One Weekend 1

Brooke asked if I would write this story. The theme is interracial lesbian domination. All the characters are real. All references to people and photographs are real. I've simply inserted myself into her world. The story ends at my last point of contact with Brooke. There may be more to come.

CLAIRE -- LATE AFTERNOON

My heart was beating faster than normal. The email had intrigued me... so had the photographs—sexy, raw photographs.

Brooke was a hot, beautiful girl who embodied every masturbatory fantasy I'd ever had about black women. I'd had countless ... ever since that unexpected night with Laura Johnson. Some fantasies involved beautiful young girls like Brooke while others featured older, unattractive black dykes. But they all had one thing in common.

They made me cum like there was no tomorrow.

I would normally have refused a personal request to feature someone in a story. My writing career was just taking off and I had deadlines to finish on two stories, plus another to start. I couldn't take on another project.

But this curvy black girl had made me think again...

This is Brooke. I am a 19-year-old college student with way too much time on my hands. I love your current story and I was wondering if I could get you to write a story about me. I am bi, I love to tease, I love to be forced, submissive side. I have turned my high school friend into a total lesbian, I tease her mom. I have my nipples pierced, I tease all my dad's clients, and I like to walk around with nothing under my sundresses. Here are some photos of me you can use.

I dropped the email back down onto the passenger seat and concentrated on my driving. I was close to Brighton now. But the words I'd just read again wouldn't leave my mind. Nor would the images in the photographs she'd shared.

I was both terrified and elated at the opportunity to work closely with her. And I was definitely stepping out of my comfort zone. Despite my experience with Laura Johnson one drunken night after a party in London I wasn't bi.

I wasn't! I wasn't!

Yet recollections returned as if it were yesterday. The black woman had offered me a lift back home and had surprised me by stopping at hers and inviting me in for coffee. Even now, the way I'd eagerly responded to the first kiss still surprised me. It had been daylight before I'd left her flat and we'd fucked practically all night.

I hadn't returned any of her phone calls afterwards. How could I? I was ashamed and racked by guilt. I wasn't a lesbian. That wasn't me. The last message she'd left on my mobile phone had been brief and had haunted me every since.

"Once you've had black, you never go back."

I shook my head violently as if that would drive the thought away. I had never had another experience with a woman since then. But Laura Johnson had left her mark. The fantasies had continued and now I lived them out through my stories.

The complicated streets in the centre of Brighton made me focus on my driving again. My sat nav was useless and I'd printed out the route. Brooke's email had said her choice for our late afternoon meeting—The Legends wine bar—was easy to find. I hoped so. I'd been driving for over four hours now.

I hadn't decided whether to find a hotel and make a weekend of it, or drive back home after our meeting. But another long journey didn't appeal to me and drops of rain against the windscreen suggested that the brewing storm was about to burst.

I felt that strange combination of weariness and arousal. There had been too much time to think during the journey. And to keep glancing at the photographs Brooke had sent me. They were spread out on the passenger seat. He black body looked stunning in the white swimsuit. And in that yellow top. And then there was that naked photograph. The one that I'd masturbated to...

I felt a lick of heat run through me...

Stay professional, I reminded myself. Find out what Brooke had to say and make a logical judgement as to whether I could turn it into a meaningful story. I surprised myself by laughing out loud at the absurdity of the thought. Who was I kidding? The chance to work with the young black girl was drawing me like a magnet.

The wine bar was easier to find than I'd anticipated. But then it pretty much encompassed a whole block on the seafront. Who could miss it?

I was a few minutes early. Would she be there yet?

Butterflies tickled the insides of my stomach and I sat for a good minute to let them settle before checking my appearance in the driving mirror. It took several more deep breaths to compose myself. Thirty seconds later I opened the car door and made my way towards entrance.

*

The place wasn't that busy and Brooke was sitting at the bar, looking out of the rain covered window at the panoramic sea view. She was wearing a tight white top with black low-rise jeans and, with her sunglasses perched on top of her long black hair, it struck me that she could easily pass as a model.

She'd told me in subsequent email exchanges that she hated to wear a bra and true to her word, I could see her nipples through the white top. Her pierced nipples!

Pierced tongue and pierced nipples.

I hesitated when I saw her turn and talk to the woman next to her. It hadn't occurred to me that she wouldn't be alone. The woman was much older than Brooke and the large dark sunglasses she wore covered her eyes.

I stepped closer to introduce myself but when she saw me Brooke was quickly on her feet. The warmth of her greeting took me by surprise. She flung her arms around me and before I could speak, her lips were on mine. Her tongue slid across my lips, wetting them, before sliding into my mouth.

I felt the heat all the way down to my pussy.

When she eventually stepped back, a red blush covered my cheeks. We were in public, in the middle of a wine bar, and yet I'd accepted the kiss like a long lost lover. I realised that despite my bra, my own nipples were making themselves known through the dress I'd worn specifically for the meeting. It was short enough to display my long tanned legs and sufficiently low cut to display a modest amount of cleavage.

Normally I would have chosen something more formal for such a meeting but in the circumstances...

"This is my Auntie Mischelle," she explained, nodding at the woman seated beside her. "Well she not my real Auntie, but I call her that."

I smiled at the woman as I reached for her hand. Like the expression on her face, it was ice. I still couldn't see her eyes through those dark sunglasses but had the impression that her gaze was looking right through me. The contrast between her and Brooke's greeting couldn't have been more marked.

I asked if I could buy them a drink and we settled on a bottle of wine. The older woman made me uncomfortable and with Brooke offering no further explanation for her presence, I began by making some small talk about my journey to meet them.

Brooke's eyes sparkled at me throughout and in truth it was difficult to keep my eyes from her body. I could see the outline of the nipple rings through her white top but didn't feel confident enough to ask about them yet.

"You have the face and the body of a model, Brooke," I found myself telling her. "Have you ever thought of finding some modelling work? You never know what it could lead to."

She laughed aloud.

"Around here, babe? I doubt there'd be any opportunities around here. I'm at college and when I finish I'm going to be a mad scientist."

It was impossible not to laugh with her. She was so bubbly. But the older woman with her had no such problem. Her expression didn't change one iota.

"Okay," I eventually said during a pause, "let's get down to business. I wanted this meeting to determine if I could do you justice, Brooke. Writing stories for other people isn't usually my style. I'll need quite a lot of detail before I agree to take this on as a project."

"But you like writing erotic stories, especially featuring black women..."

She flashed me that mischievous smile again and her dark eyes stayed on mine, as if she were evaluating my reaction.

"I've read them all. And you like writing about control and domination. That sort of thing turns you on."

It wasn't a question but the words served their purpose. I felt a little off balance. I shuffled on the bar stool and took a gulp of wine while I thought. I didn't particularly want to get into the style of my stories at that point. And while I was becoming more curious about the presence of the woman she called Auntie Mischelle, I wasn't clear on the best way to clarify her role. I decided instead to ignore her and focus on Brooke.

"Okay," I eventually responded. "Why don't you give me some background and we'll take it from there?"

She smiled happily. "Sure. You know the photographs I sent you?"

I wondered if Mischelle knew about them and perhaps absurdly felt the need to clarify what Brooke had done.

"Yes, the ones you gave as background to the people involved."

She nodded and picked up the buff coloured envelope on the bar by her elbow. I hadn't noticed it until then.

"I have more pictures to show you."

She rummaged inside the envelope, bringing out a couple and pushing them back inside before finding the photo she wanted and handing it to me.

"This is Carla."

It took me aback. The girl had dark eyes and short dark hair. Her hands were out in front of her, palms upwards, and eyes were looking up towards the ceiling. But what was particularly shocking was that someone had used red lipstick on her face. There were stripes on her cheeks, a ring around her mouth and the word 'Slut' emblazoned across her chest just above the top of her dress.

I stared wordlessly back at Brooke.

"She's one of my girlfriends," she casually said, as if that explained everything. "She's taken me to a few lesbian parties at her college."

I nodded and glanced at Mischelle out of the corner of my eye. Throughout the meeting she had yet to say a word.

"This is Mira," Brooke told me, pulling out a second photograph.

This one made my heart pump faster. The Latin looking girl had straggly light brown hair, a slightly curved nose and lips as wonderfully full as Brooke's were. Her hands were up by her shoulders and her breasts had been shamelessly pulled out of the cups of her black bra. They were full and heavy, with pink nipples that sat in the middle of her large and perfectly round areola.

"Hot bitch, huh?" Brooke chuckled, licking her lips. "Mira works at the Honda dealer and when she saw me in a bra less top she said I should get my nipples pierced. She said that she'd get me a better deal if I let her take me to get it done and I ended up with the car and pierced nipples. What d'you think?"

Before I could react, she used both hands to lift her top and, for a couple of seconds, her full black breasts were totally revealed in all their glory. There was only one word to describe them—magnificent. Laura Johnson had majestic breasts, too. But her chocolate coloured nipples hadn't been pierced. I'd never seen anything as sexy as Brooke's nipple rings, with the little hearts hanging down.

"I ... think ... they're very attractive," I slowly replied, cursing myself for such a lame answer.

She pulled the top back in place, oblivious to the stares from people near us. Was their nothing that embarrassed this girl? Then she was rummaging back in her envelope again. She took out a photograph and held it up to her Auntie. When Mischelle nodded her permission, Brooke smiled and handed it to me.

I almost fell off my stool. The photograph was of Mischelle, sitting upright in a bath full of soapy water. She was smiling for the camera and cupping her pendulous breasts. I glanced at her impassive face and then back at Brooke.

It seemed that the photo was no big deal to either of them but it certainly left its mark on me. Despite myself, I could feel the heat between my thighs. Here I was, looking at the naked photograph of a woman who was sitting next to me and who had yet to utter a word. It was as surreal as it was provocative.

My mouth must have dropped open because Brooke began to laugh again.

"Auntie Mischelle wants me to tell you about her and me. She's my mum's best friend and lives in a very nice house close to my college. I run some errands for her and she pays me ... routine stuff to begin with but then outside of the box."

"Outside the box?" I queried, looking at one of them and then the other.

"Mmm-hmm," Brooke answered. "We've grown very close and Auntie Mischelle sort of guides the things I do."

This time I frowned. Was I picking this up clearly? The change in expression on Brooke's face told me there was more to tell.

My gaze shifted to Mischelle as I returned the photograph to Brooke. The expression on her face remained emotionless except ... except ... my eyes had involuntarily dipped to her breasts inside her dark jumper. The photograph had shown them to be as generous as Brooke's, with large dark areola and nipples. Just like the older black women in my masturbatory fantasies. A knowing smile seemed to briefly touch the corner of her lips ... and then disappear again just as quickly.

Had she noticed my glance?

I suddenly had the feeling that while I wanted to hear more from Brooke, I would gain more from the discussion if we were on our own. Mischelle was starting to bug me. I told myself that was because of the silent treatment and not the tinge of arousal I'd experienced on seeing her naked in the photograph.

I glanced out of the window, seeking a way forward. The storm had well and truly broken and the rain was pounding against the glass.

"I have enough to be going on with for now," I said, deliberately looking at Mischelle and then turning back to Brooke. "I intend to stay down here for the weekend. Perhaps you and I could meet again tomorrow? By then I'll have digested all of this and have my thoughts in order. How does that feel?"

Her eyes lit up instantly. "You're going to write it?"

"One step at a time," I said, sending her a reassuring smile. "Let's say I'm very interested but we have a few more things to talk about."

She instantly swung her head towards Mischelle.

"See, I've done what you asked. You didn't think I could. Now everyone will know what a slut I can be. See, you won't have to punish me anymore."

"Punish?"

The word just came out of my mouth. What did Brooke mean, punish?

Her head went down for a moment and I realised I shouldn't have interrupted. This was between her and Mischelle. I needed to understand what was going on but I could probe further when Brooke and I had some alone time.

"Where are you staying?" she suddenly asked, changing the subject.

I shrugged nonchalantly. "I'll find a hotel. It shouldn't be too difficult and—"

The look of bemusement on her face made me pause.

"You haven't booked a hotel? This is Brighton's busiest time of the year. Don't you know there's a festival on?"

No. I had no idea. Damn. The long drive home wasn't an option, not with the storm outside. Besides, I was tired and I'd drunk a couple of glasses of wine. I'd never been good with alcohol.

"Don't worry," she said as I hesitated. "I have an idea."

She exchanged glances with Mischelle and when her gaze returned to meet mine there was a different look in her eyes...

BROOKE

Everything was working out exactly as Mischelle had predicted. She had gone for it big-time when I'd first mentioned the idea of getting someone to write a story about me. She'd said I was a slut and that I should be shown as one. But that wasn't all. When I'd shown her Claire's photograph she had instantly decided she wanted a lot more than just the story. She made it clear I was to follow her instructions and that she'd punish me again if I didn't.

But this was going to be a pleasure.

I held Claire's sexy gaze while I slipped the photographs back into the buff coloured envelope. By the time I'd showed her them all, and told her the stories, she'd be eating out of my hand. She might be playing hard to get but I knew she was already hooked on writing the story about me. Then there was the way she looked at me. She tried hard not to show it but she could hardly keep her eyes off my body.

She wanted me every bit as much as I wanted her.

Mischelle had insisted on attending the meeting to make sure I did as she'd told me. I'd followed her instructions to the letter. She also wanted to spook Claire. Auntie Mischelle knew exactly how to manipulate people—look at me!—and her silent treatment was just a way of establishing control.

When I felt he nudge my foot with hers, it was my cue. I picked up my dark sunglasses and covered my eyes with them. It made me look even sexier.

"I'm staying at the Hotel Pelirocco tonight and only got the room by default a week ago," I lied, repeating what Mischelle had told me earlier. "So I doubt there'll be any rooms available anywhere in Brighton. But why don't you let me see what I can do..."

CLAIRE

Brooke and Mischelle had left me at the bar while they went off somewhere, to check vacancies I assumed. I sipped nervously at the remains of my wine as I awaited their return, trying to put the pieces together. Brooke's sudden exclamation to Mischelle had taken me aback and they didn't make sense.

"See, I've done what you asked. You didn't think I could. Now everyone will know what a slut I can be. See, you won't have to punish me anymore."

I couldn't take the words at face value. I was missing something and I needed to get her alone tomorrow to discover what that was. That wasn't going to be easy, with her Auntie Mischelle shadowing her every move. She still hadn't said a word to me, although she did offer her hand, and a smile, before she and Brooke had headed towards the bar entrance.

Brooke had said they wouldn't be long and she was as good as her word. Except that when she returned, she was alone. Every move of her body as she walked towards me was provocative, designed to draw heads. By the time she was halfway across the room, practically every guy in the bar was staring at her. And a few women.

"I have good and bad news."

I stared blankly at her as she slipped onto the bar stool beside me.

"It's as I thought," she said, crossing her legs.

She casually dropped a hand onto my bare thigh as she shuffled closer. I wondered what Mischelle would think when she returned.

"There are no vacant rooms at any hotel in Brighton 'til Sunday night after the festival. Everything's booked."

I looked at her in frustration. The rain was beating against the windows now. Driving home appeared to be the only option but it wasn't one I was looking forward to. And yet, there was a glint in her eyes. She'd said good as well as bad news...

"But Auntie Mischelle has worked wonders. I've had to give up my room at the Pelirocco but that means we've been able to secure you a suite."

I stared at her, nonplussed for a second.

"A suite? Give up your room? I couldn't ask—"

Her smouldering eyes shone with excitement and she waived the small leaflet in her free hand into the air.

"It's complicated but Auntie Mischelle has pulled a few strings. She has a few things to attend to now but you can thank her tomorrow. But listen to this..."

She opened the leaflet and leant even closer to me so that I could see the contents as she began to read them. She smelled good. Some kind of spicy perfume.

"Our flagship suite, the ultimate "dirty weekend" room..."

It took a moment for me to focus on what she was saying and when I did I blurted out my response without even thinking.

"Dirty weekend?"

She burst out laughing at my instant reaction and the hand on my leg squeezed a little more tightly. It was the touch of someone sharing a confidence.