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Younger Mistress, Older Slave
Younger Mistress, Older Slave - Book 1
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Text Copyright 2016 Kathrin Pissinger
This is a work of fiction. All sexually active characters are at least of 18 years or older. Any resemblance to events or people, past or present, living or dead, is not just coincidental but would be fucking surprising.
Front cover based on the picture “Hell Bent For Leather” by Alan Antiporda, licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 2.0 Generic License.
The license terms can be found at https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/
Hi there. Nice to meet you. Since we're about to become intimately acquainted, you can call me Kat. I'm your friendly lesbian kink explorer, smut peddler and deluxe porn story author. My stories are full of wonderfully depraved lesbian domination, doused with a good dose of peeing, some rough fisting, stretching and hard insertions, anal as much as vaginal, a little bit of public humiliation, abuse and degradation, with the occasional spanking and bondage, sometimes coupled with some gratuitous sperm play in my rare bisexual moments and, of course, all of that with lots and lots of beautiful, regular, naughty and oh-so-willing women.
I know, you're impressed already, right? So before you dive in and delve deep into the story and your own orifices, let me use this precious moment of your time to tell you how you can get some FREE, SELECT books of mine by just subscribing to my newsletter HERE. Also included are regular updates on new stories and sales, and the occasional little gift. Yeah, I know, like you needed any more incentives, but that's just how generous I am.
Well. Let me get out of your way, then, so nothing may stand anymore between you and orgasmic bliss.
For Elena, my older slave
Well, hello there.
A few months ago I held a little poll among my readers, asking them which series they would like to see more of. The clear winner was My Lesbian Slave Martina, which I think is popular because it features some strong, distinctive lesbian domination and two women indulging in each other's fantasies and kinks.
Well, this here is the next best thing to that. A shiny new series, chock-full of similarly decisive lesbian domination, with a sweet dose of seduction and age difference, to spice things up a bit. And, to make it even more interesting, the stories here are told from the perspective of the individual slaves.
I know, I know, this is all mindblowing as it is, but bear with me, I promise it'll be good. But is it Martina-good, I hear you ask? Well, I think so, but I'll leave that for you to decide. At least it's got football and truckers in it, so there's that.
Snap. With a shutter-sound, my phone rendered a more-or-less well lit picture of myself in the mirror, the fishnet bodysuit clinging tightly to my curves while my nipples were poking through the holes in the fabric, a visible testament to how sexy it made me feel. With a confident nod I sent it off to Alan.
It didn't take long for him to reply. “Sexy,” was the message I got back. “Can I see more?”
“Horny bastard,” I thought, amused and flattered. Alan and I had a thing for about a month now, but were trying to keep it on the down low, since we were both married and lived in the same neighbourhood. So I tried to be careful to delete the hot messages I keep sending him, to both keep him entertained and our secret safe.
Bent over with my back to the mirror, I took a picture of my butt, across which the fishnet stretched into large diamond-shaped gaps, the biggest of which framed my tight little dark star and my barely visible pussy underneath. Making sure he got a better look, I took another shot up close, my labia glistening in the flash of the camera with clear moisture. And off they went, to the phone of my impatient recipient.
“Oh yeah,” he replied, surprisingly eager and forceful. “Now use your fingers inside.”
Mmmh. I love it when he tells me what to do. Without hesitation I gave my middle finger a quick lick and then slid it into my eager and welcoming wet fuckhole. I shivered at the intrusion, feeling more horny than I thought I was and for a moment forgot to send him something to watch while I crooked my finger and played a little with my tender insides.
Click, click. With trembling hand I tried to get a good shot up close of the action – too close perhaps, judging from the few drops of pussy juice that I found on my phone when I brought it back up. I was pleased with the picture, though. A nice, clear shot of my puffy labia wrapped around my finger, stuck deep inside with only the last digit visible, where one of my rings was shimmered barely at the entrance of my pussy. It was even kinda pretty, I thought, sending it over.
“Hmm, now the ass,” he replied within seconds.
Wow, I thought, he's really fired up today. We never even approached that particular hole, so I liked his confidence. I pulled my finger out and ran its wet slick tip across my butt, carefully pushing it inside until I felt that warm, raunchy feeling that was so wrong, but oh so right.
Now, taking pictures became a daunting task. I fingered my asshole, unable to stop, and tried to turn and bend in a way that allowed me to photograph myself in the mirror and get a glimpse of the action. The results were blurred, shaky and too far off, but eventually I managed to get one or two shots I was semi-satisfied with, or just too plain impatient to try any more. I managed to send them off before I furiously fingered myself to a nice, quiet anal orgasm.
“Mmh, that was good,” I messaged him, with a picture of my slick pussy and sticky fingers. “Something to remember me by,” I concluded, with a winky smiley.
“We're not done yet, bitch,” he replied.
I stared at the phone, startled. This was really out of character for him. What was going on? I started typing a furious reply, about who he thought he was, and who he thought I am, when it struck me suddenly: Alan wasn't Alan. Alan was Mrs. Alan, the neighbour woman from downstairs! In my excitement, I had selected the wrong contact!
“Oh my god,” I replied. “I'm so sorry.”
Millions of thoughts were running through my head. In a way, I was just waiting for her to reply, hoping that all of this would just dissolve and go away. My heart was beating high in my chest. Finally, I got another message: “Meet me at the park bench outside,” it said. “And don't even think about changing.”