeves down over her tattooed arms, requiring her to break from unzipping my dress. Moments after her shirt floated to the floor, my dress pooled around my ankles.

After that the race was more one-sided, since after stepping out of my heels I only had my panties left, while she still had her cage bra and jeans.

"From the look of these jeans, you must have shaved just to get into them," I said.

"I'm shaved all the way, babe," Michelle murmured, as her hands fit around my breasts.

After my attempt to get her jeans off only got them down to her thighs, I broke the kiss and tossed Michelle back onto her own bed. She barely avoided hitting her head on the headboard. My judgement hadn't been good. I don't know if she noticed; she was laughing at the unexpected action. But with her legs in the air I managed to get her boots off, then pull the hem of her jeans over her feet, dragging them all the way off as she continued to laugh at my efforts.

When I reached for her bra, she turned the tables, grabbing me, dragging me onto the bed, then rolling me over and climbing on top of me, her mouth seeking mine. Fingers immediately dipped into my panties, pushing them down far enough that they weren't in the way as her fingers continued on, sliding into my vagina, then curling forward. I didn't like the way my panties felt, halfway down my thighs, so I pulled them all the way down, then returned to unbuckling her bra as her fingers pumped rapidly inside me.

I would have been uncomfortable, or even in pain, with Michelle's immediate move to penetration, but I was so wet I was more than ready for her. With one hand on my sex, fingers pressing against my G-spot, the other on my breast, she used her lips and teeth to molest my tongue. I was on fire. I had her bra unfastened, revealing firm, rounded breasts with wide, dark areolae, puffy around her swelling nipples. A rose was tattooed between her breasts, and I was vaguely aware of other art surrounding them.

I couldn't take the bra all the way off, because her hands were occupied, so I contented myself with getting my own hands inside it, to squeeze her breasts hard.

Michelle finally broke the kiss, only to fasten her mouth to my breast and suckle hard. And oh, my God, did she know where to touch me. Her fingers inside me were making my thighs tense and my heart race. I wanted every little part of what she was doing to me

Biting her earlobe, I said, "Fuck me, Michelle! Fuck me hard!" Which she was doing already, but to my cider-addled brain it seemed like the right thing to say. "You're touching me in just the right way," I groaned. "You're gonna make me come."

"Come for me, baby," Michelle mumbled around my nipple. Then she backed away a couple of inches, her eyes locked to mine. "Come for me, now..."

I dug my fingers into her hair, dull and greasy after hours of playing, but still feeling good as I dragged her face back to my breast. She chuckled, her hand continuing to squeeze as she suckled. Then she backed away, and pinched my nipple tightly between finger and thumb, tugging on it as she rolled it around in her grip. "Come for me, babe," she insisted.

"Aww, fuck," I cried. "Fuck, that feels so good." I could feel my orgasm approaching like a stampede, and her fingers were propelling me toward it. "Don't stop," I yelped, as I felt myself begin to tense up. Then it was upon me, and I gripped her wrist between my thighs as my back arched. "Oh, fuck!" I yelled, as my whole body quivered with the pulses of sensation flowing into it.

When Michelle's fingers finally left my sensitive sex, I took the opportunity to finish removing her bra, and then her panties. Then I flipped her onto her back, fastening my lips to hers as I forced my thigh between her legs and started to thrust against her. She responded, wrapping her free leg around my back, the other pressed to my sex as I pressed mine to hers. We bounced together, both of us moaning excitedly.

After a few minutes, Michelle rolled us over again, so that I was on my back. Then she broke the kiss and levered her body away from mine. Using her hands, she lifted my legs, threading them between hers, so that her pussy could grind directly against mine. This was something I hadn't yet experienced, and it felt incredible as she started to move.

She was leaning back on her elbows, and I found that if I lifted myself to my elbows too, I had better control, and more power to press my sex against hers. The stimulation was intense, and though we didn't move fast at first, I felt my arousal rekindle and start to grow.

It was disappointing not to be close and to be able to kiss while we were grinding. On the other hand, I had a perfect view of her breasts shaking to and fro as we moved. Michelle was moaning, and I could tell that she was going to be able to come before me, so when she cried out, her sex pulsing against my thigh, I gripped her leg, still moving, squeezing my sex firmly to hers until I came again, several seconds behind her.

Still taking charge of our bodies, Michelle tugged my thighs down the bed, centering me. Then she turned around before landing on top of me, her face to my pussy as her legs parted over my chest, leaving me looking directly into her smooth sex. She wasn't just shaved. Her sex was entirely hairless, by whatever method she'd chosen to have her hair removed. I explored with my tongue, making her moan as I found and licked her clit. My own thighs tensed as I felt my partner running her tongue around my sex. We rocked our hips together as our tongues explored. I ran my fingers over her ribcage, then moved them between us to caress and pinch her nipples.

Michelle began to moan. I was excited by what we were doing, but she was seriously getting into it, and I was pretty sure the big O was heading her way. But she rolled us again, so that she was beneath me, and as her moans rose, I felt a stinging slap to my butt. It made me jump, and spiked my heart rate, but I realized it had also stepped up my arousal.

"Again!" I groaned, around her clitoris, and Michelle slapped my butt again, hard, three or four more times, until my back arched suddenly, and I fell into a dizzying climax, my butt still smarting, her tongue still caressing my clit, prolonging my pleasure. I stepped up my assault on her sex, scrubbing her clit with my tongue, then pressing against it before surrounding it with my lips and starting to suckle.

Moments later, Michelle's back arched beneath me, and I felt her savor her climax while I was still quivering in my own, both of us moaning.

Finally, as our mutual pleasure became manageable, we separated. I rolled off her, and Michelle turned around in the bed to collapse behind my body.

"Fuuuuck..." I breathed. "God knows how many times I just came. I think it was a record, but since I lost count, I'll never know."

"I... never started... counting," Michelle said, panting. "But damn, you're so fucking hot. I told you I get horny after a gig."

"I want the rest of my martini," I said. "I was enjoying feeling tipsy with you, and now all the effort is sobering me up."

Michelle laughed, then slid out of bed to get us our drinks. "I'll make us another," she said. I swallowed the rest of mine - it was no longer chilled - and handed her the glass. She left the room, my eyes tracking her naked form.

When Michelle returned, I had started to drift off. Sex had taken a lot out of me, and we hadn't arrived at her house until after midnight. But when she returned with our refreshed drinks, I blinked a few times, forcing myself to wake up. It wasn't so hard when I convinced myself I'd miss the chance of seeing her glorious naked body if I fell asleep. I took a sip of my martini, and watched her wandering around her bedroom.

I didn't know what Michelle was doing until she returned with a black silicone device and a bottle of lube. She applied plenty of lube to the device, then crouched on the bed, working with it until lifted herself upright on her knees, the black silicone protruding from her sex like a dick, but with no harness.

"What is that?" I asked, holding my cocktail glass.

"It's a strapless strap-on," Michelle answered. "You haven't used one?"

I shook my head. "I have the strap-on kind. Is this harder to use?"

"Oh yeah," she said. "It takes practice. But you can use it with a harness, too. Since it fits inside you, it's worth trying, even if you use a harness, because it stimulates both parties."

The other end was the part that would affect me, as long as hers stayed inside her. And it seemed she had the experience to make that happen.

From her kneeling position, she shuffled close to me. Pressing my thighs aside, she moved right up to my passage, then paused to lube the shaft.

"Lift your knees," Michelle instructed. Once I did, she moved her hands to my hips, raising me from the bed, then sliding her knees beneath me. Pressing the silicone shaft forward, she fed it into my passage, then moved her hands to my hips to shift our bodies together, the shaft sliding deep inside me.

"God, that feels good," I breathed. Michelle just grinned and began to move. Her pelvis rolled as she moved me against her, using her hands on my hips to guide me. There was no work for me to do, other than lift my pelvis to press against her in time to her movements, the shaft sliding deep inside me, the feeling of Michelle's presence dangerously intimate.

Quickly but smoothly she slammed her sex into mine, and it wasn't long before I knew I was going to come again. "Oh fuck..." I breathed. The intensity of my response to her movements kept building until I cried out, lifting my hips from the bed.

I didn't think Michelle had come. After all the times she'd made me come, I wanted to do something more for her. I grasped her hands, moving them from my hips, then drawing her down onto me. She understood what I was trying to do, and stretched her legs out behind her, as I widened my thighs to draw her in.

Once she was lying atop me, I wrapped my legs around hers and began to move. She was grinning at me, so I moved my hands behind her head and drew her down until I could fasten my lips to hers. She seemed surprisingly reluctant at first, but then moaned softly, and we joined our bodies in earnest.

My hands slid over the smooth skin of her back, then over her butt, squeezing and pressing her to me.

The first hour and more of our encounter had been about need, urgency and lust, and it was all good. Great, in fact. But now I wanted to share passion with her, and once I'd overcome whatever was holding her back, she totally got into the mood, and it felt to me as though we were truly making love for the first time. This was about affection, and about wanting the other person, rather than just wanting the satisfaction and experience of sex.

Michelle's breasts were compressed against mine, and each roll of our bodies shifted them, which sent a tingle through me. She had begun to moan, softly, with a depth that I had felt was missing earlier.

The change was evident in our kiss. It was still demanding, but in a different way. We were demanding passion from each other, not just satisfaction.

When Michelle's cries suddenly took on a touch of panic, I held her, guiding her into an orgasm that seemed to surprise her by its intensity. And by continuing to hold and kiss her, I brought her right back to another peak. The second climax seemed to come as a surprise to her. I stopped trying to hold myself back, and reached an intense, shuddering orgasm with her.

When we were lying side by side, sated, Michelle's expression seemed thoughtful, almost sad. She removed the strap-on, taking it into the bathroom to clean up. This time I didn't try to make myself stay awake. I drew back the sheets on Michelle's bed, slid under them, and drifted off to sleep, sated.