My Gf Fucking And How We Met

Sex section is bookended with ~~~. Feel free to quit reading at that point if you're not into plot.

Standard Boilerplate: Contains graphic lesbian sex to be enjoyed by legal adults. Characters not meant to resemble anyone living or dead, fictional or real.

Comments welcome!

I step inside out of the Seattle rain and kick off my sensible business-heels, sighing a bit to only be 5'10" again, but relieved to be done early and back in my warm and relaxing house. Loud music draws me into my kitchen, where my cute girlfriend is cooking dinner in her white sports bra and fuzzy Futurama pants. Nearly 21 years old, she still loves teen pop and animated shows. At 27, those aren't really so much my tastes. It's endearing on her though.

She's moving her hips to Katy Perry's "Last Friday Night" and singing along. She undoubtedly has no more business singing than she does cooking. Those hips however...

She catches me staring and blushes a little with a self-conscious smile. "Hey Baby! I didn't expect you home so early." Her bashfulness excites something in me that is protective, possessive, and predatory all at once.

~~~ She forgets whatever it is she was frying to throw her arms around my neck and tilt her face up for a kiss. I indulge her rather more intensely than she expected, but her lips immediately part for my tongue as my hands slip under her waistband to knead her ass in the lace panties she wears for me. I can never get over how soft she is. Her lips, her ass, her tummy, her cheek. She's in no way anything like plump, but she has velvety skin and supple curves that include delightful b-cub breasts perfectly complimenting her 5'4" frame. Her body is sic.

I walk her backwards without breaking our kiss, reluctantly withdrawing my hands to turn off the stove burners. Setting her on the countertop, I tangle my left hand in her tousled blonde hair to hold the kiss and start rubbing and tweaking her left nipple with my right hand. I love how immediate and unconscious her reactions are to my touch. And not just her cherry nipple rapidly hardening. She instinctively wraps her arms and legs around me and moans her need into my mouth. I switch hands, but keep teasing her until she starts slowly gyrating against me. Then I keep teasing her a while longer, because I like it.

She eventually breaks the kiss,

panting. "Please...?" When she looks at up at me and begs like that – her honey-golden brown eyes all wide and pleading – I really do want to melt and relent.

Playing with her is just too fun though.

"Mmmm, take off your bra." I had my lips clamped

to her right nipple before it hit the ground. Poor baby spent the next ten minutes with one hand in my long red hair and the other hanging on to the cabinet for balance. She was moaning, whimpering, and rocking on my kitchen counter as I licked, nibbled, sucked, and nipped her breasts to my heart's content.

"Please, baby? Please?" Her voice was getting slightly more urgent and breathless, but I wanted take her further.

"Please what, Kitten?" I broke for a second to feign ignorance.

"Please, I need you!" She groaned out audibly.

"Need me to what? I'm kinda busy here, Gorgeous." I turn myself to the right in the vice grip of her legs to feel her grind against my left hip.

"I, I need you to take me." She hates engaging in dirty talk. Loves it from me, but she never curses and she embarrasses easily.

"Hrmmmmm," I bring myself to her eye level and look at her with mock-seriousness. "I'm pretty happy right here, Beautiful." I reclaim her lips and take hold of her sweet ass again, scooting her to the edge of my countertop and lightly grinding her against myself.

"PLEASE FUCK ME!?" She all but screams in her frustration when I finally release her mouth for air.

I pick her up off my countertop and set her on her feet, then smirk down at her as she pouts. I only take a couple seconds to enjoy our dynamic though, because I'm getting pretty turned on too and very much want to fuck her silly.

"Get your cute ass naked and in my bed," I order, slapping her butt playfully.

She takes off down the hall and is naked as a jaybird and on her back on my bed before I reach the doorway. She smiles up at me expectantly - legs spread and hands gripping the pillow beneath her head – and looks pointedly at the night stand where I keep my strapon.

Still, I take my time and give her a brief striptease as she masturbates herself watching me. First the suit-skirt and panties are pulled down off my long, toned legs. I leave the garter belt and stockings on, because I know she loves the feel against the inside of her thighs. Shirt and bra go last, because my breasts are her favorite part of my body. Firm and proud, they're a c-cup that would probably be a d-cup if I stopped working out. My abs are my favorite part of my body though, and I'd gladly trade a cup size for my six pack.

I buckle on the harness and saunter to the foot of my bed, her eyes never leaving me. Leaning forward, I grab her ankles and yank her to me. Her legs hang off my bed spread around me, with her dripping pussy right on the literal and figurative edge. A pillow under her lovely ass creates the angle I want and I can't help chuckling at how she's so short that her cute little toes can no longer touch the floor with the added height of the pillow. I lean over her body and pin her slim wrists above her head with my left hand, simultaneously signaling the end of her being allowed to touch herself and ensuring that that the majority of my upper body weight is placed on my knuckles. I put my right hand on her hip to steady and calmly caress her.

For the past five months, I've been regularly taking her with the same 8-inch strapon. Her pussy is still so tight though that I have to be careful to enter her slowly, despite how wet she is. I gradually slide into her, centimeter by centimeter, relishing the tension of her body and the pressure of the base against my clit. I bottom out in her and lean briefly onto my elbow to bite the shell of her ear lightly and whisper, "I love you, my beautiful girl." She moans back in response, beyond words in the pleasure of finally being filled.

I pull nearly all the way out and start a gentle rhythm of long strokes until I feel her legs lock at the small of my back and her hips rise to increase friction. At, "Harder, Baby! Annahh!Please harder?!" I speed up to match her thrusts, glorying in creating that combination of moans and indecipherable gibberish from her that drives me mad.

In and out, in and out. Each time conscientiously ensuring I stimulate her clit. Each time ensuring I hit bottom and pop her eyes back open with the force. Making sure with every stroke that deep in the most primitive depths of her mind she knows she's being fucked and proper. Right up until I feel her on the very brink of an explosively satisfying orgasm.

Then I stop.

She looks up at me bleary and horror-stricken, too wound up to voice her frustration in more than whimpers. She tries raise her hips to meet the contact she craves or loose her hands to touch herself, but I'm effectively holding her down and much physically stronger than she is.

I wait for her eyes to focus on me and ask, "Who do you belong to?"

"YOU!" she answers emphatically, seeing a verbal path to renew the pounding she had been receiving.

"Whose girl are you?"

"Yours. I'm yours!"

"Tell me. Tell me you're my girl!"

"I'm your girl!"

"Say it again. Keep saying it."

"I'm your girl! I'm your girl! I'm your girl! I'm your girl! I'm your girl! I'm your gAAAAAAh!

In a single thrust I'm back inside her, wildly driving the strapon in and out of her. I release her wrists and she grabs my shoulders, arching her back as far as she could and thrusting up so violently that only her shoulder blades and head remained touching the bed. Sweat drips freely from my brow, arms, and breasts onto her. I think vaguely that I'll need to be sure to get her Gatorade and water to replenish all the fluids she'll have lost by the time I'm done. She could only maintain the frantic pace briefly before exploding her cum and collapsing onto the bed. She pants and looks at me, waiting for me to crawl up the bed and hold her as she comes down.

But my girl is capable of multiples and I've decided to demand her full capabilities today.

Her hips still twitched as went to my knees and began licking up her cream like a starving cat, holding her thighs open and still. She never got a chance to stop moaning, but it intensifies as I began tongue-fucking her hypersensitive pussy.

The groaning starts when I curl two fingers inside her, stimulating her thus far ignored g-spot. I keep the fingering of her g-spot going until her hips stopped moving completely, but her cum was nearly flowing out of her again. Then - still fingering her through half-hearted protests – I tease her clit back out with my left thumb, quickly latching onto the throbbing bud with as much suction as I can produce while flicking it rapidly with the tip of my tongue. In a couple minutes, she's mewling and clearly on the cusp of a second climax. I bite down on her clit and she cums screaming my name.

I watch my girlfriend trying to recover from the immense amount of pleasure her body withstood. Her trembling, liquefied form looks as though she were crafted from jello. She's looks so angelic when she's blissed out past all reasoning and emotion. In her post-orgasmic stupor, she seems completely relaxed in and entirely unable to move a muscle.

This is my best shot.

I continue to kneel at the foot of the bed and reach under to take out the first of three items I've stashed there, a 6-inch dildo I'd bought the week before. I quickly switch out the 8-inch dildo in the harness and coat the new one liberally with the second item, warming anal lube. My girlfriend looks at me in mild confusion as I flip her onto her belly and move the pillow under her tummy.

I spread her soft cheeks and blow on her asshole gently. She murmurs inaudibly and I start to rim her with equal gentleness.

"Baby...I can't...no."

I stop and stand.

"What?"

"I, I...no."

*SMACK* I slap her ass. Not enough to hurt her, but enough to get her attention and leave a handprint.

"Whose girl are you?"

"I,I."

*SMACK* Slightly harder. She sticks her lovely backside out for another. Spanking really turns her on.

"Whose Girl Are You?"

"Yours, I'm your girl."

"And who does your ass belong to?"

"You. My ass belongs to you."

"Damn straight your ass belongs to me. Now relax and let me take care of you."

She visibly relaxes into the bed, her natural submissiveness overcoming her fear. I continue rimming her ass while stroking her flanks until she eventually seems accepting of assplay in general. I lube both my hands and use the left to play tenderly with her pussy, putting her into a state of low arousal. Painstakingly, one knuckle at a time, I inserted my index finger into her most intimate place. Whew, I had thought her pussy was tight. Over the course several minutes, I manage to get three fingers inside – still one knuckle at a time - to loosen her and thoroughly lubricate her inside. She's aware, aroused from the anal and vaginal stimulus, and moaning for me to "take her rosebud" which I find both adorable and encouraging.

I move her onto her knees and elbows and tell her to arch her back, while I add more lube to the still unused dildo. Kneeling behind her and still slowly finger fucking her pussy, I coo into her ear and press firmly with the strapon at the entrance to her "rosebud." She tenses, so I continue caressing and soothing her until her body relaxes again.

She grunts sharply as the head of the strapon penetrates her. I wait for her body to adjust and try to ignore the jerking presses of the strapon's base on my clit as she clenches and unclenches on the head. Soon she's ready for more and I plunge two inches deliberately in and out, adding more length to my thrusts increasingly as she pushes back into me. Soon I'm inserting four inches and she's breathing sharply and leaking profusely.

"Are you ready, Sweetie? You're two thirds of the way there." I pull my fingers from her pussy entirely to tickle the small of her back and keep caressing her thighs.

"Yyyyes." Her answer is a labored, but clear, sigh.

I redouble my efforts on her pussy. I want her to achieve orgasm during anal, but am reasonably certain she can't cum from anal alone or even primarily the first time. I lean over her body to tenderly play with her breasts and to kiss and nibble the soft skin of her neck and shoulders. When she's sufficiently worked up, I pinch her clit with my right hand and pulled her hip toward me while driving the last two inches deep into her ass.

"Aahhhhhhhhhhh!" She loses it, cumming powerfully with her third orgasm. Her body shudders through aftershocks and she's trying to watch me for what's coming next, but can't keep her eyes open or her neck craned. I pull out and remove my harness entirely. ~~~ I straighten and spread her legs, then get the third item – a salve of witch hazel and aloe – and dollop some onto my finger tips and smear it over the impacted area. Her asshole is spasming erratically and I easily slide my index finger inside to coat the inner walls so she won't feel as sore tomorrow. I leave the salve on her nightstand so she'll find it if she wants it tomorrow.

A quick wash of my hands with the baby wipes I keep in my nightstand, and I crawl into bed with her. I lay on my back, nestle her into the crook my arm, pull a sheet up over us, and pet her face and hair. She looks up at me sleepily, clearly wanting to communicate something that's maybe a little too intangible for her right now.

"Thank you, Baby. I was scared to try, but..."

"I know, Cutie. Now it won't be as scary or as difficult if you ever want to try it again."

"Mmmm...Did you get to-"

"Don't worry, Pretty Girl. You'll get me tomorrow. Just sleep now."

"Mmmm...*yawn*...G'night, Baby."

She dozes off immediately, so I grab my ehookah (no nicotine), wireless ear buds, and universal remote. They're all sitting on my nightstand for just this purpose. Soon "The Daily Show" on NetFlix is projected onto the ceiling with the audio my ear and I'm enjoying cinnamon-flavored steam. She loves to be cuddled - maybe even more than the sex itself - and I find Jon Stewart funny. It works for us.

Stephen Colbert starts to interview some knucklehead about his big brother conspiracy book and my thoughts drift to the sweet girl next to/on top of me. One of her arms is draped over my rib cage, her legs are split over one of mine so that I can feel the heat of her pussy, and she's snoring lightly. I can't believe how domesticated she has me. Had I not cum with any of my previous lovers - she might get a 10-15 minute break - but I'd be getting off even if I needed to wake her up by grinding her face. No cuddling either. To be fair though, one, both, or all of us would be politely but firmly required to leave directly after. Now I'm laying frustrated in my own bed, choosing to just let her rest. She's always had a gentling effect on me.

I'll tell you about how we met while I resist the urge to start scissoring her.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

One Friday night about five months ago, I had attended what was sadly only an averagely boring meeting of EKC Zonta. Excellence cause, just a difficult three hours at the end of a work week. I changed clothes in the parking lot and raced away.

At roughly 9pm, I handed the keys to my Jaguar XKR black-on-black-on-black convertible and a fifty to Matt the parking structure valet and jaywalked across Cherry Street. I swear I don't just have a Jag to drive ridiculously fast or pick up girls. I'm in-house counsel for a luxury public auto group headquartered in Seattle, so I can't exactly roll up in a jalopy. Still, I do have tinted windows for sex in public and I love hitting 140mph on the 5 when I have to do fieldwork in Oregon or Cali.

I specialize in acquisitions and contracting, particularly making sure any strategic purchases highly profit us (read: gobbling up the little guy.) Occasionally we absorb a smaller group or buy successful independent dealerships when the owner is ready to retire or move, but generally it's a failing business looking to get out with less debt than they would have built if they'd sustained their operating costs while trying to sell their remaining stock to consumers at commercial prices (read: going out of business sale). It's my job to ruthlessly ensure - through any technically legal means - that they don't. If adding to the financial defeat of already ruined small-business owners makes me a bad person, at least it makes me a prosperous one. My bosses also require me to have a working knowledge of real estate, tax, and labor law, which is important because we generally string owners along about buying their property until they're desperately near foreclosure in order to lowball them and because we generally fire and replace any and all existing employees. I also handled Mr. Henriksen's last two pre-nups and divorces, Mr. Dharmraj's parents' immigration, Mr. Ryan's baby adoption, and Mrs. Quentin's son's DUI, despite my protests that none of the cases were near my specialty and it was something like having an ear, nose, and throat doctor treat your glaucoma. But I digress...

Absently still humming along to Melissa Etheridge's "Secret Agent" and making a mental note to check out the Li Chen exhibit at the Frye later, I was unambiguously not looking for intellectual or cultural stimulation that night. So I walked two blocks to Cherry Girls' Bar. The rather raucous bar and the less fortunately named 11th Girls' Bar in Tacoma, Pacific Girls' Bar in Bremerton, and Evergreen Girls' Bar in Olympia are all owned by Nicole Peyton, a friend I met at an EWGA Seattle event and an integral member of my clique.

Nic tended bar that night and stood me up two Jameson straights and a ginger ale when she saw me walk in. She wanted to talk about acquiring a flopping sports bar in Everett she once she hit a lull in her shift. I told I'd be happy to, passed her a Visa, and noted thirty percent for the night. Bemusedly hoping the location would be on Wetmore Ave, I turned scoped out the talent in the meantime. Not much yet at 9 o'clock.

I nodded congenially at two baby dykes talking at the end of the bar, then continued to scan. A half dozen women danced together on the raised wooden floor. They were clearly friends and likely straight, but if they could enjoy dancing here without molestation, more power to them. In the slightly darkened booths, several couples being clearly not straight and pretty hot enjoyed each other. I'm not into poaching or the drama that comes with it though, so I kept moving. A few women sat at the tables, but none met my two rather simple visual requirements: hot and easy.

"Buy you a drink?" An attractive bullish dyke in her early thirties asked me. That's old enough to know better. It surprises me that so many lesbians don't read how other lesbians are dressed, or dress to be read themselves.

Certainly all my gay male friends do. It may be my pet peeve because it's a focus point for me professionally. If I call on a dealership owner with expensive jewelry and older designer dress shoes wearing a cheap new suit, I know he's in trouble but hopeful. When I come back a month later and he's wearing the same suit and shoes, but his watch and class ring are gone and he's unconsciously twisting his wedding band, I know he's ready to deal.

My wavy deep red hair was in a high ponytail (no bullshit bangs or loose tresses to frame my face), my makeup was only subtly heavier than is professional (smokier eye, more blush, brighter lip), and my jewelry was vintage Celtic-styled silver (I assume that I'm Irish and I like the way the peridot pendant makes my green eyes flash more at a woman looking down my low-cut tank). I'm also wearing Michael Kors ankle boots (very black leather, straps with silver buckles, 4-inch spike heel), a Burberry quilted jacket (feminine silhouette, but biker design and also very black leather), and dark blue skinny low-rise Levi's (with the very noticeable bulge of a strapon at the crotch). Everything about me said I was here to fuck somebody.