Author: NicciHaydon

Petticoats [FF, Mast, Oral]

“Reach under and touch it,” Henrietta dared, giggling as she swayed her hips.

Maybe it was the laudanum talking. Certainly she would never have been so bold without it. But on the other hand, her thoughts often turned to what her best friend might look like with her clothes torn off and tossed into the grass.

Laura laughed and shook her head. “You’re mad! Put your clothes back on before someone finds us!”

Henrietta was stripped to her petticoats. When she leaned down, Laura visibly tensed and closed her eyes, so she kissed her on the lips and felt the eagerness in her friend’s movements.

“Touch it, Laura,” she demanded. “Touch it.”

“No!”

Henrietta lifted her petticoats, displaying herself, and shivered as she flicked a finger through the folds of her bare cunny. It wasn’t the first time for that, either – for thinking about Laura while touching herself. It was the first time she’d done it with the other girl there.

“Touch it!”

“I want more laudanum!” Laura laughed and picked up the bottle, letting the flavour coat her lips. “I wish my body was as beautiful as yours.” Read more »

[Ff] “Governess” (Victorian lesbian romance)

I was twenty years of age when my father employed Agatha as governess to the twins, my half-siblings by his second wife. He had not married for a third time. He said that after losing my mother to the fever and my stepmother during childbirth, it seemed that he was doomed to live alone. Such sentiments, though I rebuked them as any good daughter should, gave me the perfect excuse for my own reluctance to find a suitor. How could I do any such thing when my father needed me so?

It meant that when Agatha joined us, I was neither married nor attached. And neither was she. Oh, but she was exotic. Her skin was a rich, golden brown; in colour like that of a farm hand or a traveller, yet smooth and unblemished even at the age of thirty-two. She smiled all the time, so unseemly for a governess, and she was fond of sweet tea and cream that gave her face, her waist and her bosom a roundness that appealed to my every sense. Read more »

Donna [Str8, FM, anal, mast]

I met Donna at a colleague’s birthday party. She was this elfin woman, small breasts, thin face, standing at the punch bowl all by herself. It was impossible to guess her age – she could have been anything from mid twenties to mid forties, depending on how the light caught her skin, her eyes, her smile.

“I see the way you’re looking at me,” she said, teeth showing. She had this spicy, Eastern scent, like that summer I spent in Cairo when I was nineteen.

I could feel my cock pushing hard against the front of my pants. “People talk about you,” I said, and she laughed and nodded.

“Punch?” She winked and glanced at my crotch while she ladled two glasses.

Later, as I lay back on her bed, grasping handfuls of the pillow, grunting breaths where I could, she picked up the conversation again.

“What do they say about me?”

Her fingers gripped my cock so hard that the head had turned purple, tugging it like she was trying to pull it loose. But it was the strap-on thrusting into my ass that made me buck and whimper. Read more »

Reflection [Str8, f, mast, voy]

Nobody else would ever have wanted my college dorm room. There was a blue-grey stain in the corner of the ceiling that nobody could ever explain. If the windows weren’t left open, come rain or shine, then an odd smell of rotting onions would drift in and take root. And by some quirk of the design, it was the smallest in the block. It was so small, in fact, that if I stood in the centre with my arms outstretched, and waved my cheerleader pompoms, they would brush against the walls.

But for all its failures, I never once asked to change rooms.

Katy, my best friend, thought I was just shy. “I’ll ask for you,” she would say. “Come on, Imogen, they can’t expect you to stay there.”

But I just shook my head. “It’s fine, I wouldn’t want anyone else to have it.”

You see, that dorm room had one redeeming feature. Laying on my bed in the evening, when the sun was just going down, and if the clouds didn’t get in the way, the light would somehow reflect miraculously, from the windows or the walls, or even perhaps from the big lake where Alice Wilson fucked Terry Parkes and got caught by the grounds keeper. But however it happened, the light bounced and jumped and carried to my window a full view into Lew Hatcher’s room, three floors above mine. Read more »