Chapter 17: The craving gets worse

The Brad Incident, and the marathon queening session she'd inflicted on Doug afterward, settled down Janelle's cravings for a couple of days. But this Christine thing was definitely unfinished business.

She decided to call and find out which way the wind was blowing.

"Hello?"

"Janelle."

A short silence on the other end, then -

"I'm glad you called."

"What's up?"

"Do you want to come over?"

A tinge of hopefulness was detectable behind the nonchalance of her voice.

"Sure."

"I'll be home. See you then."

Christine opened at her knock and stood aside for Janelle to enter.

They'd both gone to a bit of trouble over their appearance, it seemed. Janelle had on one of the light summer dresses and elegant pair of pumps Doug had bought for her on an earlier shopping spree. Christine was power-dressed in dark tailored skirt and jacket with shoulder pads, and a white blouse.

No kiss this time. And a little unsure in her manner, Janelle noted.

"We never got around to having coffee last time!"

So saying, Christine led the way to the dining area where a brew was already gently steaming. They sat at the large pine table with their cups and some cookies.

"How's the clay statue coming along?' Janelle asked.

"Not much progress, I'm afraid."

It seemed that each had decided not to bring up the touchy incident from last time, unless the other did. Which thus ensured it didn't get brought up at all, at least not directly. They were both back into art appreciation mode, and they stayed on that safe ground for a time.

"Have you tried other media? Sketches? Oils?"

Janelle had done a bit of web surfing since last time, and was starting to pick up a bit of the jargon.

"Oh, I sketch. But I've not much talent for that. To me, it's just part of the method for composing a sculpture. I guess I'm better at hacking things up!"

"I want to try myself out at something. But not sculpture. Don't have the space, for a start."

"Try some drawing to start off. All you need's a pad and pencil. I can give you some pointers. And recommend some books."

Yes, Janelle suspected there might be some heavy-duty homework coming up, if she were to take this art thing at all seriously. Never in the past a particularly scholarly person, she nevertheless did not feel at all put off by the prospect of some serious mental exercise. Surprisingly, she felt ready and looking forward to it.

"What should I draw? Actual things? Or my wild imaginings?"

"Both. But start to develop those "wild imaginings". It's through the quality and originality of those that you make your mark as an artist."

"I've got some pretty wild imaginings, believe me."

"I can well believe it."

For some reason the topic of wild imaginings made her think of Julie. Imagining, for example, having the scrawny W.A.S.P. wench tied down with a butt-plug up her rear.

"Where's Julie today?"

"At work."

"Julie works, and you don't?"

"I have private income. I could easily support the both of us, but I tell her she has to go hold down a job."

"Why?"

"Got to get her out of the house, so I can concentrate. She'd drive me nuts, hangin' around me all day long!"

"Yours is not a relationship of equals, then?"

"Shit no. She's basically a mixed-up kid."

"A kid? But she's older than you!"

"So? I still have to take her in hand."

"I guess I shouldn't be prying like this. I hardly know her."

"You don't like her much, I can tell."

"But you do?"

"She has certain qualities. We're all God's children, and we all have special gifts."

Point taken.

"About your ideas - there's a pretty consistent theme running through your exhibition."

"Another thing that took awhile to crystallize."

"You seem to have a low opinion of men."

"No, that's over-stating it. I'm not a man-hater."

"What, then?"

"They're just superfluous. I can change the washers on my own taps, thank you very much."

Thirty-something Christine was now wearing a wry smile. Her nervousness was easing, and she was even a bit amused about being quizzed in such an up-front manner by this young slip of a black girl. Especially one that could be such an obvious cockteaser. Or clit-teaser, as the case may be.

"I been comin' across this female superiority stuff on the internet. Do you buy into any of that?"

Christine looked at Janelle sharply. A long pause ensued.

"I am familiar with the particular philosophy of which you speak," she said at last.

"But do you buy into it?"

"I myself have helped contribute to it" she answered simply.

Now it was Janelle's turn to look sharply. Another long pause.

"I like men" Janelle opined, "well, some men anyway."

"What makes you think I don't like men?"

"The way you portray them is not what I'd call affectionate."

"I don't know if you've noticed, Janelle, but I'm a lesbian. Men are bound to be a low priority in my affections."

"But if I read your artworks right, you do like to see men suffer."

"Good job too!" Christine answered coolly. "Men need to know what the other half has had to endure all these millennia!"

"So, this liking of yours for suffering, if that's what it is, or if I read it correctly - is it strictly limited to the male gender?"

"Not necessarily" Christine said guardedly, after a few seconds.

"And your motivation for it - is it strictly political?"

Another long pause. Christine's hazel eyes were staring into Janelle's in a way that seemed to search out her very soul.

"Not strictly."

Janelle mulled this over, before deciding to edge this woman even closer to her ultimate goal.

"Is it possible that Julie might have to suffer a little, those times when you "take her in hand?""

"It's possible."

Janelle met the older woman's cool gaze without even a flinch.

"Do you only give out shit, or can you also take it?"

"Where're you going with this, Janelle?"

"I think you know" Janelle responded mysteriously.

"'Cos if you want to fuck me, you only have to say the word."

"If I fuck you, it'll be my way. And I promise you this - you won't fuckin' know what's hit you!"

By now Janelle's demeanor of cuddly sex kitten had long gone. Now, she was a tigress. At once awe-inspiringly beautiful, and deadly.

Christine's eyes had widened slightly, then narrowed almost to slits. Seconds rolled by in rapt silence.

Then -

"Do it."

Clearly this was assent but, equally clearly, Christine didn't fully realize quite what she'd assented to.

Because the look on her face was an absolute picture when Janelle rose, hooked her fingers into that elegant brunette coiffure, and hauled the older white woman out of her seat by the roots of her hair.

"Yeeooowwww!!! Fuck!!!"

Caught off-balance and unable to recover, she stumbled and fell, sprawling with legs akimbo onto a thick cream shag-pile carpet.

Janelle quickly shrugged off her summer dress and let it drop. Then she pounced, boobs bouncing, to land on top of Christine and pin her to the deck before she had a chance to recover.

In terms of physical stature Christine was bigger in all departments. But lacking as she did any kind of street-fighting experience, her efforts to resist were clumsy and uncoordinated. Janelle, on the other hand, was young, fit, and street-wise. Christine got manipulated through hold after wrestling hold as Janelle progressively ripped away each item of clothing in her path.

Apart from that first profanity, Christine didn't utter another sound. But she fought back, as hard as she were able, until soon her lungs were heaving from the exertion.

The tailored jacket was relatively easy to get off without damage, but the white blouse had buttons popping in all directions as Janelle tore it open. One sleeve got partly ripped from the shoulder as it was yanked down Christine's arm. The skirt also suffered, as Janelle eschewed operating its fastenings in favour of simply tearing them apart with both hands.

Panties were hardest to get off, but Janelle simply got astride the other woman's chest and pinned her arms down to the carpet with her knees, facing back with fanny pressed to her face. The frantic heaving of Christine's hips as she tried to buck off her captor only served to allow the knicker-elastic to be slipped off past her bum.

She had a lot of hair. In fact, she had the hairiest crutch Janelle'd ever come across.

Now, the bra.

Janelle leapt up to spin around, and pinned Christine again before she even had a chance to react. The bra just got torn apart, straps yanked away from their anchor points by Janelle's grasp.

Christine had big ones - something Janelle had noticed on previous occasions. They were much bigger than Janelle's. Real udders, kinda shapeless once they'd spilled out of their bra cups. Now they were rolling about like loose deck cargo in a storm, as Christine continued to buck her hips in a vain and tiring effort to throw Janelle off. Her struggles slowed, and were soon replaced by pure breathless panting.

Time to settle things down a little, Janelle thought. Spinning around again and re-pinning Christine's arms with her legs, Janelle squatted back to once more bring her twat down firmly onto the other's face. Janelle hadn't had a chance yet to remove her own panties, but they were skimpy and it was a simple matter to pull the gusset to one side.

Then she began grinding gently, to snuff out the sounds of protest and enjoy the sensations being imparted to her tush by the squirming visage beneath.

The landscape in front was enjoyable, too. A vista of broad pale hips, meaty cellulitic thighs, a cute tummy roll, and one of the furriest fannies in Christendom. Lovely!

Christine's initial shock at finding herself with Janelle's dusky crack forcibly pressed to her nose seemed to be wearing off now. On the contrary, it seemed to be having a pacifying effect on Janelle's prisoner. Much how a falconer knows that slipping a hood over an agitated bird's head will settle it down, so Janelle had done the right thing by covering Christine's face with her ass.