#Lesbian #Mature #Threesome
The summer sun can be unbearable sometimes. If the air’s too still, if it feels like you’re trying to move through damp cotton, or trying to breathe the sweat of a thousand people. All you want to do is lie in the shade, sip a cold drink and wait for the heat to pass.
But if there’s a breeze, it can be delightful. It’s like the perfect recipe, two ingredients that fit together like champagne and caviar, or tea and strawberry scones, or port and chocolate.
The sun showers you with warmth and light. The breeze soothes the heat, freshens the air, washes away the smells. The world comes alive.
On this particular day I decided to go to the park. The sun and the breeze were too delicious to ignore, so I pulled on a loose yellow top with spaghetti straps and a white cotton skirt — tiny flowers embroidered into the material, the hem reaching to halfway down my calves — and went out.
It was only a short walk, and easy on my low-heeled sandals, but it was hot. The streets around my house were too close to let the breeze play properly, and cars and air conditioning units added their own oppression and stink to the sun’s heat. The noise of car engines and the screams of playing children echoed back and forth between the brick and glass, and I was relieved when I saw green ahead of me.
The difference was almost tangible as soon as I crossed the street and passed the gate into the park. Here the breeze was waiting for me, teasing at my skirt and leading me forward. The harsh sounds and hot smells behind me faded away, making way for birdsong, distant laughter and far off the sound of someone playing a saxophone.
I went looking for somewhere to be alone. Away from the surrounding streets and the apartments overlooking the park. Away from the paths and the people winding their slow way from one end to the other. Away from the pond where I knew children and dogs would be playing before the day was much older.
I settled on a spot near the top of a low rise. Behind me stood a stand of trees, close together so that the sunlight didn’t reach the ground. It was early enough that the birds were still chattering, and the breeze wrapped itself around my legs like an affectionate cat.
The wooden bench that I chose was comfortable, and gave a wide view. Below me the grass fell away to the pond, shimmering in the sunlight whenever the breeze touched it. Here and there sat or lay people, by themselves or in pairs, talking, reading or simply enjoying the day and the strains of saxophone music.
Beyond rose the apartment blocks, four or five storeys high. The windows were like dark sunglasses, hiding watching eyes that might be peering down. On another day I might have moved closer to them, to give them a better view. But today was for myself.
The wood felt rough through my top and the cotton of my skirt. I wasn’t wearing anything — anything — underneath, and I could feel the slight texture on my back, my arse, my thighs. It contrasted with the gentle stroking of the summer’s breeze on my face and along my arms, over the skin of my chest and up under my skirt’s hem.
Comfortable on the bench, with the sun warming me and the breeze cooling me, I opened an audiobook on my phone and hit play. The words flowed across the short space from my phone to my earbuds, and I closed my eyes, sat back and let my mind drift.
It was a good audiobook. An Overly Familiar Stranger, the newest romance by Everett Mazen. So of course it was a series of steamy sex scenes, connected by the flimsiest excuse for a story.
In my current mood, it was perfect. I sat and listened, the sun hot and red through my eyelids, while Rubia the heroine fled from abductors, only to find herself in the clutches of a menacing stranger and his henchwoman.
I’d just finished a chapter where the stranger strapped Rubia up in his dungeon, naked, and spanked her. I’d never been much into spanking or bondage, but the scene was well written, and the narrator was good too, and by the end I was squeezing my thighs together in a pleasant rhythm and my hands were clutching at my skin through my skirt.
Suddenly I became aware that the sun wasn’t shining as brightly on my face. A cloud, I thought, but it didn’t go away. The red heat beating at my eyelids darkened, and I opened my eyes and squinted up.
”Lightskirt!”
The word spat from a tall figure, silhouetted against the sky. Loud enough to be clear over the voice in my earbuds. Loud enough to convey the venom in the tone.
I took the buds from my ears and squinted again while my eyes adjusted. I saw a man, dressed in a dark suit over a white shirt, with mirrored sunglasses blanking his eyes. He was lean, verging on thin, with large, bony hands and a long face. A wide-rimmed fedora cast shadows along his sunken cheeks.
”Lightskirt,” he hissed again. “Temptress. She-devil.”
I’m rarely lost for words, but now I could only gape at him. He seemed to tower over me, even from five feet away, but made no move to come closer.
”He means the way you’re dressed.” Another voice, female, from the side. “As in, barely at all.”
”What?” I rose from the bench, slipping the buds into a pocket in my skirt. The saxophone had fallen silent. I glanced at the newcomer while keeping my eye on the man. I’d taken enough self-defence classes not to let myself be placed at a disadvantage. But right now the situation was more strange than threatening.
The woman approaching along the path was dressed like the man in a dark suit and white shirt, but without the sunglasses or hat. Her dark hair was tied back in a severe style that matched the expression on her face.
It could have been a goodlooking face without the sternness. A high forehead, pronounced eyebrows that set off a pair of large brown eyes, and a wide mouth with full lips. She was shorter than her companion, and younger — not more than her mid-twenties, while he seemed to be two decades her senior.
Her eyes were travelling over me with disapproval. “Lightskirt indeed. Shameless, with your skin showing through what little you’re wearing. And worse than skin!” Her gaze settled on my breasts.
I glanced down and saw that my nipples were pressing against the yellow top. Almost like they wanted to burst out. They were clearly visible through the thin material. It had been a good audiobook.
”So what?” In other circumstances, I’d probably have told them both to fuck off. Who were they to judge me, to say what to wear?
But the memory of the audiobook was still fresh. Especially the spanking scene. Something about this couple — the man, in particular — put me in mind of it. “What do you plan to do about it?” To emphasise my point, I reached up with one hand and pinched my nipple.
”Jezebel!” The man spoke in little more than a gasp, tearing the mirrored glasses from his face. “Whore of Baal!”
I smirked. His pale skin had flushed red, and he seemed on the verge of having a fit. Dark eyes were filled with fire. “Nobody’s whore but my own, old man. It’s my body, so you can admire it or look away.”
He fell silent at that, mouth working as if he wanted to speak but his brain wasn’t supplying the words.
His companion stepped closer to me. “So you admit it. You deliberately tempt us — tempt men — by flaunting your body.” There was no heat in her voice. She breathed in, eyeing me up and down. “Shame. Shame on you.”
This was beyond absurd. Perhaps the noise-cancelling buds had created a distance between me and the world, but it just didn’t seem real. It was as if nothing that happened here could have real consequences.
”Shame?” I asked. “So I shouldn’t stroke my nipples?” Which was precisely what I did. Both hands. Both nipples.
A choking sound came from the man. The woman just watched.
I decided that boldness was the best course of action. “Who are you, and why should I care what you think of me?”
The man was still spluttering. The woman glanced at him. “This is the Most Reverend Doctor White. He’s an expert on all matters of Sin.” I could hear the capital S.
”And sitting in the sun is a sin?”
”It is when you present your body for everyone to see!” It was the Reverend Doctor, his voice grating and harsh. His hands worked on the glasses, turning them over and over. “It is when you invite anyone who passes to lust after you!”
”Is that what’s happening here?” I turned to him and leaned forward so my top slipped down to expose my cleavage. “Is the expert on sin lusting after me?”
His eyes bulged. Partly it seemed to be in outrage, but they lingered a bit too long on the good stuff. “Beware, lightskirt, or by the power of the Lord I will drive the Sin out of you!”
I raised my eyebrows. “Try.”
I suppose I ought to try to justify this. Normally, outnumbered two to one — and one of them a man — I’d never have escalated. Like any woman, I’d be on my guard, making sure I had a quick retreat. I wouldn’t let them get too close, wouldn’t let them hem me in. Would definitely not step closer and do anything that might trigger them.
But there was something fey in my blood. The sunshine and the breeze, the erotic audiobook, the sense of detachment from my noise-cancelling earbuds. It was almost like I was in a lucid dream. Nothing was real, nothing had any consequences. I could just go with the flow and see what happened.
So, as the Reverend Doctor’s face turned scarlet, I slipped my phone into the waistband of my skirt and turned to walk away.
But before I’d taken three steps the woman’s voice came from behind me. “Doctor! She wears nothing underneath!”
The sunlight must have been shining through the thin material. I reached down and pulled my skirt up to expose my arse.
The man made a choked sound, and the nameless woman gave a hiss. “She must be punished! Doctor, you must punish this sinfulness!”
Behind me I heard what sounded like the Reverend Doctor moaning. “Seize her, Sister Agatha! Don’t let her escape!”
I turned as the woman — Sister Agatha — came rushing up. My hands were still shaking out my skirt, but she grabbed my bare arm. It wasn’t a strong grip, and I could have broken it if I’d wanted.
”Into the trees,” she said to the Reverend Doctor. “No others need to see her shame.”
He nodded, tucked his sunglasses into a pocket of his jacket and strode away. Sister Agatha gave me a frown and followed, drawing me after her. It came to me that her zeal wasn’t quite the same as Doctor White’s zeal. Her words and her look carried an undertone of repression, of excitement beneath the outrage.
I let myself be led along, curious to see where this was going. The fey mood was still on me, and these two seemed to pose more of a verbal danger than a physical one.
It wasn’t long before we reached a small clearing between the trees. Grass grew in patches, with packed earth showing in between. The air was soft, muted, carrying a light scent of tree and summer. A metal bench stood below a cast iron lamppost, both relics from long past. Doctor White halted and turned to us. His nostrils were flared, and his eyes burned.
”Do you understand your sin?” he demanded of me.
I stood, Sister Agatha’s hand still grasping my wrist, and looked up at him. “Is it that I’m a woman?”
The grip on my wrist tightened to tell me I’d guessed wrong. Or not guessed what they wanted to hear, at least.
”Is it that I’m not ashamed of my body?”
”These earthly shapes we bear are vessels of temptation and sin!” the Reverend Doctor proclaimed. “Decent people cover them, hide them, bury them beneath clothes. But you,” he waved a finger under my nose, “you flaunt yourself. Lightskirt. Jezebel.”
”And whore of Baal.”
”Whore of Baal!” It was Sister Agatha, beside me. “Seducing men, seducing women. Distracting them from the pureness of the soul!” Did I hear a faint tremble in her voice when she mentioned seducing?
”I didn’t mean to seduce you. I’d never seduce anyone who didn’t want it.” I tried to put a note of contrition in my words.
”Repent!” Doctor White raised that finger to the canopy of trees above us. “Do you repent?”
”Uhm…”
”Repent, and I will reward you.”
”Sure.”
His face relaxed into a smile. With those dark, burning eyes, it made him almost handsome, in a gaunt way. “Sister Agatha, help us. You must hold her.”
The woman seemed to know what he meant. She drew me towards the bench and sat down, holding my hands on her legs. My phone slipped free, slithered along my leg and landed softly on the patchy grass. I leaned forward, my arse in the air, boobs swinging inside my top. Sister Agatha’s hands pressed mine onto her knees.
I heard the Reverend Doctor step up beside me. “Pain is the reward for the contrite. Only through repentance and punishment can sin be driven out.” I felt him lifting my skirt up around my waist to expose my arse and holding it in place with a hand on my lower back. “This pain will cleanse you, if you let it.”
The summer air was warm on my skin. There was a bit of a breeze, even here under the trees, and now it explored between my legs and up.
Smack!
It came out of nowhere, even though I’d expected it. For a split second there was nothing, then I felt a smarting pain on my right arse cheek.
”Repent.” He said it without heat or emotion.
Smack! “Repent.”
Both my cheeks glowed. The breeze glided over them, soothing the heat.
Smack!
The force of it drove me forward, into Sister Agatha. My face was pressed against her chest, so close I could feel her heartbeat through her clothes. There was a flush on her neck. I smelled cheap soap, but beneath it a warm, feminine scent.
Smack!
This time I rode the blow, letting it drive me forward. My lips were at Sister Agatha’s neck. I could see the pulse beating. I decided to kiss it.
She didn’t seem to notice. “Repent,” she intoned, but her voice caught.
Doctor White struck again. By now my lips were sucking at Sister Agatha’s neck, nibbling her skin. She opened her mouth to speak, but all that came out was a soft moan.
Again the Reverend Doctor struck. “Repe–” The word choked off. He must have caught sight of us.
I’d torn one hand free from Sister Agatha’s grasp and placed it on the side of her face as I licked and kissed her neck and cheek. The scent of her body grew stronger. Her head was thrown back, eyes closed, mouth working in silent prayer.
The Reverend Doctor’s hand rested on my arse, seemingly forgotten. I could almost picture him, eyes robbed of their fire, hard mouth hanging open. Let’s see what this expert on sin knows, I thought to myself.
I let my hand glide down from Sister Agatha’s cheek to her jacket. The buttons came undone without protest, and I slipped my hand inside. The material of her shirt was cheap, and I felt her bra beneath: basic and utilitarian.
I cupped her breast. It was a small handful, firm and warm. I rubbed with my thumb, finding her nipple straining against the thin material covering it. Her silent prayers turned into a gasp, then a whimper. She made no move to stop me, though. Her grip tightened on my other hand, clutching it against her thigh.
Doctor White’s hand on my arse shifted. Then I felt a squeeze. It seemed almost involuntary. His earthly shape giving in to temptation and sin, before his mind knew what was happening.
Sister Agatha’s mind knew what was happening though. As I let my lips trace their way across her cheeks, she shook her head ever so slightly. It was a protest, a losing battle, because as her face turned back her lips met mine.
She froze. Her eyes opened. I looked into them, holding her gaze. Then slowly, ever so slowly, I parted my lips and kissed her.
I read somewhere that some cultures don’t know kissing, but once they’re introduced to it they eagerly adopt it. Sister Agatha was like that. After a moment’s hesitation, she kissed me back, hungrily, mouth open and tongue probing at mine. Her hands came up to my face, cupping my cheeks, holding me against her. She didn’t want this kiss to end.
”Sister Agatha…” It was the Reverend Doctor, almost forgotten. His voice was uncertain, and he cleared his throat before trying again. “Sister, what’s happening?”
Expert on sin my arse.
We ignored him and lost ourselves in the kiss. It took only a few seconds to pull her blouse loose from her trousers and slide my hand beneath it. Her skin was smooth and warm. She flinched at my touch, paused in the kiss, then resumed it with even more eagerness than before.
I didn’t waste any time with her bra. Instead I pulled it up over her breasts. It went easily, cheap as it was, and then her nipples were free for me to play with.
It was clear that this was a new sensation for Sister Agatha. She moaned into my mouth and her lips and tongue seemed to forget what they were doing. I took the opportunity to move my kisses back to her neck, and she threw her head back with a gasp.
It wasn’t the most comfortable position, though, and she clearly realised it. Her hands left my face and began to tear at her clothes. She struggled out of her jacket, then fumbled with the buttons of her blouse until she could pull it over her head. The cheap white bra went with it.
”Sister…” Doctor White breathed. His fingers, forgotten on my arse, began to make small motions. Small stroking motions. Small acts of contrition to ease the pain of the spanking.
I turned my attention to the other woman’s breasts. They were small, but nicely shaped, with dark pink nipples that were swelling and straining. She pulled my face towards hers again and kissed me, kissed me like her life depended on it, kissed me with fire and desire and the first exploration of sin.
At first I stroked her breasts gently, and she gasped into my mouth. Then I tweaked her nipples, and she moaned. Then I pinched them, pulled them, twisted them, and she fell back, shuddering and keening, her body trembling and giving small spasms that continued while I played with her, until she gave a choked moan of “Please, please…” and I let her come down, softly stroking her, brushing my fingers over her skin and pulling her towards me again to kiss her.
”Sister Agatha,” the man spoke again, “what happened?” His fingers were still absently stroking my arse, in small movements that came ever closer to my crack and the burning ache between my cheeks.
”Oh,” she replied, still gasping, eyes wide, “oh, Reverend Doctor, I– I’ve seen Paradise!”
Well, that was one way to put it. I recalled my own first orgasm, and how it was as close to ecstasy as I could imagine anything being.
”We should show him, too.” That was the devil inside me.
She nodded eagerly, but kissed me again. One hand on my cheek, she looked into my eyes. “Thank you,” she whispered.
I smiled and drew her from the bench. Doctor White’s hands slipped from my arse as I rose and turned. The dappled sunlight shone white on Sister Agatha’s skin, except the flush on her cheeks and neck.
She was clearly unsure what to do, so I pulled her round with me and pressed her down until we were both kneeling before the Reverend Doctor. His eyes, which before had been so fiery and certain, were now dimmed with doubt.
But in the front of his trousers I could see a sizable bulge that strained against the material. “Watch,” I told Sister Agatha, and undid the man’s trousers. Belt, button, zip. Slowly, leisurely. Doctor White didn’t speak, either in protest or in encouragement, but his body trembled and seemed to want to thrust forward.
His trousers came down to reveal sensible white underpants that were tenting alarmingly. A wet patch had formed in them, where his precum had leaked through the cotton.
I glanced aside at Sister Agatha, saw her eyes and mouth wide open. A match made in Heaven, I thought to myself as I pulled down the garment to reveal the man’s cock
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#Lesbian #Mature #Threesome
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