Faraway Club Pt 4 ~ A lesbian sex story from sex story sites.

"Aren't you?" he repeated, grinding into her again. "A little slut who wants me to fuck her like a bitch until you're begging me for more?"

"Yes," she admitted, feeling a gush of moisture flooding from her pussy as the word left her mouth.

"Say it," he told her.

"I'm a little slut."

"And what do you want me to do to you?"

"Fuck me," she said. "I want you to fuck me."

"Like a bitch?"

"Yes," she said, almost moaned. She was so very turned on now. "Like a bitch."

He put his lips gently against hers and kissed her, the tip of his tongue licking the underside of her mouth, gliding across her teeth, and then pulling back. She refused to allow him to break the kiss though. Her hands went to the back of his head and she pulled him back, thrusting her own tongue out and swirling it against his, sucking lightly on it. God, how she wanted this man, how she wanted him to treat her like the slut she was. No one had ever made her feel the way she was feeling now.

And then, just when she thought they were going to leave, the unexpected occurred. A woman appeared beside them. She was tall and solidly built, not fat, but somewhat Amazonian in stature. Her hair was a rich brunette, her breasts large and well rounded. She was wearing a conservative blue dress, the hem knee-length, the top showing only a small amount of cleavage, her well-muscled legs bare of nylons. She, like Robin's dancing partner, looked to be in her mid-thirties. Overall, she gave an impression of a well-manicured, professional woman. She looked at the two of them for a moment, a slight smile on her face, and then she said, "May I cut in?"

Robin shot her a look of annoyance. How dare she try to cut in on her dance now, when she was as worked up as she was likely to get without removing her clothes. "No," she told her coldly. "I don't think so."

The woman's smile turned into a smirk. The look in her eyes became slightly dangerous. "I wasn't talking to you," she answered. "I was talking to him."

"Huh?" she said numbly, not quite understanding.

It quickly became clear what she meant, however. Before she really realized it was happening, the man was gone and the woman had her arms around her, pulling her close, dancing with her. Another woman! What in the hell? And it was a woman who towered over her. Robin was barely five feet, four inches tall. This woman was damn near six feet. Her arms held her tightly around the waist, so that getting away from her would be a chore.

"Uh... what exactly is going on here?" Robin asked, her voice tough to mask the sudden nervousness she felt.

"I'm dancing with you," she said simply. "Do you have a problem with that?"

Robin looked at her, trying to read the expression in her face. It was impossible. "Well," she said slowly, "I don't usually dance with other women. I don't really... you know... swing that way."

"Oh no?" she asked, pulling her a little tighter. "You don't like the way my boobs feel against you? The way my hands feel, squeezing you?"

Robin swallowed, feeling herself tremble just a little. "No," she said. "I really don't." But even as the words left her mouth, she knew she was lying. Though it was hard to admit to herself, she did kind of like the way this woman's body felt against her. It was strong, like the man she had just been dancing with, but it was also soft, a stark contrast to his.

"You don't sound so convincing," the woman said with another smirk. "Have you been with a woman before?"

"No," she said firmly. "I told you, I don't swing that way."

The woman looked directly into her eyes, as if she was probing into her very soul. "You're lying to me," she said. "I can tell."

She trembled again, turning her eyes away from that gaze. How did this woman know? How could she know? It had only happened once, back when she was in high school, something she rarely even thought about anymore. She had been working in a hair-cutting salon, running the cash register and sweeping up the hair from the floor between customers. The manager had been an athletic woman in her thirties, pretty, well-built, divorced. She had invited her to stay after work one night for a free hair cut and style. While doing the job she had produced a bottle of rum and a six-pack of cola, offering some to her young charge. By the time the cut and style was finished Robin had been half-drunk, a relatively new experience for her back then. The talk had turned to intimacies she had shared with her various boyfriends. And before she knew what was happening, the talk had turned to kissing, to sliding their tongues in and out of each other's mouths. Her shirt had gone to the floor, then her bra. She had wanted to stop the woman from going any further but her mouth on her nipples had just felt too good. That led to her jeans being slid off and a wet, knowing mouth between her legs, bringing her to a series of sharp orgasms unlike anything she had experienced to that point in her life. And then it had been over, never to be repeated or offered again. She had worked another month there and then moved on to different pastures, burying the incident as deeply as possible. At least until now. What was happening here? Who was this woman? And what had happened to the man she'd been dancing with? Why wasn't he stopping this from happening?