We had known Stella for a few years, since she had taken a house at the end of our road. She had picked Jane up in her car several times either going or coming from school and Jane had asked her in to meet us eventually; we had been friends ever since.
I liked her as a person, although I knew there had to be something the matter with her sex life, living on her own like that. She was a year younger than I and very attractive, with that fascinating combination of almost blue-Mack hair and very fair skin, and, as Phil had observed, she had a lovely pair of breasts — we measured our busts together once, and she topped my 38 by an inch.
Our friendship had run on ordinary lines until a short time ago. We had made a habit of once a week driving out to a lovely old pub for a meal and a quiet drink, as Phil always put in one late night at his office.
On the night of my “seduction,” I think Stella must have had quite a few drinks before we started out; she was in a talkative and confiding mood and feeling rather sorry for herself. She suggested we leave early and go back to her place-I had an idea she wanted to unburden herself. She did!
I learned why she had never married-she had tried having a man and, although she had not found it unpleasant-even achieving orgasm-she had wondered if it was worth attaching herself to a husband for the rest of her life. Then she had tried having sex with another woman and had liked it even more, so-she had single. Since then, she had found her satisfaction with various other females with her own inclinations.
Since living near us, she had found it less frequently and used to make regular trips into town to spent a night with a lesbian friend of some years' standing; apparently this one had now formed another attachment and Stella was out in the cold.
We both had quite a lot more to drink, then, and it hadn't seemed so terribly wrong when she started playfully kissing me and telling me what a lovely figure I had. Then we had talked about our measurements and that was when she had got out a tape. Having learned what her sexual preferences were, I know I should have called a halt when she suggested we strip to the waist and compare the size of our bosoms, but what with the drinks and feeling sorry for her. I agreed. Besides, I must confess to feeling a sort of excited fascination about the whole scene.
We stripped. She was wearing a blouse, so all she had to do was take it off and follow it with her bra and she was naked to the waist; I had a rather tight dress on, so the only way to bare my own breasts was to take it right off. After I had removed my bra, I stood only in my panties, shoes and stockings, with a single waist-strap suspender-belt.
We both took stock of each other, then. She had those lovely big white breasts, with large pale nipples that look so sensitive-I found they were, too, later-and a surprisingly tapering waist compared to the size of her bosom. Her eyes were on me, too-hotly. Not only my bare breasts, but the rest of my scantily-clad body. I began to realise I hadn't made a very wise move in agreeing to the measuring. I picked the tape up wishing to get the whole thing over with.
I measured her, touching her flesh as little as possible, then submitting to being measured by her. She took about twice as long as I did and I had my bosoms touched, stroked, pressed and practically squeezed before she arrived at the figure of 38 against her 39.
I bent quickly to pick up my bra and then she was behind me, arms round me, hands cupping my breasts. I tried to wriggle away, but she held on, a good grip on both my breasts, squeezing them until they almost hurt. I felt hers, firm and warm, nipples poking stiffly into my back; she was kissing the back of my neck, murmuring into my ear, telling me how lovely I was begging me to let her make love to me.
I struggled at first, then gave it up and finally stood quietly in her clasp, allowing the kisses and breast squeezing, hoping she would come to her senses if she found she was getting no reaction.
But, God help me, my own body let me down-my nipples began to rise under her stroking palm; she felt it immediately and stroked the harder.
“Let me, darling.” she was whispering. “Please let me love you. See-your titties want me to! I need it so badly, it's been so long-just a little loving. There's no harm in it and no one will know. You'll be quite safe with me-no babies! Say you will-please?”
On and on she went, while I stood there, those caressing hands on my breasts. I could have pulled away, then. I know; put my things on and left. Then I considered the results-a long friendship broken and one lonely girl with very hurt feelings. I was reluctant to have that happen-besides. I liked the girl and our little evenings out. I had one other reason, though I wouldn't admit it even to myself at the time-she had built up an intense erotic excitement in me. I looked down at myself in my tight, flimsy panties; at the two hands fondling my breasts, then looked up quickly, as shame flooded through me. I was roused, in spite of myself. Me, a married woman with a fifteen year-old daughter! Had anyone told me an hour or two earlier that this could happen, I would have laughed at such a fantastic impossibility.
Yet, there I stood, half naked, docilely allowing another half naked woman fondle me in a way which should have been the sole prerogative of my husband. What was worse-it was doing things to me that only Phil had ever aroused. I was even finding pleasure in the warm, stiff-nippled breasts pressing into my back.
The fondling hands at my breasts were concentrating on my nipples now, which had become huge as they always did when I was thoroughly roused. I stood there with my arms at my sides, bra dangling by the strap from one hand, looking down at the long caressing fingers pulling at my suffused nipples.
I knew it wasn't in me to stop her now-I no longer wanted to-and when she pressed me back hard against her breasts and whispered to me, asking if I wanted her, I nodded, beaten.
She almost squealed her delighted triumph, driving the breath from my body with her exuberant hug. For a moment, her excitement had got the better of her. She threw herself on her knees in front of me and hugged my thighs. She looked up at me, then, her fingers going to the waist of my panties.
“May I, darling?” she breathed.
Face hot with shame and passion mixed, I nodded again, not daring to look at her. My panties were dragged half-way down my legs then and her hot mouth was nuzzling at the tops of my thighs, her arms round my hips. I stood shaking as she knelt at my feet, mouth foraging amongst the hairs at the base of my stomach.
She got a grip on herself then-I think this was as unexpected to her as it was to me-and rose to her feet. She kissed me lingeringly on the lips and her arm went about my waist.
“Let's go into my bedroom, Rita-more comfy there.” Her voice sounded as shaky as I felt.
I allowed her to lead me into the bedroom hobbling, on account of the panties still hanging about my thighs. There, I was gently pushed back on to the bed, suspenders unfastened shoes taken off, stockings carefully rolled down my legs and suspender-belt removed. I lay then with my hands covering my face as she looked down at me.
I heard the whisper of garments and opened my eyes to see her swiftly stripping off the rest of her own clothing. She soon stood naked; she had a gorgeous body-full, ripe and startlingly white against the blackness of her hair.
Then she was lying beside me, lulling my fears with the soft warmth of her body and soothing murmurs. I began to lose my identity as Mrs. Rita Young, consciously pushing it from my mind, now, as desire overcame all scruples.