Whitechapel - Sex Stories

Whitechapel

... pushed her harder. The other woman’s lips on her naked skin felt odd and ticklish, but her blood was racing and she felt giddy with power. She dragged the remainder of her clothes down her body, wanting to feel as much of Mary’s naked skin against hers as she could. Every touch and kiss and nibble Mary did made Rose gasp and squeal and flirt more, which made the customer more and more vulnerable. It seemed like a small miracle, how a tiny thing done over here could incite such a profound reaction over there. Rose didn’t know it, but she felt the way a born musician does the first time she picks up an instrument. She had Mary pressed against the headboard, squeezing the Irish girl’s naked breasts with one hand and putting two fingers of the other into Mary’s mouth. Mary’s wet pink tongue tickled her. Rose felt wetness blossoming between her legs and, distinctly, smelled the same between Mary’s. She bit her own lip as her eyes strayed down there. Should she? Did she dare? What would happen if…” The question was rendered moot when the man in the chair finished himself off. He breath caught in his throat and held until he released with a painful sounding grunt. He dribbled all over himself (and, Rose noted with annoyance, a little on the floor) and immediately looked embarrassed. He ended up paying even more than promised, seemingly for the privilege of getting himself out of the room, leaving only with a gasped "Thank you!" and half of a good night. Mary locked the door. Both ...

... women looked at each other, unsure what to do--and then they broke into almost hysterical laughter. Rose flopped down on the bed and laughed herself silly. It took even longer for Mary to quiet down. A cozy feeling permeated the little room. They ought to have been embarrassed to look at each other but as they dressed again they were all smiles--not lusting looks, but one redolent with the smug satisfaction of having gotten away with something and that only they two would ever know about. The comfort of it was almost enough to lull Rose to sleep, but Mary roused her back to the world of the waking with an unexpected question: "Do you ever think about leaving London?" Rose had several answers, first that she couldn't leave when Thomas needed her (even if he didn't want her help, even if he refused to take her visits), second that women like them talked about leaving but never did, third that there was nowhere else in the world she could think to go and that she imagined life outside the East End the way a fish imagines dry land. But she knew better than to say any of that. "Did I ever tell you about France?" Mary went on. "I was there when I was 21. This man fell so in love with me he paid to bring me along. Like he could just pack up a mistress in his valise for a trip. This is when I worked out in the west, in a proper house instead of on the street like we do now." Rose cocked her head. "No, you never did tell me." Most of the time she'd have assumed such a story was a lie, ...