Donna and Box - Sex Stories

Donna and Box

... never find out. Hold your tongue and let me use mine.’ And she did. So, as it happens, did I. When she had brought me close to the edge she’d stood, stripped her trousers off very slowly and then sinuously (have I used that adverb about her before?) slithered onto the bed. I spread her legs and feasted at the Y. ‘Time for a little tribadism, I think, College. No idea what it means but it sounds wonderful.’ She seemed to have grasped the essentials. Our pussies kissed deliciously and then, scissored, we rubbed, eyes locked, and after about four minutes all hell broke out. ‘Stone me, College!’ She was breathless as was I. ‘I must look that word up. It works for me.’ ‘I don’t think you need to look it up. You seem to have the right sow by the ear.’ ‘That sounds kinky.’ She gave a wicked grin. ‘Now, glad rags time. I trust you have brought the essentials?’ Donna loved watching me put stockings on. Showered and dried, both of which took longer than necessary, we dressed. I wore a black cocktail dress, one of her favourites and she wore mid-blue trousers and a cream silk camisole and looked far more feminine than she normally does. ‘No good looking at me like that. Just because I am not wearing jeans a t shirt that says ‘College’s Butch’ does not mean I have become all girly. This is business dress.’ ‘Works for me.’ ‘Oh, and by the way, yes.’ ‘Yes, what?’ ‘I think you might be a lesbian, given a bit of practice.’ The short walk to the gallery in warm sunshine and holding Donna’s ...

... hand was a pleasure. It was 8 pm and the streets were quieter than during the rush of the day. We arrived at the appointed place more quickly than I’d have liked. I would have preferred to string it out a bit. I always felt proud walking with her and enjoyed a few stares, some curious, some clearly admiring her lovely, svelte figure. My enjoyment was not marred either by the little jewel that Donna had placed in my bum before we left for the viewing. She had said, ‘Look after that for me, College. Keep it safe.’ Sheila Fennimore, whom I had not met prior to that evening, greeted Donna with a fierce embrace. ‘This is College,’ said Donna, her arm sliding deliciously possessively around my waist. ‘My lover.’ I swelled with pride. ‘Ah. The much-mentioned College. Pleased to meet you. Donna is my absolute favourite lady.’ ‘Mine too.’ Donna swatted my arse gently. ‘Be silent, hussy. You’re here purely as an ornament.’ There was a large audience and the gallery owner, called Julian, introduced the artist and mentioned Donna’s role in promoting her. More pride for me. Formalities over, the viewing began with a lot of sage nodding of heads and even more champagne. A hand caressed my arse. I didn’t normally mind when she did that, quite the opposite in fact, but since her hand was under my dress I was a bit concerned. ‘Nobody’s looking. I just wanted to feel those lovely knickers.’ Her finger traced the crack of my arse. ‘Chances are I’ll be having a poke at you later!’ ‘Stop it!’ She ...