The Devil's Sperm Is Cold by Marco Vassi Read Free Book Online Page B

Margaret’s fingers gently. The two of them barely moved, and the only sounds in the room were of the fire spitting and the two women breathing heavily. Joan had never been with a woman before, although she had thought about it often.
    “It’s going to happen,” she thought, “it’s going to happen now.” She checked her body and found herself tense with anticipation. Her thighs locked together, her belly flat and taut, her toes curled. Margaret’s hand went deeper into her mouth, until she had four fingers between Joan’s stretched lips.
    “Why don’t we get our clothes off?” said Margaret after what seemed like an eternity.
    Joan opened her eyes and found herself looking full into Margaret’s face. It had the precision beauty of an ancient Greek mask, except for the eyes, which were like snakes slithering in a pit of smoke.
    “You’re so beautiful and so frightening,” Joan whispered.
    Margaret pulled her hand back slowly and replaced it with her mouth, covering Joan’s lips with her own. Joan stiffened against the contact, for despite all her tendencies toward libertinism, she had the conventional conditioning against intimate contact with a member of her own sex. But Margaret’s lips were so soft, so knowing, so warm, that she soon melted under their insistence. Again her mouth opened, and this time, instead of rigid fingers, she was greeted with a hot sinuous tongue that instantly greeted her own with an invitation to dance. Joan responded with a gasp, her mouth surging upward, crushing her lips against Margaret’s in a grinding kiss. Her hands curved around the other woman’s neck and pulled her head down to her own. Margaret snuggled in closer, and their bodies flew together, breasts crushing breasts, thighs touching thighs. With the expertise born of experience, Margaret tilted her pelvis forward in just such a way that her cunt slipped in against Joan’s crotch, and with the contact made, she began slowly to grind her pussy between the other woman’s thighs, teasing the lips folded beneath panties and slacks, inflaming the clitoris that started to clamor for nakedness. Margaret sucked the breath from Joan’s lungs and then abruptly pulled back, leaving the stunned copy editor gasping.
    “No clothes,” she rasped. “I want you naked.”
    They parted reluctantly, and Margaret shrugged herself out of her dressing gown at once. She lay back and bent her legs at the hips, bringing her knees to her exposed breasts, which fell in flattened mounds on her chest, sagging to either side of her torso, the huge nipples already wrinkled and erect. She slipped her fingers in the elastic of her panties and with a single motion pulled them down her legs and over her feet, uncovering the patch of yellow hair that modestly guarded the full sensual cunt lips that now burst from between the naked thighs and buttocks. Joan’s eyes went directly to the furry mound, and Margaret saw where her glance went. She brought her hands down to her cunt and rubbed the outer lips languorously.
    “Yes, my love,” she said, “now you see my cunt. Men have gone mad to get to where you are now. And I give it to you so easily. Does that make you happy?”
    Joan couldn’t answer. Her mouth was dry and her lips felt drawn. Margaret slipped one finger between the outer lips of her pussy and stirred it around inside, then pulled it out again, now glistening wet. She moved up and brought her hand up to Joan’s face. “This is how I smell,” she said, and put her finger under Joan’s nose. “Take a deep breath,” she ordered gently.
    Joan inhaled, and the fragrance that assailed her made her heart pound. It was so like her own, and yet not her own at all. It was the smell of cunt, but not her cunt. It was another woman’s cunt, and she was at the edge of feeling and tasting that cunt herself. She grew dizzy at the realization that she was at the verge of committing what she had always referred to as “a lesbian act,” and