Date: Sat, 18 Sep 1999 13:09:43 GMT
From: Beta Smith <betasmith@hotmail.com>
Subject: SATURDAY I

SATURDAY I
By Beta Smith


Tara was the most intriguing woman I've ever known, I swear to God. And if
God's watching: You shouldn't be.

1 - Fruit Is Good For You

Tara peeled the banana, the sun filtering through the blinds as another
lazy afternoon tripped past outside.

She had a wicked look on her face. She said 'I want to play.' And when the
skin had been removed, Tara held the banana in front of my face, although I
was certain that she didn't want me to eat it. But she asked me to lick it,
so I did, my little tongue peeping out from my mouth to lick the banana,
feel its temperature, feel its hard but mushy texture. I liked the taste as
well. I ran my slightly tight, moist lips over the banana, Tara nodding in
approval. 'Good girl,' she praised.

I looked over to the large mirrored wall opposite me, taking in the image
of myself as Tara wanted me. I was naked except for shoes, beautiful,
expensive, heeled shoes, and a leather strap binding my ankles together as
my legs splayed out. Tara had bound my hands behind my back, too, to make
me completely available to her. An hour before she had expertly prepared
me, shaving my pussy hair into a style she liked, which was to trim it so
short my cunt lips were clearly visible and accessible.

Tara trailed the slightly cool banana down my chin, down my slender neck
and down to my tits, nipples sensitive and on end in anticipation of what
might happen next. With Tara, it could be anything. I moaned as Tara rubbed
the tip of the banana against both of my nipples in turn, causing them to
ache and jut out towards her. With each rub, a little gasp. A little shock
to the heart, another flush between my legs. 'Little bitch,' Tara chided.

She was having her wicked, wicked way with me. At last. The sexual charge
between us had been buzzing for a long time, always meeting at the same
parties, always chatting and checking the other out, but never getting
further, never getting to test out intuitions, our dirty suspicions, with
each other. But today, this beautiful afternoon, we finally meet. This is
the first time, unbelievably. The first time, and I'm beautifully,
carefully bounded up, cunt splayed, for the attention of the delicious
Tara.

'I need fucking,' I command, sweetly frustrated in my physical position on
the floor with Tara above me, sleek golden brown hair brushing my
tummy. She moves the banana down, across stomach, hips, my slightly
glistening mound which beats, pumping from deep inside. My thigh muscles
clench as I moan at the sight of Tara's hot pussy, quite visible from under
her tiny skirt which stretches tightly across her legs. I can smell the
pussy too, salty and musty yet sweet. Sweet, ready to eat, hot.

I wanted to devour her. Badly.

My slit is wet. So wet that when Tara rasps the banana against it, my
sticky juice coats the sweet banana and makes it easier for Tara to slide
the fruit easily up and down the length of my lips. Tara can see me looking
up her little skirt and she gracefully bends over me to show her ass and
pussy lips to me, red and swollen as mine are. She's got a glorious
asshole, as scarlet as her pussy, an asshole you couldn't help but probe
your fingers into and want to stretch and stretch again.

Up and down the banana goes against my saturated cunt lips, which ache with
every movement, with every breath. I long for Tara's mouth, for her
luscious tongue, to slip inside me, inside my honeyed hole. I beg Tara for
it, feeling weak and in her control. But instead she continues to frig me
with the pale yellow fruit, my clit firing up with every second and every
stroke of the banana.

Once my sex is dripping and sopping with juices, Tara stands above me, the
banana still in her hand. I don't know what she's going to do next, and for
a moment I think she's going to stop, but she kneels at my heels and starts
to stroke my ankles. 'I'm going to make you cum,' she says, and I know she
will. Before I know it her mouth is grazing my ankles, her heavenly tongue
sticking out and her teeth clamping to tug my ankle chain. She runs that
tongue along the length of my heels, the metal point touching her lips and
smudging her lipstick.

She's beautiful. I could let her fuck me for ever.

Tara trails the banana up this time, up the calves and the thighs, crawling
towards me to give me what I want. When the banana enters my cunt it's
still slightly cool, but the het of my juices and the walls of my cunt warm
it up immediately. It feels good. It feels natural. I ripple with pleasure,
my mouth convulsing with the delicious feeling as the banana is pushed
further upwards, warm now inside me as Tara starts to fuck.

Soon her tongue is on me, too, her heated, damp tongue and lips, skimming
my clit and then sucking it out towards her. It hardens into a little ball
that her tongue circles around and around and around, her breath fiery,
like hot spices prickling my sex, making me gasp. The banana and tongue
meet somewhere deep inside me, stirring up more juices to drip out of me,
glistening and ready for Tara to lap them up and drink me. I become aware,
in the final moments before I cum, of the straps around my ankles and my
wrists, of that delicious feeling of restraint and lack of power. I give
all the power to Tara and her now scorching mouth clamping over my slit,
her tongue everywhere at once, hungry and eager. When I tip back my head, I
feel I have to cum, I can't wait any longer, I need to let this beautiful
bitch drain me.

She takes in the smell of me, and holds it. Then her tongue lashes out for
my clit, again, again, again, slipping around and around and I cum, break
through and cry out as Tara canes my rock-hard clit with her amazing
tongue, hungry and strong and in control.

She's beautiful, this woman. As I said, she could fuck me for ever.

2 - Lolly

It gets better.

A few things about Tara, though. As I said, we were always meeting at the
same parties, as both of us were journalists on rival magazines, so in the
course of each month we would find ourselves standing at another bland
launch of a new product or whatever, picking from the same bored tray of
canapes and giving each other the eye. At the same time, there was that
feeling of mistrust that we felt the pangs of when we finally took our eyes
off each other for a moment and remembered our professional rivalries.

The wicked incident with the banana took place in Tara's flat in Notting
Hill. where she had invited me over for lunch one Saturday morning after
another gathering at which we had drunk free champagne, chomped on the
bored canapes and decided we should meet for lunch and establish contact
with each other. I had suggested a favourite restaurant of mine in
Bayswater, as both of us lived in west London. Without dropping a beat,
Tara asked if I would like to visit her flat instead so she could make me
lunch. I didn't drop a beat either as I answered in the affirmative.

Come the Saturday afternoon, once we had raided the fruit bowl, it was time
to raid the fridge.

I'm lying on Tara's sofa, a huge, angular white leather thing which
dominates the high-ceilinged, modern front room. We have been in each
other's company for a long afternoon now, both high on the excitement and
pure sexual charge. I am no longer naked, or restrained for that matter,
but back in the little red dress I had carefully chosen to wear here. My
hands absentmindedly trail over my thighs as I smoke another cigarette,
half-listening to the sounds of Tara in the kitchen and still reeling from
what we've done together so soon.

Tara pops her head around the door. 'Do you mind that I'm in control?' she
asks. I can't answer her question for a moment as I look at her face, her
mouth, and replay the preceding hours. She's obviously re-applied her
lipstick by now, and it's big, scarlet and dirty. At first her eyes look
dark, but that's just the way her eyebrows hang slightly low, and I see
those eyes are a very deep hazel, framed by the straightest of hair the
colour of demerara sugar. Before I know it my eyes have dropped down again
to once more marvel at strong, athletic, honey-toned legs and that lovely,
degenerate skirt.

'Do you mind?' Tara asks.

'What?' I ask, before realising I should have been answering a question.

'That I'm controlling here...I guess I didn't have a chance to ask...' Tara
has been the strong one all afternoon, but a note of genuine concern creeps
into her voice and she comes and sits of the sofa next to me. 'Are you
usually sub?' she asks, putting an arm around my shoulder. I reply that I'm
not normally, and it is so welcome to be told what to do and to enjoy the
mild danger in letting such an obviously dominant woman restrain me and let
her work her magic on me. My sentences trigger both very recent
recollections and anticipation and I spread my legs without thinking. I tip
my head towards Tara, eyes half-open, biting my lip. 'You're in control
here,' I tell her, and raise my hands above my head in a gesture to affirm
the statement.

Without even bothering to kiss me, Tara gets up, walks behind the
low-backed sofa and tugs my hair to tip my head back...

To Be Continued...

(c) Beta Smith 1999
betasmith@hotmail.com