Anything She Wants (7 page)

From that angle, I can slip my finger around the lace edge of her panties and sink it inside her. She’s soaked. Her cunt clinches my finger instantly, and she moans out loud, the sound ricocheting off the brick walls around us. Someone could pass us, I know this, and the real danger is being caught by the cops that patrol this area of town, but I’m drunk on the power that I suddenly have, and the way this girl feels under me, pushing against me eagerly, in a way that is surprising and familiar at once.

My thumb hits her clit just under the wet panel of her panties and she groans again, turning her head to the side to grind her chin and cheek against her shoulder in a desperate motion to maintain some kind of control. Her lower half, though, has no such compunctions, and she’s rocking her pelvis back and forth to fuck my hand back. Her pussy is so wet, juices drip down over my wrists.

She digs her own hand into her hair, and I push my free one up over her taut stomach to a quivering breast. It’s an easy motion to tug the dress down, exposing one dark nipple for my fingers to pluck and twist. She only barely manages to shove her hand against her mouth against her cry, but it’s sharp, and needy, and I feel my own clit throb in response, blood burning in my veins.

She comes with a hard grunt—a scream against her palm—and bucks against my hand. My fingers are soaked, thumb pressed hard to her clit, and I keep my fingers inside her to feel her pulse around me, rhythmic, like dancing.

I catch her at the small of her back when she goes boneless, eyes rolling back in her head. My body shields her from anyone who might happen by the opening of the alley, and my mouth veers close to her ear once again.

“So, you tell me,” I say, sliding my fingers from her pussy, lifting them, dripping, to her mouth. Her tongue snakes forth to taste herself there, a giggle, rough and low, making her body shudder lightly.

“Yeah,” she says, opening her eyes a crack, a smile playing on her lips. “You can dance.”

The Dress

Vanessa de Sade

I tell myself that I only keep the dress because I want to pass it on to my own daughter, although I know this is a lie. I am forty-nine years old and have a husband who has not attempted to navigate the path to my bed in well over a decade. I will never have a daughter.
 

And so the dress moulders in my attic amongst the fragments of my broken dreams, pristine, like Snow White in her glass coffin, its corsage of organza roses now as fragile as butterfly wings between the gossamer sheets of tissue paper that preserve the last lingering scents of my Cassandra.
 

Ah, Cassandra. Twenty years my senior, she ran a little dress maker’s shop in the old quarter of town, a modest single-fronted unit in a mellow red sandstone terrace, now long since bulldozed to make way for some neon-streaked shopping mall. But ever since I had been a little girl I had pressed my nose against her window and dreamt about the delights within, promising myself that, when the time came, Cassandra would be the one to make my wedding dress and that I would walk down the aisle in yards and yards of sparkling white tulle and looking like a fairy princess.

However, things being what they were, impatience got the better of me, and, after university and slaving for four years behind the counter of a sweaty local pizza restaurant, not to mention fending off the equally sweaty advances of my boss, I had saved enough to commission Cassandra to make the dress for my graduation ball. The contents of my denuded post office book clutched in my hand, I opened the door and walked determinedly into her winter white Snow Queen’s kingdom.

Outside, a chill wind was blowing and the rustling trees were tinged with their first scarlet blush, but, leading me past her alabaster mannequins and towering bolts of frosty-white fabrics, Cassandra took me into the warmth of the secret room behind the public façade of her icy realm. Here, the walls were papered in an intimate chrome yellow paper with a leafy Morris design, and a fire burned in the tiny grate, filling the room with the autumnal scents of wood smoke and pine resin, while rich Aubusson rugs draped the old walnut floorboards like a caress.

Cassandra smiled at me and sat me in a saggy arts and crafts chair, its soft cushions cradling my body in a tender lover’s embrace, and I flicked through pattern books while she sat on the floor, curled on the faded old rug like a tabby cat purring at my feet. She was a short, blonde woman, buxom and curvy, like an old fifties pin-up girl spilling out of her low-cut black dress, her huge breasts rising and falling with her breathing, her deep, deep cleavage an ivory chasm that I wanted to tumble into headfirst.

Finally, I found a pattern that I loved and she led me to a corner of the room where an old screen decorated with picture-postcards of Gaiety Girls stood waiting.

“Come along then, my duck,” she laughed, sliding her tape measure from where it had nestled around her neck like a whip. “Just strip off for me and we’ll get your measurements down in a jiff.”

“Strip off?” I stammered, and she smiled.

“Just to your underwear, my goose, I don’t need you starkers or anything,” she laughed, stroking my hair. “Now get along with you and hop behind the screen for me so we can get started.”

Scarlet, I turned my back to her and quickly pulled my sweater up over my head, ashamed of my old white bra, then let my jeans fall to the floor, standing there in just those old blue and white floral panties that didn’t quite contain my creamy white buttocks.

“There, that wasn’t so terrible now, was it, duck?” Cassandra’s voice whispered in my ear like a kiss, as she ran her warm hands over my hips and snaked the worn fabric of her tape measure around me, binding me to her. “Let’s just turn you around and we’ll get your sizes down. Oh, nice bust, duck, what’s that, a forty-two? Oh my goodness me, no, a forty-four! Same as me. What cup, dear? Double-dee?”

I blushed crimson again as she caressed my breasts with her tape’s loving touch, my nipples pricked up like hard-paste dolly mixtures under my bra, but, somehow, I managed to nod agreement.

“Thought so,” she said, scribbling hieroglyphics onto her little pad. “Same as mine. Now, let’s get your waist, oh, very nice and nippy like a waspie, and the hips and inseam. My, aren’t you a perfect hour glass, duck.”

Her soft hands were running up my inner thighs by now, the measuring tape like a meandering silk ribbon as it snaked between my legs and stroked my pussy in passing, making me shiver with delight and go goose-pimply all over. Though I was dying of embarrassment, convinced that my bush was protruding from the crotch of my knickers, at the same time I was more aroused than I had ever been in my entire life, and I knew that, as soon as I got home, I would rush to my room to masturbate while the scents of Cassandra’s kingdom were still clinging to my tingling skin.
 

* * *

The night of our dance finally rolled around, the leaves falling from the calendar in my dorm room like the ocherous foliage on the October trees outside, marking the incipient end of the first chapter of my adult life, and I walked the couple of streets to Cassandra’s store to collect my gown and have her dress me.

“Well, well, belle of the ball then, duck,” Cassandra clucked as I disrobed in front of her, emboldened enough now not to have to cower behind the faded decoupage of the scanty screen. “Here, step carefully into the skirt while I do up the bodice.”

I could hear the rustle of petticoats, the whispers of stiff tulle and crinkled lace, as she slid the waistband up over my hips and pulled the top to below my arms, cupping my breasts as she did so.

“Nice?” she asked, her voice like gravel and honey in my ear, her musky scent an infusion of perfume and nicotine, heady and potent.

“Gorgeous,” I replied, letting out a long breath as Cassandra’s chubby hands massaged my tits into the dress’s whale-boned front.

“All right, now let me just fasten you up and… Oh!”

Her hands had suddenly stopped their butterfly caress of my bosom and I could sense her forehead crinkling into a frown.

“What on earth?” She muttered vexedly. “No, that can’t be so, I checked and double checked those measurements…”

“What is it?” I asked, anxiously, suddenly aware of the old clock on the mantelpiece sighing the quarter hour with a soft melodic chime.

“It’s your dress, duck, it’s too tight. I can’t quite fasten it.”

In my head, I saw the last three frantic weeks unravel like a reel of old film, the desperate cramming for exams, the midnight hours, the endless rounds of pizza and beer. No wonder my dress no longer fitted, I must have gained at least ten pounds.

Cassandra seemed to read my mind. “Oh dear, oh dear.” She smiled. “Exam cram was it, duck? Put on a pound or two, have we. Not to worry, I’ll soon fix you up.”

“How?” I demanded, a fraction of an inch away from tears. “How are you going to make me lose all that weight in fifteen minutes?”

She smiled again. “Well, my goose, maybe you do know all those law books of yours inside out, but there are some things your mother should have told you. Like the healing properties of a decent foundation garment, for one. Let me see, what do we have in stock…
 
Oh dear, I’ve nothing in your size, duck. Looks like you’ll have to borrow mine. Unzip me, there’s a love!”

She stepped out of the inky black dress like a mermaid shedding her skin, her big round body trussed up in a shiny foundation garment that glistened in the mellow lamplight like gleaming white sharkskin.
 
Utilitarian suspenders held up silky tan stockings, so sheer that they were almost nude, and she wore no bra beneath the tenacious elastane webbing that wrapped itself so tightly around her girth. Possibly, no panties either.

“Here, undo me.” Her big breasts rose and fell with her rapid breathing, and despite her mundane remarks, I could sense that the ritual stripping was as arousing to her as it was to me.

I fumbled with hooks and eyes with trembling fingers, breathing in the scent of her hair as I denuded her, eventually peeling the girdle off her like a latex mould, and she stepped out of her bounds and stood naked before me. She was astounding, her body big, white and untouched, like the virgin snows of Antarctica, breasts like firm cherry-topped blancmanges, deliciously rounded belly and hips, and, oh my god, what a cunt. Her pudenda was high and full, like a codpiece, and smooth and shiny, freshly shaved, crinkly pink labia spilling out from her deep and inviting slit.
 

I knew I was staring but I didn’t care, and I let my too-tight dress drop to my feet again and stood facing her in just my bra and pants.

“You’ll need to take that bra off if you want to get into this, duck,” she whispered, watching me intently, holding up the corselette but meaning something entirely different. “And maybe those knickers too…”

I nodded and reached behind me for the catch on my bra and let it fall to the floor with the dress. I had on a matching top-and-panties set in black lace tonight—I’d wanted to look good for her—but now I just wanted to get naked as soon as I could, and my own sizeable breasts quivered with excitement, my nipples hard and firm like glossy black olives, as my bra hit the ground.

“Help me with these?” My voice was barely audible as I slid my fingers under the waistband of my panties.

“Certainly,” Cassandra replied with a grin, running her fingers inside my underwear and copping a feel of my thick bush before she slowly pulled my knickers down, leaving them at my knees and leaning back to survey me like Pygmalion inspecting the sculpture of his beloved.

“I knew you were one of us, I just knew it,” she purred, her face very close to mine. “But I think I’m your first, am I right, duck?”
 

“Why don’t you kiss me and find out?” I breathed, barely able to contain my excitement, her body so close and so naked, her scent overpowering.

Cassandra laughed. “Eager little madam, aren’t we?” she teased, her lips almost upon mine, her breath hot on my face. Close up, she smelt of lipstick and face-powder, and something else… peppermint.
 
She’d sprayed her mouth with breath freshener in case a kiss was imminent.
 

“Shut up and kiss me,” I replied, drawing her to me, and suddenly her mouth was on mine. She landed a good firm kiss on me, her lips eating me up, her tongue exploring me. I could feel my knees turning to water and my cunt… well, that had already turned to water when I first undressed her.

She was rubbing herself against me like a horny dog, and her smooth pussy felt good on my thigh as she slid it slowly up and down.
 
Our kiss became stronger and deeper, her tongue filling my mouth. I could feel her small hands all over my ass, making me want to throw her down on the floor and fuck her blindly.

“You’ve got a bum to die for, duck,” she gasped, kneading my firm fat flesh. “I can’t wait to get my tongue down there and worm it all the way up your tight little corn-hole.”

I blushed scarlet again at the lewdness of her remark, but at the same time felt so aroused that there was no liberty that I would not permit her to take with me.

“Oh, please don’t tease me any more,” I moaned. “Just fuck me, any way you like, but just do it to me.”

She laughed and pushed me down into the big soft chair, pulling my panties off as I landed before parting my legs. My cunt opened like a newly split fig, all hot pomegranate pinks and ruby reds, everything slick with moisture like a hothouse flower covered in sap that lures unsuspecting insects to their deaths.

“Nice.” She looked me over with lust-slaked eyes, her fingers already in my thick panther fur, touching and probing, pulling my wide open pussy lips further apart.

“Fuck me.” I still wasn’t sure how she would perform this. I had, as she had so rightly guessed, never been with a woman before, but I’d once seen an old Rodox magazine where two girls had done it, one strapping on a rubber cock to penetrate her lover’s furry wonderland.

Cassandra, though, had different ideas, and she first straddled my upper leg and rubbed her own cunt along it, letting me smell her wetness and arousal, then she suddenly dropped to her knees between my thighs and began to kiss and lick my pussy.