Sapphic Voices Erotica

Notes To Self

This Story is rated 'Adults Only' for its sexual content.

I stand as directed with my back facing the bar. I wear exactly what the note left under my windshield wiper specifies. It is 8:55 and I am waiting for someone to appear at 9:00. The bar is virtually empty; no one dances.

Two minutes left and I sip at a bottled water. I prefer a more potent solution but think it better to have my full sensibilities. I cap the water and swallow it with difficulty. My stomach flitters; I clench the railing with both hands in anticipation. I raise my arm to check the time and feel the pressure of hands on my shoulders, the warmth of a body slightly taller than me presses against my back. “Don’t turn around.” She whispers into my ear as I try to turn and get a look. She swivels my body back to its forward position. “Don’t cheat by looking in the mirror, either.” She’s smiling. I know that even if I can’t see her.

She is playful but firm. Her hands slide down my arms stopping just above my elbows. I feel a light pressure against the nape of my neck, she inhales, “God, you smell good. You’re just as beautiful as always.” A chill raises goosebumps on my arms. “Are you cold?” Her thumbs make small circles on my arms. Every breath she exhales tickles. I offer her more access to my neck, my shoulders, anything she cares to touch. Boldly, I lean back into her, unsure that this will be allowed. The note doesn’t say what the rules of engagement are.

She moves away and pushes me back against the rail. She’s inserted her hands underneath my jacket, her hands rest on my waist. I can’t help but to try to catch a glimpse of her, she prevents this by leaning in closer. “That’s far enough.” She cautions.

“What’s your name?” I ask.

“Mmm “, she says, “I could just eat you up. I think I’ll start here.” A barely audible sigh escapes me when her warm tongue traces my outer ear. I can’t help it. I release my grasp on the railing and try to touch her. She intercepts my hand and wraps it around my waist in front, and pins the fingers underneath her own . Her hands are incredibly soft and warm. “Careful.” She warns.

I am aware that we are on display although I cannot see anything or anyone in front of me. I hear music, but the din of conversation seems to have disappeared beneath the pounding of my own blood in my flaming ears.

“What’s your name?” I repeat.

She finds my other ear, catching me off guard, “Whatever you want it to be.” She answers.

“Do I know you?” I ask, heart hammering away in my chest.

“You will.” She assures me, nuzzling my neck, lips and teeth nibbling and nipping. Her hips and pelvis rock in time to the music, causing mine to do the same. I choose to close my eyes. I cannot continue to stand captive much longer without touching her. I place my free hand on hers over my hip; I let my fingers wander as far as I can reach up her arm under cover of my jacket. The rhythm she keeps with her hips speeds up; she rubs her pelvis against my ass. Her breath caresses my ear, “So, what’s my name?” She asks.

I can’t think of one. I’m distracted by the warm pool gathering in my panties.

“I don’t know.” I gasp. The hand I have no control over is now under my shirt, tracing my ribs, fingering my nipple. “Tell me your name.” I beg. My knees are about to give way. She presses her full weight against me, pinning me between herself and the rail. I don’t have to stand anymore, her body is firm and powerful.

“Can we go somewhere else, please?” I plead, “I want …”

“I know what you want.” She whispers, then sucks my earlobe. Her hand insinuates itself into the waistband of my drawstring pants hidden beneath my jacket as well.

“You know what you have to do. We can leave after I get what I want. It’s up to you.” Her breath is hot in my ear. Her fingers slip into the wetness flowing from me. She massages my clit.

“Not here!” I protest, starting to panic.

“You want me to stop?”, she murmurs.

“No. I don’t know. .. Yes!” She knows I can only go so far in public.

“You can stop this, baby. You know how. What’s my name?” Her voice strains, she is breathless, her hips thrusting to music no longer being played.

“Oh God!” I moan, “Please..”

“Please what?” She insists, “Say it and we can go .. anywhere you want. We can finish this.”

I shake my head from side to side unwilling to play along, not wanting to give up so easily.

She breaks. “All right, you win. You are not going to look at me. You will walk ahead of me to the bathroom, go into a stall, and close your eyes. Open them, and I’ll leave.”

I consent with the up and down motion of my head, testing my legs – gathering my senses for the trip. My scent is on her fingers as she removes them from between my legs. She pushes me ahead. I keep my eyes on the floor, find a stall in the bathroom and close my eyes as instructed, leaning against cool metal.

Silence. I fear she has gone, but I don’t dare open my eyes. The cubicle vibrates as she opens the door and clicks it shut. She pins me hard against the wall with her thighs, cups my breasts in both hands and kneads them roughly. She begins to lick my neck from earlobe to shoulder blade.

I realize my hands are free to explore now. Short bristly hair, small hoops evenly spaced ringing her entire ear. The other ear has one hoop. Muscular shoulders, wide hips, generous, heavy ass. I grab the latter with both hands, squeeze. A gurgle of surprise escapes - a hot puff of air against my neck. I take advantage of her distraction, unbuckle her belt and press the palm of my hand against her sopping, wet crotch. Her head falls to rest on my shoulder and I wonder if she’s watching this. I reach out blindly behind her with my free hand, find the opposite wall, and push. I propel myself forward; she stumbles until her back rests again the steel. She kisses me roughly – tasting of bourbon, something strong and sweet.

I open my eyes. She has lost ground by allowing me to pin her, and she’s not fighting to regain it. Eyes closed, she’s concentrating, I’m sure, on how to keep it together. She is beautiful, especially like this – focused on her need, fighting and savoring it both.

“Look at me.” I whisper, “Or else I will stop. Say it, baby, so we can go home.” She shakes her head, willfully, no. I know how this goes, and I stop the motion of my hand – exerting my own will. The sadistic nature of this act amuses me. I am always amazed that I can do this, just stop, refuse both her need and mine.

“Don’t!” she begs. She seeks my mouth, my tongue – sucking, mewling, pleading in her own special way. I start again. She is as familiar with my weaknesses as I am with hers.

I tell her to put her foot on the toilet.. and she does it. I jam my whole hand into her underwear and slip two fingers inside. “Say it.”, I demand, fucking her. My thumb swirls around her clit. She lays her head on my shoulder, grunting and panting softly. I bring her to the edge whispering that I’m going to stop when I get to the count of three. I begin, “One.”

“Please don’t,” she begs.

“Two.” She shakes her spikey bristles violently, no.

“Thhhrr”, I tease the word out slowly, and she breaks. “Cel, Celeste, please, okay?” Her capitulation surprises and delights me. I cover her mouth with mine, and let her moans fill me up. Spent, she collapses onto the toilet to recover her senses. I watch her shaky fingers rub her temples, and run through her hair.

I straighten my clothes, enjoying her scent on my fingers. As tonight’s winner I get to dig out the note I prepared. She holds her hand out for it, smiling wryly at me. I hand it over, kiss her on her forehead, and walk out. My note reads: We’re out of milk, and bring some chocolate ice cream. I’ll share if you finish what you started. Love, Cel.

The last note she had the pleasure of slipping into my bra, between my breasts as I sat where she sits now, required me to fetch her favorite beer from across town. I’m a better winner than she is. She should be home in an hour.

If you have enjoyed Mary Dawn's "Notes To Self", then please be certain to  Contact The Writer  and thank her for posting this Story.

Click here for a list of all of Mary Dawn's Stories and Poetry at  Sapphic Voices Authoresses.