Trigynia 01

"Yes, yes," she cried as her orgasm began to burst. Harder and faster she rubbed her clitoris, desperate to accentuate and prolong the ecstasy of the moment, "come for me," she sighed to herself, to her pussy and to her imaginary lovers, "I want you to come for me so much ... oh this is so good," she moaned, her three fingers twisting inside her hot, open pussy, gorging on her come, "don't stop," she commanded, "don't stop ... mmm," she breathed, her fingertips squeezing her throbbing clitoris unrelentingly, her fingers exploiting and pleasing her vagina unselfishly.

"Want to keep on coming," she panted, her heart pounding as the orgasm burst through her body, "don't want to stop ... never stop." Without allowing her body any pause she drove herself on wildly, urgently, impiously to a repeat climax, wanting and having herself with more dissolute licentiousness than she had ever known. As she felt a trickle of creamy come ooze between her buttocks she promised her mouth full use of her gooey fingers as soon as her second orgasm was complete, a desire which aroused her and drove her on and on.

"Do you want me now Cristabel," she cried, "do you want to feel your Headmistress's pussy, feel and taste her come, feel and squeeze and kiss her clitoris, finger and lick her sex? Mmm, I know you want me Cristabel," she moaned, her second orgasm fizzing up near her diaphragm, "like I want you ... mmm, I know you want me angel, want to take me in my room, want to walk in and find me with my panties down, my pussy waiting for you ... mmm, would you like that baby," she moaned, "would you like me to pull up my dress, push down my panties and make myself come while you watch me?" Ruby panted, her body on the edge of a fabulously powerful climax, "I want you to have me Cristabel, use me, enjoy me and ... oh my god, yes, I'm coming for you angel, coming so much, feel me come baby, feel your Ruby come just for you ... oh this is so good, so hot, so wet, so good ... yes, oh baby yes ... oh my, yes, Yes!"

As she calmed down Ruby sat up and reached for her wine. Talking a long cool sip she smiled contentedly - what more could a woman want, she wondered, than a good wine, a great orgasm and a gorgeous young girl to share them with. "To you Cristabel," she toasted.

In the following couple of weeks before half-term Ruby learned to enjoy her new double life. By day, she was professionally and genuinely friendly and supportive of her young would-be lover; alone, away from school she was anything but. She tried hard to keep any trace of her new lust from Dominic, perhaps too hard though he did not for a moment consider that her cheerfulness was anything more than perennial good humour, nor that her generous passion when they made love was anything but a repeat of a mood he had enjoyed many times through their long and happy marriage. He might, therefore, have been curiously impressed by the irrepressible ardour with which she now loved to make herself come whenever he was out of the house. He would, however, have been truly shocked - and a little threatened - if he'd been able to read the thoughts that inspired such committed moments of self-love.

For her own part Ruby was fascinated and delighted by the increasingly liberal wantonness of her fantasies. Just like her first orgasm with and for an imaginary Cristabel, her desire and self-seduction continued to be aroused by a longing for the touch, the feel, the taste of the beautiful Miss Pozzi. She dreamed of those dark eyes hungering after her body, craved the kiss of those pouting lips against her nipples, swooned at the thought of that sweet tongue between her plump labia ... yet, each and every time she felt herself sliding inexorably and lusciously towards a climax her fantasies became wilder, richer, dirtier. Again and again, as the days went past, she came with an intensity made all the more delicious by the momentary belief that she lay naked in the company of a number of sensually like-minded and desirous women.

By the time half-term began Ruby was completely and contentedly captivated by the vividness of her lesbian desires and the joyousness of her obsessively passionate self-love. She spent the entirety of the Monday dressing and undressing herself for her own pleasure, coming wonderfully through a series of imaginary orgies all around her house. On the Tuesday she indulged in a little morning retail therapy, buying a range of alluring and exotic panties, knickers, bras and camisoles, stockings and suspenders, thrilling herself all afternoon by playing out a fantasy of being willingly seduced in just the kind of intimate boutique she had so enjoyed spending time in that same morning. After a relaxing bath and a light bite to eat, knowing that Dominic would be home late, she sat down at her computer with a rather vague intention of searching out something a little risqué. She began by searching for what she thought might be commonly labelled lesbian porn, finding nothing but disappointment in the never-ending stream of pictures of bored-looking girls pretending to be worked-up by other bored-looking girls. A different search, for lesbian erotica, brought slightly more interesting results, not least an artily-arousing black and white montage featuring two genuinely beautiful women in deliciously sexy black underwear. From there, almost by accident, she found herself redirected into Literotica.

Intuition told her to try again, one last time. Her first impression of Literotica was not good. Having been driven by her newfound desire to enter the lesbian sex genre, she found herself frustrated by the poor quality and pointless vulgarity of the first three stories she opened. She was neither a puritan nor a pedant - she accepted that some people would be excited by the material she rejected. But she wanted something more meaningful and feminine than the kind of derivative dross that suggests women who love other women secretly do so hoping to excite a man! Still, having found one site of lesbian erotica she felt sure she could find another, meaning she would give the story spinner one last try and if it failed her she would look elsewhere. Then, almost by accident, she noticed the search feature. What to say, what to ask for, she pondered, settling on two words she thought kind of describe her. Lesbian wife, she typed, gaining instant access to a range of interesting sounding stories.

One in particular drew her attention, partly because the authoress, Sapphic Sapphire, seemed a kind of echo of her own feelings and name. Partly also because of the title: The Rector's Wife, suggested a respectable woman like herself exploring the true meaning of her deepest longings. She caressed herself intimately and delicately as she scrolled slowly through the text:

* * * * *

Beatrice and Carole were very careful ladies. They cared deeply about the health and vitality of their village. They devoted hours of their time to charity bazaars, clubs for the elderly, fetes for the children and good works for the church. They were well loved by their families and well respected by everyone. They also had a secret which they took great care to protect. Chance or fate had brought them to the village, destiny or maybe even something more mystical, had helped them find each other. Every Tuesday and Thursday morning, they made tender and passionate love.

As the rector's wife, Beatrice was more inclined to believe in divine intervention as the key to the joy she had found with Carole - faith wasn't compulsory for her role, but why, she thought, turn down the possibility of a company benefit? Real and sincere though her love and desire for Carole was, she was acutely conscious of the need to emulate Caesar's wife - she might not regard their affair as infidelity in the strictest sense, or as shameful in any sense, but most of her husband's congregation would. She had no truck with illiberal Anglican curmudgeons who rant at anything with a hint of passion, but she knew well enough that no church would forgive a clergyman with a scandalous wife. She had, therefore, to be shocked and frightened by the note and attachment that fell through her door that Tuesday morning, moments after Carole left.

Carole had every reason to want to preserve her marriage and her reputation. Even so, she accepted that however much she had to lose should her affair with Beatrice be discovered, the consequences for her lover were infinitely more serious. Of course, she no more anticipated the note that fell through her door, but the distress she heard in her lover's voice as soon as she picked up the telephone made her instantly anxious. She walked briskly back to the rectory, the crisp white envelope inanimate and inert next to her pounding heart.

With tears barely held back they sat side-by-side on a sofa overlooking the garden to examine the source of their disquiet. Two identical envelopes contained two identical notes, handwritten on thick, expensive paper. Attached to each were slightly different photographs of the same scene: Beatrice, naked, her head thrown back in rapture, her elbows playing inharmonious chords on an open piano behind, hypnotized by the loving attention of a woman whose face was buried between her naked thighs. Few would have had any difficulty recognizing Carole from the cut of her hair or the distinctive rings on the hand rapturously caressing Beatrice's right breast.

"What will we do?" Beatrice begged.

"Exactly what we're told," Carole replied.

Pretending to be engaged in nothing of even the lightest importance, Carole got up early, showered, dressed, breakfasted and left her husband to open up their antique shop alone. She drove the ancient, choking Volvo round to the rectory and waited, as silently as the old car would allow, for Beatrice to walk down the drive, her face etched pensively. In silence, they drove to the appointed place, parked in the appointed spot and walked along the appointed path. They were both familiar with the managed and protected woodland they had been brought to, both apprehensive and completely uncertain where the specific path they were on ended.

Stopping suddenly to check the note crushed tight in her hand, Carole whispered: "here." Taking a visibly worried Beatrice by the hand she led them into the narrowest of gaps through a cluster of trees, wondering who had brought them to this place. Through the trees they entered a hollow, warmed by the early morning summer sun, scented by a random sprinkling of wild flowers. "There," Carole breathed, breaking the uneasy silence that enveloped them, pointing to a large chequered blanket spread flat beneath the arms of a majestic oak. As they walked onto the blanket Carole felt Beatrice shaking. "Hush," she whispered, pulling her friend close, holding her tight while kissing her hair lightly. "Hush," she repeated, "we just get through it, just do it, maybe we ..."

"What?" Beatrice cried, her voice only a step or two back from a sob, "enjoy it ... enjoy putting on a show for some frustrated old Harradine."

"Yes," Carole replied, "yes, that's exactly what we do. Don't you see, whoever and whatever the mysterious Sapphic Sapphire is, Harradine, Harlot or Heavenly Angel, we can't let her feel like we're her playthings."

"That's just what we are, toys in some dirty game. Why are we here? - because she's got photographs we daren't risk her sharing with anyone else ... and soon she'll have more!"

"But she's obviously not going to share them, is she? Sure, she's probably hiding somewhere in those trees right now, excited like a bitch on heat, but she's a voyeur not a blackmailer. As you said, she's already got photographs we daren't risk her sharing ... which she's used to get us here."

"Exactly."

"Beatrice, darling," Carole whispered, combing her lover's hair from her sad face, "trust me, I know I'm right. Whoever has got us here has done so for her own pleasure - OK, yes, I'm sure she's going to take more photographs, but for her own amusement ..."

"But her note ..."

"... told us to come here - it didn't actually threaten us if we didn't, we just assumed we had no choice ..."

"... so we can just leave now?"

"Well," Carole pondered, "I suppose, if I'm right, yeah, we could." Silent in thought for a moment she gently caressed Beatrice's shoulders, loving as always the feel of her lover's warm body beneath her fingers. "But why should we? This place is a lot safer than the rectory - let's face it, we've been in danger of getting 'caught' since the day you first seduced me ..."

"... I seduced you!"

"OK, since we seduced each other."

The two lovers stood still and silent for a moment, speaking only through the look in their eyes and the gentleness of their touch. They had made love many times, finding in each other and for each other depths of passion and sensual expression neither had imagined possible. Though both had enjoyed, and occasionally worried about, moments of curiosity before falling into each other's arms, the moment they had actually fallen into each other's arms had been a shock. Almost without realizing it was happening, they became close friends so quickly that one accidental and innocently intimate embrace in the rectory kitchen led to a kiss of such passion that they simply could not resist, breathless and confused though they were, rushing their hands up and down each other's body. Steered by some magical intuition, they had pulled each other into the study, undressed hurriedly and surrendered to the gifted calm of Sapphic desire. It was a desire they had delighted in ever since. It was a desire that, notwithstanding the unreasonable iniquity that had brought them to this place, they could not deny lived strong inside them - irresistibly strong.

As if wanting to recreate all the first-time passion of that first kiss, Beatrice let her head fall slightly to one side, opened her mouth and pulled Carole close. As they kissed they caressed, as they caressed they undressed, as they undressed they lost themselves, just as always, in the comfort and beautiful expectation of sensual fulfilment that their love always brought them.

As Carole had guessed, I sat twenty feet away, hidden but not really hiding, a voyeur, not a threat - too discerning to be a Harlot, too good to be a Harridan but too impious to be an Angel. Too immoral, I must confess, to resist a delectably desirable and rudely irresistible rector's wife. Of course, I had no intention of using my photographs to cause Beatrice harm, or Carole for that matter. For sure, the pictures I had taken through the window of the rectory study were super-erotic and will serve for my continuing pleasure, as a reminder of a wonderful half-hour spent watching two gorgeous women in their prime enjoying the delicious delights of lesbian love. Likewise, the photographs I took as Beatrice began to give herself more fully, more passionately to Carole will serve my needs long in to the future. But, the game was still to be won.

I put my camera down and watched the two mature and beguiling women undress. Semi-naked, they were beautiful - both blessed with smooth creamy skin, lithe and supple bodies, full soft breasts, darkly alluring nipples and achingly desirable pussies. Oh how I wanted them both, wanted to kiss and caress their lovely bodies, enjoy their scent, taste their desire, slip nakedly between them. As they embraced and explored each other on the smooth lamb's wool blanket I had provided, I unbuttoned my blouse and caressed the familiarly warm and soft roundness of my breasts, feeling my nipples harden in my palm, feeling my heart racing beneath. While Carole tenderly kissed Beatrice's beautifully aroused nipples, one after the other, I slid my favourite fingers down to my hot, waiting sex. While Beatrice casually ran her fingers between her own plump labia, happily lost to the pleasure of Carole's kiss, I copied her - pressing my knickers into the juiciness of my vulva. I wanted to feel my first orgasm - oozing, creamy and wanton - through the faux-virginal-purity of cool white cotton. I wanted to come with Beatrice.

In truth, I wanted much more besides. I wanted to come with Beatrice and for her. I wanted her to feel and taste me while I came. I wanted to have her for my own. I wanted to hear her crying out for more and more as my tongue worked her magic. I wanted to hear her beg me to love her and please her for ever ... and I wanted to do all that with Carole nearby, watching and accepting the joy her lover would find beneath my touch. I continued to watch them, watch as Carole's kisses eased down Beatrice's wonderful body - a body I desired so much. I watched as Beatrice's fingers began to squeeze and caress her own clitoris more ardently - a clitoris I wanted so much. I envied Carole so as she entwined her lips and tongue with Beatrice's fingers, tasting and pleasing the lady's delicious vagina.

Slowly, my concentration turned inward. I needed to come. I needed to please myself now. I needed to feel once again those fabulous fluttering angels at play deep inside me. I needed to feel once again their sparkling beams of lust fizzing through me. I needed to feel once again the sensuous certainty of impending and inexorable joy warming every part of my body. With Beatrice's now demanding and unrestrained cries of exhilaration filling the air I closed my eyes and let passion command me. My first orgasm, as always, was beautiful ... and, as always, I wanted more. With quiet control I slipped off my knickers, lay back against a tree and masturbated openly, wonderfully, dirtily, unceasingly for thirty minutes, while Carole and Beatrice made noisy and mutually satisfying love before me.

"Mmm, ladies, make me come," I moaned softly as my fingers slid in and around my wet pussy, my clitoris pulsing more urgently beneath my fingertips. I squeezed, pressed and caressed my familiarly swollen and sensitive clitoris, swooning beneath the intensity of my arousal. Sensing an orgasm of violent and significant meaning, I drove a third finger inside my hot and slippery vagina, shuddering gorgeously as ripples of lustful pleasure began to fan out through my body. Rocking side to side with pleasure and desire I felt my hard nipples ache against the softness of my breasts. I took myself completely, took full and complete possession of my body, teasing and loving myself, luscious vibrations coursing through my body. I wanted to come so much, I wanted to exploit the depth and intensity of my lust for another woman's lover. "I want you Beatrice," I sighed as quietly as I could, my mind flooding with a riotous tumult of salacious thoughts and impious longing. As I felt the first tremors of climax quivering inside me I craved the feel of Carole's lips around my excitedly-hard nipples and of Beatrice's tongue inside my succulent pussy.

I took myself above and beyond the first plains of pleasure, higher and higher towards the Sapphic goddesses, with Beatrice and Carole my spiritual soul-mates. Who knows how many times I came - a lady doesn't keep score. All I can say is I was, at least for a while, sated before my victims and my inspiration. Picking up my camera I rushed off a dozen or so shots of them lost in delirious lust, slipped my knickers back on and left them. When they got back to their car they found two fresh envelopes on their seats, each with a selection of new photographs and an identical note: 'tomorrow, time and place as always'.

10.30am Thursday morning, as always, Carole let herself in through the kitchen door at the back of the rectory. As she closed the door behind her she heard a familiar and yet completely unexpected sound from the study - two loud, parallel and discordant piano bars. She walked quickly through the hall and into the open doorway to the study - and stopped dead. Sitting on a stool into which she and Beatrice had come so many times was a woman she did not recognize - me. Beneath my unbuttoned light-green dress I was completely naked, my thighs open wide to enjoy Beatrice's lips and tongue.