From the first time she walked into my shop I wanted her. I love femmes, particularly older ones. And I have a definite affinity towards nicely dressed, fit, attractive ones. I know, who doesn't? You don't have to be 50, black and butch for that.
My name is Serena. I'm a single lesbian living in, well, perhaps that's not important. I own and operate a shop I call "Asides". I named it that because I never have been able to decide exactly what my stock is going to be. I buy and sell African and Lesbian art. A lot of what I buy I never sell, the items going instead into the private collection I keep in my apartment, which covers the entire second floor of my shop. I make and sell scented candles. These go well with the oils, perfumes and lotions I carry. I also dabble in metal sculpture. My workroom sprawls over more than half of the store.
I'm not rich, but I'm well off enough to do what I want. My store is in an upscale restored area of the city. I get a lot of tourists, as well as the well-off with extra money searching for that unusual gift to be a conversation topper at some party. Mostly those types bore me, even the attractive women among them. They're all lofty remarks and condescending explanations of those remarks because they assume I can't comprehend two syllable words. I don't know it it's my skin color or my obvious sexual orientation.
The woman visiting for the first time today didn't fit those categories. I pegged her as an executive at one of the many businesses nearby or maybe a professional. A lawyer perhaps, or a CPA. She didn't seem like a housewife, even one in the top tax bracket. She was dressed very well, but muted. She wore a Navy blue skirt cut just about her knees with a matching jacket. Her blouse was white with just a hint of ruffles. Her tan pantyhose covered trim legs and ankles and she wore heels that matched her suit. She carried herself with self-assurance, not with arrogance.
I was attracted to her immediately. Not only because of her appearance, but because of her attitude. When she smiled, it was genuine, not a stretching of her lips. She introduced herself and actually listened when I showed her around. She was especially attentive when I explained the subtleties of African art. So many people, including other blacks, seem to feel its all animalistic and primitive. While a good deal is, there is so much more to it than just that.
I noticed several times her dark brown eyes slid to take a surreptitious glance at the section where I displayed the Lesbian art. Of course it wasn't just art, I also had books, collections of poetry, posters and music. I briefly considered turning the conversation to one of the Sapphic poets but thought that might be pushing things a little. She might just be peeking because general curiosity rather than restraining a desire to dive head first into, well, anything. Although I'm by no means in the closet, its rather bad form to make a pass at every single woman who enters my shop.
Based on some of her comments I did take the opportunity to put my hand on her arm in order to turn and point her towards one of my metal sculptures. I let it rest there, making no attempt to caress, just making contact while we chatted. On her side, she made no move to either pull away from me or come closer.
After we talked a bit more, she checked her watch and told me she had to get back to work but she had enjoyed the tour and would come again. I noted that the watch was slim and gold, a match to the small gold and diamond earrings she wore.
"Maybe next time, I'll have time to actually decide on a purchase," she smiled, "Instead of simply browsing and taking up your time."
I told her she was welcome to come back and "take up my time" whenever she wanted. When she opened the door, the sunlight streaming in turned her skirt translucent and I could see the ghostly outline of her legs. I hoped that they looked as lovely when they were actually exposed, and hoped even more that I would have the opportunity to find out.
Since it was spring and I was my own boss I decided to take a few days off and go to the ocean. I mostly relaxed and recharged, although I did take advantage of the one opportunity I was presented with to have sex. I don't wear my strapon at the beach but I keep it close at hand in my bag, where it was readily available when I seduced a cute little blonde soccer mom. We slipped back into the dunes where she managed to smother her squeals in a small pillow I provided while I took her dog style. After all, we didn't want to disturb her family, although she nearly gave the show away when I moved from her pussy to her ass. I doubt her husband had ever fucked her there she was so tight. I bet she has him do it now though.
Back and relaxed, I was busy sculpting one afternoon in the workshop when I heard the chime that indicated someone had come in the shop. I turned off the torch and carefully placed it where it would be safe as it cooled off. I stripped off my gauntlets and the welders mask and went to see who it was.
It was her. Still beautiful, perfection in white 3 inch heels and a pale linen suit. Today her skirt seemed to be a little shorter and a little tighter. And was one more button undone on that blouse than the last time? I thought so. I caught a glimpse of white lace.
In contrast, I was wearing only a pair of loose overalls and work boots. I didn't care, femmes dress for me, not the other way around. My arms and shoulders were exposed, showing the musculature that defines my body.
"Hello," she smiled. "I've been by a couple of times but you were closed."
"I've been on vacation."
"Oh really? Where did you go?" Once again, she actually seemed interested in my brief explanation. I did not cover everything. I considered ending my recital by saying "The best part was when I fucked this sweet married white woman with my strapon. Its the same one that I put on this morning, in case I had the chance to take a certain elegant customer to my bed." But I behaved myself.
"Have you any new work?"
"Certainly. I have several pieces back here in my workroom." We went back there and wandered among my newest creation, both the finished ones and the ones that were in progress. She commented quite intelligently but seemed unsatisfied.
"These are very interesting, but I was wondering if you had anything really special, anything you don't show to your usual customers." I met her eyes for a moment, and the smoldering I saw there made up my mind for me.
"Yes I do. Up here." I led her to the stairs that went to the loft, and my bed. We mounted the stairs side by side.
This time when I guided her I let my palm drift from her arm around to the small of her back. I felt her stiffen slightly but then she relaxed. I allowed my hand to continue to slide down the back of her suit jacket until it rested on the back of her skirt, and her butt underneath. I halfway expected her to protest or move but, once again, she made no protest. Not even when my thumb found the top of the skirt's zipper and began to play with it did she display any anxiety.
She stopped in front of the sculpture that stood between my bed and the row of windows that light up the loft.
"Oh my, this is nice." Her fingers stroked the metal gently. "What is it called?"
She had turned slightly to examine the piece. I took one small step sideways, bringing me right behind her. My breath was warm on the side of her neck and she shivered slightly.
"Its called 'Two Women in Love'." I told her. By now I was almost but not quite touching her.
"Oh, lovely." She cocked her head to one side and studied it. "Yes, I can see that."
That was enough. My hands touched her hips and then slid around her waist and inside her jacket. I kissed the side of her neck, running my tongue up it until my breath poured into her ear. I took her earlobe in my teeth and bit. One hand rubbed the front of her skirt, the other cupped a breast through the fine linen of her blouse.
For an instant I thought I had misjudged the entire situation. Then her body seem to crumple back against mine. I pushed against her, pressing the hardness of my strapon against her ass. She pressed back, moving her ass in a small circle around and around my cock.
"My elegant white lady," I whispered into her ear. "I'm going to fuck you. Here. Now."
There's something so heart-pounding seductive about a woman stretched nude on a bed and showing herself off. I love to see her arms stretched over her head, her hair spilling over the pillow, every curve and line of her body open to your gaze. She has surrendered to me and is offering herself.
Sometimes I don't want her to surrender. I want to see her still mostly dressed, even attempting to cover back up. I want her skirt bunched around her waist and her breasts hanging from her blouse, the bra jerked down to let them free. I want to pin her against a wall, throw her onto a desk, bend her over a table. I don't want to be given anything, I want to take it. I want to see the lust sweep over her face as her body finally starts to move in response to me. I want to hear her squeal and beg for more as my strapon penetrates her. Not that I'm any kind of rapist mind you, it all has to be agreed on between her and I.
Today though, I wanted her surrender. I wanted this elegant white woman to give herself completely to me, to allow me to use her as I wanted. I had already pulled off my boots. I unfastened the straps of my overalls and let them fall. Her eyes widened as they fixed on the latex cock jutting from my hips. She had felt it against her ass, but now that it was freed she could appreciate it. Black, thick and eight inches long, it shone in the light.
Her eyes traveled up and down my body. My heavy breasts hung free and her eyes lingered for a moment on my dark chocolate nipples before roving over my muscular body, as glowingly ebony as the strapon rising from between my legs. I flexed like a body builder and my hips pushed forward. Licking her lips, she watched the cock bob. She couldn't tear her eyes off it until I spoke.
"Take your clothes off." I said in a low voice. As she moved to comply, I added, "Slowly."
She smiled. She didn't do a strip-tease, she didn't do a bump and grind. But the slow dance of her fingers on the buttons of her blouse, was as erotic as any stripper could have been. She shrugged her blouse off and placed it carefully on the chair Her eyes locked with mine for a moment as she touched her bra. A quick twist of her fingers and her lace bra fell open. My mouth grew dry. A front clasp bra. I began to think she had been planning this day.
The bra followed the blouse to the chair and she turned her attention to her skirt. Since I had already unfastened the top button, it took only a moment more before she was stepping out of it, being careful not to drag it on the floor. She turned and placed the skirt on the pile.