Steffi Fittälska paused to appreciate the moment. So rarely did one come along quite like this.
Somehow, in record time, her utterly nude ex-mother-in-law had managed to jam the entire outsole of her precious red-bottomed powerslut shoe inside her dripping shaved cunt. The whole toe box was up in there -- she'd shoved all the way to the shank!
Beverly worked it with ease now up against the front wall of her vagina, clearly massaging her sweet spot. Drool slowly ran out of the corner of the exquisite older woman's panting mouth. The tasty-looking saliva fell in a thin, contiguous, viscous rope down onto her heaving tit, which sent it then sliding dreamily down into her cleavage, where it remained trapped in the fold of her fit belly against the bottoms of her firm, amazing breasts.
"Oh my, she's adorable," murmured Stef appreciately. She turned her head only slightly and winked at the guard standing a few feet behind her. "Don't you think so, Sasha?"
The thick strong woman merely continued to stare straight ahead, barely breathing, absolutely still and silent. Her hands were clasped behind her back. Her feet in thick rubber-soled black boots -- certainly not the typical institutional issue these days -- were set a little wider than shoulder length apart. Stef could easily smell the woman's arousal. Sasha was hairy all over, and her musk clung to her with delicious tenacity. Since Stef had met her, of course, the guard now only superficially rinsed her aromatic zones.
No more soap. Much more stink. It was the way Stef liked her dykes. Or, more accurately, her bulls. Her Three B's: Big Butchy Bitches.
She liked other kinds of dykes, too, naturally. Especially the lesbians who weren't lesbians until they met Stef! Women were amazing in so many ways -- from tiny, petite sprites to Average Alices to long, tall hotties to Earth Mama's to the Three B's, and beyond. It sometimes seemed to Stef like the universe existed simply to provide her with a delicious variety of female bodies (and minds) to fuck.
Stef, herself, was no dyke of course. No.
Stef was an opportunist.
A risk taker. A speculator. An accumulator.
Stef was an investor, using proven methods.
Where others might think of her risks as wild, her speculations as crazy gambles, and her accumulations as nothing but lucky hits, Stef knew better.
She'd invested in stocks and bonds and futures, true enough -- but not fair enough, at least in the eyes of the Securities and Exchange Commission. And that meant Stef had some time on her hands now. Some very tightly controlled time. In a profoundly unappealing place. At least, that's what it seemed like at first.
Looking at it another way, though, Stef found herself almost eager for the chance to finally concentrate with her full attention on the kind of investment she'd grown to enjoy the most: molding the female mind.
With men, it had been too easy. Almost no challenge at all, even in her early days of adulthood. By the end of her undergraduate years in college she'd become so bored with males that she practically swore them off. Not that she didn't still snag some choice studs every now and then -- she'd found that one long, sweaty night with a nice big group of the silly things usually scratched that itch well and good, keeping her from needing a man for many months at a time.
Meanwhile, Stef had turned her attention to accumulating women, which presented a far greater and much more exciting, satisfying challenge. Because women's minds didn't have that boring simplicity. Like their bodies, women's minds thrilled her in their diversity, their twists and turns, their sudden special defenses, their quirky fears and strange obsessions.
Stef knew a happiness like none other when she persuaded a woman to do what she wanted. What joy to witness a woman finally soften and readily serve! Some women she kept in her power for a few hours, some for a few days. Some she kept for years. All of them loved her. And why wouldn't they?
Stef knew how to give women what they wanted.
Every woman secretly craved wild. Every woman yearned to go crazy. Every woman lusted to be broken. To be busted open. Burst. Blown away.
Then remade.
That was true with Sasha, for instance. Stef could tell right away.
It was her boots.
They were far, far too expensive for daily wear, no mere women's work boots. They were more fit for weekend fetish jaunts, frolicking in the downtown bars with her own kind. By the way the woman's cheap polyester trousers fell around them, even at their first meeting Stef could tell that the top of the boots came to just beneath the guard's knees, with thick bulky strings to tie them snugly around the woman's powerful calves. The knobby, aggressive-looking rubber soles were at least two inches thick at the toe, three at the heel, helping the already tall guard to tower over everyone else in the prison. The leather was polished and fine, ink-black and velvety-looking.
Stef couldn't wait to find out if the guard was already licking them whenever she touched herself. If she wasn't yet, she soon would be.
Yet in that one glance it was just as obvious: the boots were it. That was as far as the big woman would go.
Sasha wore not one tattoo. Not one part of her was pierced, not even an innocent earlobe. There were no highlights in her dark hair -- certainly no remnants of any attempts at a decent ombre, nothing. She still wore it up in a silly ponytail every day. She applied tasteful makeup: light foundation, a little blush, the barest hint of eye shadow and eyeliner, a tad too much lash thickener, and definitely a little too much worry about those eyebrows. Sasha needed to drop the tweezers and stand down. And clearly, though she was naturally tall and a big, strong, sexy woman, Sasha did not a thing to enhance it. She might have played a lot of softball and volleyball back in high school, but she'd clearly never hit a gym in her life. Her muscles merely rippled drowsily away as she did nothing but age a little more each day, wasting her gifts.
Sasha was just a big little girl still dreaming.
