A Lesbian Tale

  • 5 months ago
  • 12 min read

It was mid-morning when I arrived home. I stood for a moment at the door, taking a deep breath and adjusting my game face. Then I entered.

He was standing in the kitchen, drinking coffee and looking at his phone, as I walked by. He looked up and regarded me. I forced a smile.

"Good morning!" I said, trying not to sound too cheerful. Trying not to sound guilty.

I had hoped he would just reply and go back to his phone so I could rush past him into the sanctuary of the bedroom. I could hide from him there, at least for a little while, alone with my shame.

Instead, he just stared at me in silence, his eyes locking me in place. His gaze moved up and down my body. Inspecting me. He must see something, I thought. There must be signs all over me, signs revealing what I had done.

Signs of her.

"Have a good time?" he asked, voice low-key and neutral, eyes now on mine. It took all my willpower not to look away.

"Yeah, pretty good," I said, matching his casual tone.

"Tied one on, did you?" His face broke into a little smile. My body flooded with relief; he didn't seem to suspect.

"Not really," I said with a shrug. "I was more tired than drunk, and it's such a long drive. Thanks for letting me stay over."

"Of course," he said, waving dismissively. "Much safer than driving all that way at that hour. And you know I trust you."

That last sentence was a gut punch. I felt a twinge of panic at the irony I might have heard in his voice. But mostly I felt a surge of guilt and shame for making a cuckold out of him.


Girls' Night Out, she called it, making it sound innocent. But I knew we were at the point in our relationship where "innocent" was no longer on the menu.

I drove to her place. She looked absolutely breathtaking: tall, dark, and mysterious; long-limbed grace in a little red party dress; deadly curves, long black hair and green eyes that reached into me and locked onto my soul.

We cabbed to a bar, which was hopping on a Friday night, for snacks and drinks. She was relaxed and charming and fun, easing my nerves. We were by far the top attraction in the place, and I could feel the pressure of watching eyes.

A few men tried their luck, but we laughed them off. Only one was obnoxiously persistent, but he finally vanished when I flashed my wedding ring. I caught her staring at it, something strange and hungry in her eyes.

Let's go dancing, she said, and we cabbed to a club. It was called Lypstyx, and there wasn't a man in sight.


In the safety of my bedroom, I stripped out of my dress, bra, and panties. My clothes smelled of perfume and spilled drinks and female sweat; scents that brought back the powerful passions of the night before.

Scents of her.

Standing nude before the full-length mirror, I inspected myself, just as I had before leaving her place, searching for telltale marks. She'd been noticeably careful with her nails, which was a blessing, so there were no scratches. Some faint blotches on my neck and right breast, reminders of a dangerously intense two-handed grip she'd used.

I shivered, remembering my gut-wrenching orgasm as her fingers tightened on my throat.

My throbbing nipples looked dark and swollen. That was something he might notice, and I knew I should try to keep them out of sight for a day or two.

I touched them and gasped at their sensitivity. She had been so strict and harsh in applying the clamps. I remembered the burning pain from their wicked tightness. I remembered the sharp arrows of agonizing delight as she tugged and teased with the little chain that hung between them.

For the most part, though, my body didn't look like it had spent most of the last twelve hours engaged in wild fucking. Nothing too obvious, I thought, nothing that will look suspicious unless he already suspects. So I indulged myself in a moment of self-admiration. Like most people, I am my own harshest critic, but objectively I know I'm considered beautiful. Long, shiny, reddish-brown hair, big dark eyes, and facial features a bit too sharp, almost hard. Large breasts sitting proudly on a slender body sculpted to near perfection. Long legs you want wrapped around you.

Not quite as beautiful as her body, I thought, yet it proved enticing enough to drive her to a wild plateau of passion when she finally took me. I shuddered as I remembered her on my body: her hands, her mouth, her skin, her juice...

I yelped in shock as I saw him in the mirror watching me.


She had written a poem for me, something quite eccentric in a modern world, yet it made me feel cherished and desired and I loved her for it. She told me she would reveal it during our evening together.

She held me and caressed me on the dance floor, as we bathed in the intoxicating perfume of women in heat, and she whispered the first lines in my ear...

- You know, and I know, and I know you know

- You will be mine tonight, and that's just how it goes

And that was all it took to melt away any lingering doubts.

Take me home, I whispered back. I'm ready.


Of course he's an attractive man. Handsome, strong, successful. His tall, muscled body was stripped down to boxer shorts that gave some latitude to his hard manhood.

My initial fear, as my eyes had met his in the mirror, was that he'd caught me thinking of her, that he'd somehow known my languid movements were tied to memories of the ecstasy she'd made me feel.

Now I was feeling a different dread. His smirk, the look in his eyes, the way he stood so close to my bare flesh...he was feeling frisky, but my swollen, aching body was sore and depleted. I had poured every drop of passion out onto her bed. Yet refusing him seemed out of the question, in part for fear of rousing suspicion, but mostly because my guilt and shame told me I owed him this.

His hands began to explore my body. One fingertip paused briefly near the faint bruise forming on my breast, t

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Written by olds425
Uploaded October 27, 2020
Notes Lesbian tale
AddTo content hare