Angela pressed her pubis hard against Ronda’s, rubbing her thick, almost bristly, pubic hair onto Ronda’s pubis, and with her hands on Ronda’s hips, pulled her closer as she started to thrust her pussy against Ronda. “That’s right,” Angela whispered hoarsely, “fuck me with your fingers.” Angela’s cunt was dripping and hot. “Now let me do something for you. Lay back on the chaise lounge. That’s right.” Angela guided Ronda’s naked form onto the chaise and knelt between her legs at the end. Angela’s tongue avidly sought Ronda’s clitoris and began stroking it hard and fast. The soft warmth of Angela’s tongue brought Ronda to the verge of cataclysm and then slowed.

Ronda’s finger circled her clitoris again as she strove to postpone her orgasm. She pulled her labia out and stroked down the length of the opening of her vagina before she returned to her clitoris.

A guy with an indistinct face approached Angela from the rear. His erect cock signaled that he appreciated Angela’s beauty. Angela sensed his presence and raised her ass toward him as she continued the fast-paced warm pressure on Ronda’s clitoris. The man knelt behind Angela and inserted his cock into her glistening cunt from behind and she began to sigh with pleasure.

Ronda’s view of the ménage shifted from overhead to side, then to rear, and to the other side. Ronda dipped her finger into her cunt again to prolong her pleasure on the edge of ecstasy, knowing that once she crossed that line the fantasy would dissipate.

The man knew what Angela wanted. He withdrew from her vagina and plunged deep into her anus causing her to wince with the pleasure of pain. Her tongue on Ronda’s clit stopped as Angela gasped. The man plunged his cock into her three times, four, five, and then withdrew.

Angela backed away from the chaise lounge half a pace, put her head down, raised her ass in the air and said “Spank me.”

At that image Ronda’s finger started a frenetic pace on the tip of her clitoris.

The man raised his hand and spanked Angela. The slap of the palm of his hand on the flesh of her butt was sharp and loud. Ronda masturbated as Angela looked up to watch. Another slap and another.

Ronda felt the vibrations start deep within her cunt, spread to her thighs, and overtake her stomach. She arched her back in the shallow water and heard the gurgle start in her throat and become a shout as her hand fell limp beside her and she lay exhausted in the water.

The water was cool when Ronda opened her eyes. She stepped out of the tub and rubbed herself with the thick softness of a bath towel.

But if she’s really psychic, then she would know how I was responding to her touch. She would know everything that I feel. I wouldn’t have to say anything, just relax and enjoy.

It’s not going to happen. I don’t know if I even want it to. I don’t want to be a lesbian. But I do want it to happen. I want her to do-what I was doing to myself. At least.

As she rubbed her breasts and stomach red with the towel, she once again imagined what it would feel like to have a woman go down on her. The few times Jeff had done it, she had felt more embarrassed than aroused. Embarrassed that she might smell bad, that he might not like the taste of her cunt.

Still thinking about Angela going down on her, Ronda walked into the bedroom. She unwrapped the towel and lay on it on her side of the bed with her legs drawn up, open to both of her hands as her mind opened up to all of the possibilities of a gentle woman who would know everything in her mind, making love with her. She would know when to stop and circle, when to be firm and when to be gentle, when to be fast and when to be slow, when to draw it out and when to make her come fast and hard.

Ronda turned over on her stomach and lifted her hips so she could rotate them around the bunched-up fingers of her left hand thrust between her labia into her cunt as she manipulated her clitoris with her right hand.

A montage of images of Angela flooded her mind, each overlaying the other as Ronda fucked her fingers and stroked her clit.

Angela’s head between Ronda’s legs, going down on her. Ronda opening her legs to receive Ronda’s hand on her mons. A faceless man fucking Angela from behind as Angela played with her own clit. Angela spanking Ronda’s ass. Ronda licking Angela’s anus and darting her tongue through the wrinkled tissue and into her asshole. Ronda playing with herself as Angela looked on in approval.

Not wishing to prolong the build-up, Ronda thrust down on her fingers as she began to come and the images of Angela became more vivid, more intense, and then faded into blackness as she heard herself sob with a deep intake of breath and then cry out as her orgasm overtook her whole body and she fell to her left side to sleep.

She dreamed that Jeff came into the bedroom to find her naked on the bed, hot and musty and slippery with come as she was now. Overcome with desire, he took off his clothes, throwing them on the floor in his haste, and fucked her hard and fast. She dreamed of lifting her hips to meet his every thrust and taking his hard cock deep into her until his passion burst through and he filled her with his hot come.

When she woke it was five-thirty and Jeff wanted her ready by six. She walked briskly into the bathroom and this time walked into the shower for a quick rinse, then sat in front of the mirror to put on sparse makeup. In the bedroom, she sat on the bed and pulled on one stocking imagining that her hands were Jeff’s as she smoothed it up her thigh. Then the other. She stood and pulled the dress over her head and stepped into her black six-inch fuck-me pumps.

She walked-maybe strode is a better word for her hips-forward gait-into the closet to scrutinize the effect. No lines. Before she started getting waxed, this dress even showed her pubic hair if she didn’t wear panties. The contours of her nipples showed through the drape of the top. She turned to look at her butt. She leaned in front of the mirror and looked to see just how far she would have to lean for someone to see down to her nipples. It was as she remembered, about one-third of the way would offer a view as the scalloped neck of the dress gaped open to any eyes that cared to see. Suggestive but unobtrusive unless she made it so. It was up to her. That was the way she wanted it.

Six o’clock.

She sat in the armchair beside the bed to read the book of women’s fantasies she had taken out from the library. Incest. She felt her stomach turn. Yuck. Rape. Even worse. Multiple partners. She began to read with interest. Fantasies. Nothing dangerous here. Just what other women think about when they masturbate. The mental pictures they make. Hers were pretty tame, she concluded as she read more.

When she looked at the clock again she had finished the book, at least all of the parts she was interested in, and there was no sign of Jeff. She knew his cell phone would be off. If he wanted her to know where he was, he’d let her know. Otherwise it was useless to try to find out.

She turned on the television and began to click through the channels. Blithering news commentators. Frantic newscasters. Calm weather forecasters. Inarticulate urban kids standing around yakking at each other. Cops looking for bad guys. Bad guys robbing a bank.

Finally the phone rang.

“They called it off. I’ll be a couple of hours late.”

“Late?” she heard herself almost shouting. “You’re already a couple of hours late. What the fuck do you mean late?”

“I’m sorry, honey, I was in a meeting, sweetie. I couldn’t get out of it.”

“You couldn’t pick up a fucking phone and tell me they’d canceled your precious dinner?”