Anything She Wants (3 page)

When we kissed, her mouth tasted like rubber and it was fitting and beautiful.
 

“I’ll get you some tea, kitten,” I whispered, kissing her forehead, but when I returned a few minutes later, she had fallen asleep. My kitten, such a hard, hard morning. Smiling, I left the tea by the bed and joined her, resting my eyes. The shiny black cock still stood to attention, pointing happily at the ceiling, glistening with her saliva, still waiting, and hungering to be pushed into her cunt. The cock could wait, though, and so could I.

Loving the Lady

Lucy Felthouse

In relationships with large age differences, people often assume it is the older person who instigates it. Something to do with power, or confidence, I guess. But when it came to Clarissa and me, those people couldn’t be more wrong. It was I who did all the running. I was determined to get my lady.

And a lady she was. As soon as I laid eyes on her at a posh charity do at the golf club I work at, I wanted her. Despite her advancing years, she looked truly stunning in a high-necked and high-backed midnight blue dress and matching shoes. She had a glass of obscenely expensive champagne in her hand—I should know, I’d poured it—and was surrounded by smiling, simpering people who appeared to hang on to her every word.

Only someone so used to watching people, so used to reading their body language, could have known that she didn’t really want to be there. That someone was me. I observed and noticed the too-tight grip on the crystal glass, the occasional clenching of her jaw and the slightly abandoned look in her eye as she forced another smile.

The man at her side, who I guessed was her husband, looked pleasant enough, as men go. But I knew just from watching them that their relationship existed on paper only. It was probably full of love and passion to start with, but not any more. The Lady—as I’d thought of her before I knew her name—gave him only cursory glances, and the most platonic of touches. He offered the same in return, and his gaze often followed the young waitresses who milled around in their short black skirts and tight white blouses. He wasn’t remotely subtle about it, either.

He didn’t check me out, though. I look too boyish, too male, to draw the attention of a straight man. That night, in my black trousers, flat black shoes and white shirt, I probably looked just like a man. With the exception of the slightest bumps in the chest area, so small as to be unnoticeable.

I was truly the Tramp to her Lady, but I honestly didn’t care. I wanted her. Wanted to ruffle her refined feathers, mess up her hair, turn her fake smiles into genuine ones, her forced laughs into giggles of pleasure.

I set out to do just that. I had no idea, of course, if she was interested in women, but I figured I would never know unless I tried.

So I headed to the serving hatch that led to the kitchen and picked up a tray loaded with new glasses of champagne. Ignoring the expectant glances aimed at me as I whizzed past groups of party goers, I headed directly towards the Lady and the people with her. Most of them took fresh glasses and replaced their empty ones with barely a glimpse in my direction. And certainly not a thank you—the posh types frequenting the golf club rarely noticed the hired help. But my lady did. She noticed me. Her gaze lingered rather too long on mine, before flicking quickly up and down my body and returning to meet my eyes.

I did a mental fist pump. I wasn’t sure if she realised that I was, in fact, female, but either way she’d checked me out. Result. Now I just had to figure out a way to seduce her.

I walked away before her group thought I was mad and circulated the room until my tray was full of empty glasses. It gave me the opportunity to think. By the time I put the tray on the serving hatch’s shelf, I had a plan.

I turned to face the room again, immediately pinpointing her. I fixed my gaze upon her mature, delicious figure and waited. She couldn’t fake interest in the conversation she was being forced to listen to indefinitely.

Sure enough, after a few minutes her eyes started to wander. A few seconds later, they alighted on me. I shifted my gaze from left to right to make sure no one was paying me any attention—except for her, of course—then looked back at her. Our eyes met and remained locked for far longer than a casual, disinterested period of time. Without breaking eye contact, I took a long step to my right—towards the door. I then subtly jerked my head in that direction and raised my eyebrows, so she couldn’t possibly be in any doubt as to what I was suggesting.

She gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod, then turned back to her companions and excused herself.

I left the room quickly and lingered in the opulent corridor so no one would see us leaving together. Not that anyone would realise what was happening. After all, why would a lady, a proper lady, want to go off with me?

I hung around just long enough for her to see me, then moved off down the corridor, pulling a set of keys from my pocket as I did. When I reached the supply cupboard door, I was ready. I pushed the shiny silver key into the lock and twisted it, then opened the door. I checked she was behind me. Then, after sticking my head into the minuscule room to make sure there was no one in there—you can never be too careful—I reached for her hand and pulled her into the cupboard with me, slamming and locking the door behind us so nobody could see or disturb us. The building was so modern that the light came on as it sensed our movement, bathing us in artificial light.

“Hi,” I said, turning around to face her. “I’m Antonia. But everyone calls me Toni.”

She let out a small squeak of surprise. “You’re... you’re...”

“Yes, a girl. But really, I think you already knew that, didn’t you?”

Her silence told me everything I needed to know. “And your name is?”

Her eyes widened, as though she could hardly believe I didn’t know. Then she seemed to remember I didn’t move in her circles—far from it—and her expression softened. “I’m Clarissa... just Clarissa.” She gave a nervous smile, and I wasn’t sure if she was trying to say she didn’t have a nickname or was unwilling to give her surname.

“Well, Just Clarissa, it’s lovely to meet you. Shall we stop talking and do what we came here to do?”

I leaned forward and covered her mouth with mine before she got a
 
chance to reply. She stiffened and let out a muffled sound of indignation.

I ignored it and carried on kissing her, wrapping my arms around her and pulling her closer to me. So close she could feel the dildo I was packing. I’d expected her to panic further, but instead she relaxed, positively wilted into my arms, into my embrace. Somehow, that little demonstration of manhood had calmed her down, had made her think that what she was doing was okay.

I came to the conclusion she’d never been with a woman before—much less a butch lesbian who definitely looked more male than female. I decided to tread carefully. I didn’t want to spook her and ruin my chance to screw someone as close to aristocracy as I was ever going to get.

I continued to kiss her, long and slow and passionate. I rolled my hips gently against hers, pressing my fake hardness against her very real softness. I suddenly wanted nothing more than to yank up her dress, tug down her knickers, if she was wearing any, and bury my face between her thighs.

I moaned into her mouth. She echoed me. The sound seemingly boosted her confidence, as she deepened the kiss, thrusting her tongue between my lips and seeking out mine. I let her, encouraged her, sweeping my tongue sensuously against hers, showing her how much I wanted her.

Sounds continued to emanate from our throats as we kissed. If my lips hadn’t been otherwise occupied, I would have been voicing expletives, instead. Clarissa just felt so damn good in my arms. Shapely, womanly, and so fucking responsive. Perhaps the danger, the fact that what we were doing was so risky, was turning her on further. I didn’t really care either way. I just cared that she was with me, for the time being at least.

Twisting my neck to pull away from the kiss took a great deal of willpower. Clarissa was a wonderful kisser, the sort of woman I could kiss all day and all night. But, sadly, we didn’t have forever to partake in our tryst, and I wanted, at the very least, a taste of her cunt before we had to part.

I dropped to my knees in front of her, and did the very thing I’d been dreaming of—pulled up her dress and yanked down her knickers. The undergarment was very skimpy, particularly for such a mature, classy woman, but I guessed that anything else would have ruined the lines of her dress or given her a visible panty line. She stepped out of them, and I tossed the scrap of lace to one side, then bade her to hold up the dress so I could get to the treasures beneath.

She gasped. “I’ve... I’ve never—”

“Shh,” I replied, placing my hands on her inner thighs. “I know. Don’t worry. Just keep quiet.” I pushed her legs apart, eager to feast on what was between them. As soon as my face was close enough to smell her, my own cunt clenched with need. She was wet, ready, and her musky arousal filled my nostrils, swept across my taste buds, threatening to make me salivate. And I hadn’t even tasted her yet.

I rectified that very quickly. I pushed my thumbs between her lower lips and pulled them apart. They were heavy, slick, and I gazed upon what I had revealed. A beautiful dark pink pussy, shimmering and swollen with need. Even as I looked, a trickle of cream seeped from her entrance and I quickly darted out my tongue and lapped it up.

Then, once I had started, I couldn’t possibly stop. She was delicious, perfect, and I desperately wanted more. I began to lick her with all the enthusiasm I felt, and before long she was trembling and mewling and I had to pause a moment to remind her to be quiet. I smirked as she let go of her dress with one hand and stuffed her fingers between her lips. Her straight white teeth dug into the skin and would muffle any sound she made. I decided to put it to the test.

Snaking my tongue around and into her most sensitive parts, licking up all her nectar, I then headed for the jackpot—her clit. I’d barely touched it up until now and already Clarissa had been making orgasmic noises, so I figured some stimulation in just the right place would send her over the edge in record time.

I wasn’t wrong. I flicked my tongue up and down, up and down on the swollen nub, trying hard to concentrate as Clarissa’s breaths turned to gasps and her moans grew more feral. I gently pushed her backwards so she was leaning against the door—I didn’t want her legs to give out as she came, or even before.

I curled two fingers inside her cunt as I circled her clit with my tongue and began to stimulate both her most erogenous zones at the same time. The nub at the apex of her vulva swelled further, and her walls clenched hard around my fingers. She was close.

I paused, only to purse my lips and wrap them around her clit, sucking it into my mouth, gently at first, then harder, applying a consistent amount of pressure as my fingers stimulated her g-spot at the same time. I’d barely gotten into my stride when she stiffened, falling utterly silent for several seconds before her cunt swelled and gripped so hard my fingers were forced out of her. They were followed by juices, copious juices, which covered my hand and arm.

Her shuddering, grunting state told me she’d also reached a more conventional climax and I deemed it safe to shift my lips from her clit. I shifted back and looked up at her face, her beautiful face as it contorted with pleasure, her eyes rolling back in her head, the lids fluttering shut. She looked as though she was in heaven.

I felt like I was, too. She’d barely touched me, and certainly not intimately, but I felt blissed-out, too. I suspected it was the situation—I’d just made the woman of my dreams shudder and come all over my hand. It was probably the first time in years that she’d climaxed without the aid of a toy or her own hand, and I would have happily done it again, and again.

But there was no time. Soon people would be looking for both of us. We had certain things expected of us, and others would make sure we did them.
 

Reluctantly, I reached out and grasped Clarissa’s knickers and handed them back to her. What I really wanted to do was take out my cock and fuck her with it. Fuck her hard and fast and through until she came all over again.

“Thank you,” she murmured, offering me a shy smile.

I bit back a laugh. We’d just gotten intimate—though not intimate enough, in my opinion—and now she was getting all coy? I decided to let her off. I was her first woman, and her first lover in a very long time, so the situation was really quite odd for her.

“For the knickers, or the orgasm?”

She’d been bending over to put her underwear back on, and she paused halfway down, putting her head about level with mine, as I still knelt on the floor.

“Both,” she whispered. Pressing a quick kiss to my lips, she then continued with her task, stepping into her panties—miraculously without getting them caught on her shoes—and pulling them up. Dropping her dress back into place, she began to tug and pull at it, making sure it was how it should be, then set about smoothing her hair down.

I got to my feet and did nothing, except watch her. I checked my clothes, but they weren’t messed up, and my cropped hairstyle was literally impossible to ruffle. It was almost as though nothing had happened.

When Clarissa finished tidying herself up, she did something completely and utterly unexpected. She pulled the pen from the top pocket of my shirt, grabbed my wrist and wrote a number on my hand. With a grin, she said, “Call me.”

Quickly, she turned and unlocked the door, peeking out into the corridor before slipping silently away. I pushed the door closed, needing a few more minutes to myself. If anyone found me, I’d claim I had a headache and was just having a little respite. With Clarissa gone, there was no reason to doubt me.

The rest of my shift passed so slowly I thought someone was messing with the clocks. It was torture, seeing the woman I’d just made love to work the room, give and receive smiles and shake hands. I wanted those hands on me, for her to return the favour, to come all over her dainty fingers and regal mouth.