Rachel And Picabo Street A Fantasy

O N E

Rachel and Tess relaxed on a sofa, nursing hot chocolate, lazily conversing while they kept their eyes fixed on the fireplace, where logs snapped and burned merrily. It was a Sunday night in December, the last of their three nights in Vail at The Lodge. They had spent their days skiing and their nights eating as much as they wanted and talking for hours. For this weekend anyway they were blessedly husband-free. Jim, Rachel's husband, was not a skier, while Tess' husband, Mark, had recently suffered a back injury, minor but enough to keep him off the slopes. Both marriages were happy ones, but it was fun for these best friends to sometimes find time alone together. Rachel had additional motivation to spend some time apart from Jim. For as long as she could remember she had also been attracted to women. But apart from the occasional lingering glance on a street or across a room and brief, awkward clutches and kisses with a couple of girls from her school days, she had never acted on her feelings. She had determined that this must change.

Rachel looked at her friend. She had never felt the need to confide in her about her lesbian impulses. Petite and curly-haired, Tess was not her type, though she loved her as a friend. Rachel was submissive and needed a physically and emotionally imposing woman to control her. Tess had her left leg up on the coffee table in front of them. She had sprained her ankle skiing earlier in the day, had taken a painkiller, and now her eyelids were at half-mast.

"Tess ..."

Tess' eyes popped open. "Oh, I'm falling asleep."

"Why don't you go to bed. I'll stay down here for an hour so you can fall asleep, then I'll come up. I'm ready too. I'm tired from all the skiing."

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm ready." She lowered her leg to the floor and pushed herself slowly to her feet. "See you later, Rach," and she limped toward the elevators.

"Okay, Tess, I'll be up soon." She watched till the elevator doors closed on her friend, then headed for the bar. Once seated, the bartender approached. He was handsome, young and well built, but right now he wasn't making an impression on her.

"What'll you have?"

"I don't know. Something warm."

"We've got mulled cider and rum. It's really good. I've been selling a lot of it tonight."

"Okay, I'll try that." The truth was, Rachel rarely drank and had never had anything stronger than wine before. While the bartender made her drink, she looked down the bar and out to the many surrounding tables. She immediately sensed a lot of guys were looking at her. Rachel was a beautiful young woman, 28, with long blonde hair, long legs and perfect facial features. Plus she was alone. She concentrated on what she was looking for: an older, larger attractive woman.

The bartender set her drink in front of her. "Enjoy," he said and gave her a big smile.

"Thanks." She sipped her drink through the swizzle stick. It was strong. Her throat burned and her eyes teared up. She was instantly tipsy. She took another sip. This time the liquid went down better, and a sense of well being flooded her. She looked around the room again. It was peopled mostly with guys, young guys. Any women she saw were young as well and seemed to be attached to the guys. She shuddered, realizing she didn't belong here, in a bar, drinking. She drank again, then once more. She would finish her drink and leave.

Suddenly, from behind, a hand clasped her shoulder hard. Oh no, she thought, a guy. She spun in her chair. To her surprise she was looking up at a tall, strapping young woman, her own age or perhaps a bit older. The woman said, "You don't recognize me, do you? You should see the expression on your face."

Rachel shook her head. The woman had shoulder-length auburn hair, which was parted in the middle and partly tucked behind her ears, a large face and a toothy smile. She was attractive without being beautiful. "No, I don't recognize you."

"I'm the girl who flew by you this afternoon and kicked up all that powder in your face while you were down. I wanted to stop and apologize, but I was just going too fast. But when I came into the bar just now I recognized all that blonde hair. Let me make it up to you and buy you a beer." She didn't wait for a response, but whistled and waved at the bartender. "Hey, Andy, a couple of Heinekens." He waved back to acknowledge her. She turned back to Rachel and put a foot on a rung of Rachel's chair. "So I'm Picabo."

Rachel looked at her dazedly. The alcohol was really having an effect. Andy set two beers in front of them. Picabo reached into a pocket of her jeans, pulled out a twenty and tossed it on the bar. "Wait a minute. Picabo ... are you Picabo Street?"

"That's right. That's me. What's your name?"

"Rachel." Her voice was small. She found herself staring at Picabo's breasts. They were large and shaped her sweater like two moguls on a downhill course. She wanted to ski those moguls with her mouth and hands. She heard herself say, "Oh wow."

Picabo handed her her beer and clinked bottlenecks. "That's what they all say, honey," and she tilted her head back and barked her laughter to the ceiling. Then she looked directly into her eyes. Rachel met her gaze unsteadily. "Take a drink, honey." Rachel lifted the bottle to her lips and drank. Picabo did the same. To Rachel the beer was bitter, hard to swallow. Picabo said, "Drink again," and this time they drank more deeply. She continued, "Let's take a walk, honey," and extended her hand toward Rachel.

Rachel shrank back in her chair and held up her left hand with its wedding ring protectively in front of her chest. Picabo laughed uproariously and said, "Honey, if I had a nickel for every married girl ..." But now her hand was in Rachel's, and they were walking toward the elevators. Rachel thought she heard a guy say, "Man, Picabo gets more pussy than I do."

The next thing Rachel was aware of was Picabo swiping her card key, opening the door to her room and saying, "You ever been with a woman before?" Rachel shook her head and said, "I think about it all the time." With that Picabo put an arm around Rachel's back, an arm behind her knees, lifted her up and carried her across the threshold, like a groom would a bride. Just inside the room she let her down to a standing position, kicked the door close and without a word kissed her fiercely. Rachel instinctively opened to her, a vessel waiting to be filled. She widened her mouth as Picabo's urgent tongue explored it and did not resist when she felt her wrists pinned behind her. She needed to be used. Picabo broke off the kiss to say hoarsely, "Let's take our clothes off." In a moment they were naked, and Picabo flipped on an overhead light. They stood before each other. Picabo extended her arms to pull Rachel close to her. "God, you're beautiful," she said. "I wanted you the minute I saw you." She saw that Rachel was staring at her 36D breasts. "Yeah, honey, I want you to suck "em," and with that she cupped Rachel's neck and forced her face onto her breast. The light went out.

Rachel opened her mouth to accept as much of the large breast as she could. Her tongue swirled the nipple, causing it to stiffen. She closed her eyes and nursed on it greedily, aware only of Picabo's unintelligible moans. She felt herself lifted again and carried to the bed, where she was gently lain.

Picabo knelt over Rachel. She kissed her mouth, throat and breasts. Rachel responded passionately, holding her new lover close, murmuring, "yes, yes, yes," and thrusting her hips, needing to be fucked. Picabo slowly ran her tongue down Rachel's belly and stopped between her legs. She concentrated on her clit and inserted a finger, then a second into the aching slit below. Rachel climaxed almost at once, shrieking, "O, O, O," in an ever escalating series of cries.

They lay in each other's arms for a bit, till Picabo reached to open the drawer of the night table and pull out a vibrator. She shifted her position so that she was squatting over Rachel's face. She began to use the vibrator on herself and instructed Rachel to lick her asshole. Rachel did so eagerly, periodically attempting to penetrate the sphincter with her tongue. Picabo shifted again as she came, seizing Rachel's hair and placing her cunt directly over her mouth, lightly suffocating her.

A little later Rachel awoke in pitch blackness. She looked around and saw a clock that read 2:03. Suddenly she remembered where she was. She tapped Picabo timidly on the shoulder, then harder when she didn't respond. That roused her. "What's up?" she said sleepily.

"I've got to go. I'm staying here with a friend. We're leaving in the morning, and she'll be worried if I'm not there when she wakes up. I don't want to have explain where I've been."

"Oh wow, I wish you didn't have to go. Hey, why don't you leave me your e-mail address. Let's definitely stay in touch."

"Okay, I'll do that." She got out of bed, fumbled for her clothes in the dark and went into the bathroom. She turned on the light and dressed. There was a tube of lipstick by the sink. She took it and wrote her AOL address on the mirror. She went back to the bed, sat and gave Picabo a long, loving kiss.

Walking to the elevator she thought about how bad she was, about the growing number of secrets she kept from her husband, how she deserved to be punished. The elevator doors opened. As she entered she was powerless to curb the muscles of her lower face from shaping her lips into a smile.

T W O

Jim said he was going out for an hour or so. When he left, Rachel removed her tanktop and sports bra, picked up the phone and called Picabo collect. She had known Picabo only a few weeks, but they had begun to e-mail each other regularly, almost daily, and had spoken twice, both times culminating in phone sex. In their communications the women had quickly and naturally established that Picabo was mistress and Rachel slave. After initial misgivings about betraying her husband, Rachel made room in her heart for her new lover. She was simply too hungry for a dominant woman in her life.

She listened to the ringing phone. If Picabo answered, she would refuse the collect call, then call back. Rachel had insisted on this arrangement because she didn't want to risk Jim's being around when Picabo called or have to explain certain long-distance charges on the phone bill.

Picabo answered, refused the collect call and a moment later called back.

Rachel answered and said, "Peek."

"Hey, honey. I was hoping it was you. So you've got a little free time?"

"Maybe an hour. If Jim comes back sooner, I may have to hang up quickly." She hesitated. "I love you." It felt strange but right to say this.

"Hey, I love you too, Rach. I think about you all the time. This is crazy, isn't it?"

"Yes." She gave a small, mirthless laugh. She felt hollow, not knowing why. There were a few seconds of silence.

Picabo broke it. "Hey, tell me what you're wearing."

"I'm wearing gray workout shorts. That's it. I'm naked on top, like you said I should be when I call." She made her small laugh again, this time more heartfelt.

"Mmmm, baby, I wish I was standing behind you right now with one hand down your shorts and the other one playing with your tits."

"Do you want to make love?"

"Oh god, Rach, you know I do. But I'm driving. Can't you tell?" Rachel heard a whistling, crackling sound. Picabo was back. "I just held the phone out the window. Could you tell?"

"Uh, I think so."

Picabo cackled. "Yeah right. Like you can see or tell what I'm doing. I'm such an idiot sometimes." There was silence, then Rachel thought she heard a conversation in the background, muffled. Picabo was in her ear again. "Oh wow, I just had a great idea, Rach. I hope it isn't too weird for you, but I really want you to do this for me.

You're my slave, right? I'm driving with my friend Therese. She's a coach on the French national team and skied for them in, like, the 1960s." She cackled again. Rachel thought she heard the other voice say, "You bitch." There was more laughter. "No, Therese is, like, my best friend, even if she's ten years older than me and even if she's way different than me. But guess what, Rach? She likes girls just like you. I've told her all about you, about how sweet and submissive and beautiful you are, and I want you to have phone sex with her while I drive and listen. Okay?"

She flushed. The idea was actually very exciting to her, but she didn't want to appear too eager, too slutty. "Oh, Peek, I don't know. This is all happening so fast."

"No, Rachel." Picabo's voice was firm. "I want you to do this for me. I'm going to give the phone to Therese now. Okay?"

"Okay." She could hear the phone being handed over.

"Hello, this is Therese. How are you, Rachel?"

The voice she heard was low, clear, formal, measured. Despite the pronounced French accent, the diction was flawless. For some reason she said, "Yes." She couldn't think of anything else.

"Rachel. I like that name. It means shepherdess, doesn't it?"

"Yes. How did you know?"

"Oh, even though I've skied all my life, I've also found time to read and study."

"Your English is very good."

"Thank you. Peek tells me you are very beautiful and submissive. Is that true?"

She hesitated. "Yes." She somehow knew that being with Therese would be more intense than being with Picabo, who was demanding but happy-go-lucky, a big frisky dog. Therese, she sensed, was more rigorous and controlling, feline and aloof, possibly into pain. She was very wet.

"You will do the things I ask of you, yes?"

"Yes."

"I like the way you keep saying yes. Keep saying it. What are you wearing?"

"Just a pair of shorts."

"That's it? Very nice. Peek says you have a beautiful figure, that you are a personal trainer. Is that true?"

"Yes."

"Where are you now?"

"In my living room, lying on a couch."

"I want you to go to the bathroom. Now."

"Yes." She got up, walked through the kitchen, laundry room and into the adjoining bathroom. She turned on the light and looked at herself in the mirror. "I'm here."

"Remove your shorts." Rachel did so, kicked them to the side. "Are they off?" Rachel said they were. "Good. Can you see your pussy in the mirror?"

"Yes."

"Is it a shaved pussy? A little girl's pussy?"

Could Therese read her mind? She was momentarily stunned, then attempted a child's voice. "Yes."

"I thought so. This is new for you, isn't it, Rachel?"

"Yes."

"But you like it, yes? Mommy's little girl?"

"Yes" Her legs were shaking. She was someplace she didn't recognize.

"I have already begun to masturbate. You will put two fingers into your pussy and fuck yourself. Use the thumb of the same hand to play with your clit. Look in the mirror while you masturbate. I know you are already close to coming, but you must not come until I do. Otherwise I will punish you. Do you understand?"

"Yes." She fucked herself and was immediately ready to come. How would she hold out?

Fortunately, Therese purred into the phone. "Ah, ah, ah, such a good girl, such an obedient child." The voice trailed away, but a moment later was back, firm. "You may have your orgasm."

She wasted no time, but gratefully exploded, shattering into a thousand shards. Eventually, somewhat reassembled, she heard Therese again.

"That was lovely, Rachel. Thank you. I hope we will have the pleasure again sometime. I'm going to give the phone back to Picabo now."

"Yes. Thank you." It was all she could do to string a few words together.

"Rach, I hope that was good for you. Therese is leaning against the car door with a big smile on her face. As for me, I've got a date with Rusty when we get back to my place." She laughed. "Listen, hon, Therese and I are coming to L. A. in a couple of weeks. I've got some meetings, and Therese wants to see L. A. And you, if I'm not mistaken." She gave a throaty laugh. "So we'll hook up with you while we're there, okay? I'll e-mail you. Okay, Rach, talk to you later. Bye."

"Bye." She wanted to say more, but Picabo was gone. She looked at herself in the mirror, as if still under orders. She didn't know if she felt nothing or if she felt everything. She really didn't know.

T H R E E

Rachel began trembling the moment the elevator doors closed. She punched "5," then hugged herself because she was alone. That provided some relief. She was ascending to Picabo and Therese's suite at the Beverly Hills Hotel. Picabo had told her she had just been inducted into the skiing Hall of Fame, and that agents and marketing people were showing interest in her again.

The doors opened on the fifth floor. Rachel stepped out and looked at her watch: 11:00am exactly. Good, she thought, I'm right on time. Nonetheless, she began to tremble again, this time more violently. She was excited and nervous about seeing Picabo again and meeting Therese, not knowing what they had intended for her. She was also acutely self-conscious about what she was wearing.

In an e-mail sent twenty-four hours earlier confirming their date, Picabo had demanded that she dress as a hooker, heavily made up and wearing revealing clothes and no bra or panties. Rachel couldn't refuse her mistress; at the same time she couldn't entirely comply either. The idea of appearing in public that way overwhelmed her, so she had decided not to follow her instructions to the letter, hoping Picabo wouldn't be too displeased.

Her day had begun in earnest when she kissed her husband off to work at 7:30. The rest of the day, till 7:00, was now clear, as she had called clients yesterday to cancel their morning and afternoon personal-training sessions and the gym to cancel the 5:00 spinning class she led. She had luxuriated in a hot bath, shaving her legs, underarms and pussy, paying particular attention to the last. While in the tub her mind had drifted to what she thought might be the day's events. She had let her fingers fall between her legs and begun to masturbate, then stopped. No, her first orgasm today, she had thought, should be with Picabo and Therese, if they would allow her one. She had felt almost virginal.

Afterwards, she had stood a long time at the mirror deciding on makeup, which as a rule she wore little of; painting herself as a prostitute did not come naturally. Hesitantly, she had rubbed rouge into her cheeks, applied an unusually thick layer of eyeliner and added a finishing touch of bright-crimson lipstick. She had smooched at her reflection but wasn't fooled. She didn't like the way she looked, but there was no time to dwell on that. It was time to dress, time to leave.

She had selected the black-leather miniskirt, black thigh highs and three-inch black high heels, the outfit she usually wore when she danced and stripped, in private, for her husband. But she had drawn the line at the outfit's black, backless spandex top that bared her midriff and barely covered her breasts. To be seen in public in that top, even under a jacket, was mortifying. She had chosen instead a black cashmere turtleneck sweater. And while going pantyless was acceptable, she had not been willing to go braless. She wore a black lacy pushup bra.

Fortunately, she had not seen anyone she knew on the drive in from Redondo Beach, but her self-consciousness had kicked in when she entered the hotel lobby. Feeling every pair of eyes in the room boring into her back as she talked to Picabo on the courtesy phone, she had felt grateful hearing Picabo's booming, cheery voice saying, "Hey, Rach, you're here. That's great. We're in Room 501."

Now she faced a sign that read "501-510" with an arrow pointing left. She walked down the hall. The first doors she saw were marked 510 and, opposite, 509. A single door was at the end of the hall. That's 501, she thought. She reached the door, and with heart hammering she knocked timidly. She heard nothing. She knocked again, harder. Again nothing. Were they not there? Was this a joke? Then she heard firm, fast-approaching footsteps from within.