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As I slipped onto a bar stool in Sydney’s historic Marble Bar, the thigh-high split in my dress parted and perfectly showcased my bronzed sun-kissed leg. That spectacle was wasted on the barman who was otherwise occupied, inspecting my ample, albeit more modestly displayed, cleavage. “One of your Expresso Martinis to end my day, charged to my room, thanks,” I said, resisting the urge to add, don’t get your hopes up mate, I’m into girls. “Busy day?” he asked, as he placed the bar’s renowned salted caramel espresso martini in front of me. “Yeah, my usual week in Melbourne is rarely as frantic as this week has been. Big dinner tonight with the sponsors, tomorrow will be another long one, but then, thank God, it is the weekend.” “You will enjoy getting home tomorrow then,” he said. “I am actually staying in Sydney for the weekend, and my …” It didn’t seem worth completing my sentence as I was sure he hadn’t heard a word of my reply. His eyes had abandoned their furtive glances at my chest and focused, over my shoulder, on the marble archway that was the entrance to the bar. So, intrigued at what was more distracting than my decolletage, I turned and all was revealed. And, like him, my attention zeroed in on the ruby red diaphanous dress strutting into the bar. That and the gorgeous blonde to whom the dress precariously clung. I immediately noticed that the similarity between us wasn’t confined to hair colour. Around three inches shy of six feet, she was my height and her body beautifully toned, no doubt by a similar running schedule to mine. She mesmerised as she approached the bar, her dress reflecting the sway of her hips and movement of her unconstrained breasts, c-cup like me I imagined. Despite being, I guessed, at least a decade older than my twenty-five years, she was a strikingly attractive woman. She exuded the confidence that came with knowing she looked the part. Her choice of a dress that sheer advertised her taste for designer luxury – as well as the fact she had no intention of leaving anything to anyone’s imagination. Heads consequently turned but she didn’t acknowledge them, her focus was fixed, model-like, on the mahogany bar, the bar where I sat alone. She slid onto a stool, two along from me, languid, with the slit in her stunning Alex Perry dress displaying a long pale leg. She appeared to be, and there is no other comparator, like a goddess, perhaps Aphrodite or Diana. And like those Goddesses, she radiated a magnetic power, transcending the mere mortal as if she was blessed by the divine. And, of course, given my track record, the appearance of this Goddess-like creature beside me at the bar energised me. It felt like a switch had been thrown in my mind and I needed to be closer to her to enjoy the source of her power, and, if I am honest, to see whether mine matched hers. Her glance lingered on me as it unashamedly travelled from my feet up to my eyes. And having checked me out, she then turned to the barman, and said, “I’ll have what she is having.” “These are Sydney’s best Expresso Martinis, and I am told they are a perfect nightcap,” I observed, which was, I recognised, a pretty standard conversation opener. She turned, smiled at me, and replied, “As far as cocktails go that is likely true. But my perfect nightcap doesn’t need either cock or tails.” That was more than an exploratory toe in the flirting pool, I thought, more like a full-body immersion. And, as usual, I couldn’t resist the challenge of plunging into that particular pool, and indeed I instinctively upped the ante, replying, “And here was I thinking a fox tail butt plug would beautifully complement your Alex Perry outfit.” With the mention of the butt Beşevler escort bayan plug, she smirked deliciously, but the barman almost spilt her cocktail as he placed it in front of her. She and I were both experienced enough to recognise the opening moves had been made and it was game on. She turned to face me, raised her glass to her lips, sipped the decadent cocktail, and whispered, “I am impressed you noticed that my gown is from Australia’s premier couturier. Though I suspect Alex would have been shocked if I had asked him to include a tail in my fitting.” “Shocked that you had asked a man? Or is it that you prefer a tail to be inserted in a more private setting?” She smiled like a cat that was anticipating lashings of cream, and upped the ante herself, “Well not just any girl can play with my arse. I am a bit particular in that I insist, for instance, on knowing the name of any woman who intends to bugger me.” “I am Laura,” I replied, “And I don’t think you will find I am just any woman.” “Oh, just one look was enough for me to know you are more interesting than most. You have a very sensual aura about you. Perfectly complemented by your Sass and Bide outfit. I am Sarah.” “I had to impress clients tonight, Sarah, but I doubt I impressed as much as you would have.” “Don’t short change yourself, you certainly impressed me in, and, I imagine,” Sarah added with a smirk, “Out of that outfit.” I was thrilled my sartorial efforts hadn’t gone unrecognised by a fellow devotee of fashion. But there was more, I realised, so much more drawing me to Sarah than a shared love of good frocks. Her beauty and raw animal magnetism intoxicated and I wanted to step into her web, despite not knowing what was inside that gorgeous exterior. Even given how little I knew about her, I felt my body stir, nipples firmed into pokies pressing against my dress. And my pussy juices dampened my thong, which was, I now appreciated, inadequate for the task of meeting a Goddess at the Hilton’s heritage bar. She smiled, seemingly an accomplished reader of body language and said, “I can see that you are attracted to me, but just so you know, it is a long time since I have been stirred as much as I was when I saw you sitting at the bar.” Of course, I was used to being desired. Even so, I was surprised by the joy I got from knowing this sensual goddess was actually into me. But I knew there was a much more important question that I had to face up to, namely whether I should be into her. “There is of course,” I consequently replied, “a glory and a delight in instantaneous attraction. But it is, after all, a desire that could lead one astray.” “I don’t think I can lead you astray Laura. Women like you and I are hooked on the thrill we get from seduction, especially when we bite into forbidden fruit.” That was, I confessed to myself, absolutely true. I had been that woman. Eschewing love, which resonated of sipping hot chocolate beside the hearth, to be out riding with the hounds sniffing out the most delicious of sapphic experiences. And I pondered whether Sarah was well beyond anyone I had previously thought of as delicious. Her Goddess like magnetism generated a lust in me, but not like any lust I had ever felt before, this was lust refined, distilled, and concentrated to its purest essence. I was overwhelmed by the strength of my yearning for her and my desire for her to want me, to take me, to fuck me even though only a few words had yet passed between us. Sarah just seemed to instinctively know how I felt about her and, if her body language was anything to go by, a hunger for me coursed through her veins. So, conversation between Escort Çankaya us then flowed warmly and seductively. We both were skilled practitioners in the arts of building physical desire, and we both knew how to nurture the delicious sense of anticipation that our dance of seduction was drawing from each other. It was, I reflected later, as sensual and erotic a conversation as I had ever had. And Sarah was totally clear as to what was on the table, unfortunately not tonight she said, a standing invitation to join with her and worship at the temple of carnal delights. She consequently asked for, and I gave her my phone number which led to me having hers. Since she had her phone out, she wanted a selfie, and since she had a photo of the two of us, I took a picture of us on my phone too. And then she excused herself. She placed a soft kiss, redolent of future sensual joy, on my lips and wandered seductively out of the bar. With a last sway of her hips, she turned as she passed out of the bar and disappeared out of my view. And I felt a sense of loss as though a light had been switched off. I finished my espresso martini, picked up my phone and headed up to my room, deep in thought. I had been thinking about love lately. But my experience with Sarah made me wonder whether my, to date, lifetime commitment to the dance of lust made me permanently vulnerable to betraying any expressions of love that I made. Was it a fait accompli, demonstrated by my history, that giving into lust was so hard-wired into me that it would inevitably outweigh a love that bloomed? A vision of a future path had occurred to me at the bar, namely the wonderful erotic thrill of surrendering to my dark desires, consuming Sarah, and being re-born like her, a younger more powerful erotic goddess. Like a female Ozymandias, women would look at me and despair. Despair for their unquenchable need for me and their inability to hold onto me. The sheer erotic power that would flow from that apotheosis made me ache. As I got ready for bed, I couldn’t help but imagine my surrender to Sarah, the woman who toyed with my desire like no one ever had before. Our first kiss would go on and on, setting off skyrockets of pleasure in my brain and signals to my pussy that caused my juices to flow. I would be enveloped in a wave of sensory pleasure so powerful that nothing else would ever matter. My experience of life seemed to be leading me to be her disciple, worshipping at her altar of pleasure, and making my vows on how I should please Sarah and how she could please me. I know I am beautiful, I have always desired others and they have desired me. But I asked myself does that vision of the future mean that desire is just like the summer leaves, beautiful then gorgeously colourful, and then gone with the first hint of the cold of winter? And if so, I pondered, is there another path, as yet untrodden, at least by me? Would a future based on love, be there season by season, protecting me against the cold, perhaps never as vibrantly rich as in the beginning, but just the perfect ongoing nourishment for a girl’s soul? Love, I knew, was a significant, almost dominant, theme in literature. As it was always written about as a stronger more powerful emotion than lust, and if that was the case, then I would be short-sighted to sacrifice a love, no matter how embryonic, even for the sexiest pussy on the planet, and Sarah certainly fitted that bill that night at the Marble Bar. But knowing the canons of English literature, it seemed like those writers metaphorically climbed into bed with me that night. They didn’t glorify lust rather, as the standard bearers Cebeci escort for love, they wrote about individuals open to the moment when love found them. I consequently heard in my mind, as I turned off the light and pulled up the covers, an echo from the literature written down the ages that was a reminder to always remember the redemptive power of love. And I knew that when I had actually sipped, like communion wine, from that cup, even taking much less than a mouthful meant I had felt some of that power. Consequently, naked under the covers, there was one woman on my mind. Sarah had made me feel so very, very horny and I massaged my wet achy clit until orgasm deliciously claimed me. ********* When I arrived back in my hotel room the next evening after supper, I discovered her sitting there, having somehow got herself into my room. She stood and, as the door closed behind me, minced over to me in her lime green skirt boldly accessorised with matching heels. “You have kept me waiting,” she said impatiently, her hair swinging with the shake of her head. “How long, and how did you get in here?” “I had my way with the concierge of course silly,” she said placing her soft lips on mine, and adding, “I have been waiting for you since we parted company.” My arms went around her shoulders and I drew her into me, “Waiting for what exactly?” She giggled, “Waiting to fuck you silly of course, silly” “Oh really,” I said, though in truth I could hardly be surprised by that. “Unless of course, you have had a better offer from some tart.” “Well as it happens, I have had an offer.” That startled her. And while she recovered and then tried to appear impassive, I knew she was trying to conceal her feelings; as I had seen her initial shocked look. “I see, Laura, well, of course, I won’t stand in your way. Is she gorgeous?” “Well, I did take a selfie to show you. Her name is Sarah.” Jess took a long look at the selfie of me and Sarah that I had taken the previous evening. “Oh my, she really is stunning darling,” Jess said, her voice a study in control though tinged with something close to sadness. I looked straight down into her eyes and smiled. “And what makes you think you aren’t?” I replied conscious of my need to nip in the bud any germinating anxieties my girlfriend might be growing about a super-model lookalike staring out at her from my phone. Jess gave me that patented look she has where her smile of appreciation curls down at the edges conveying that her feelings are tinged with a question as to the sincerity of the comment. “Well, apart from being elfin with bee-stings for boobs, you mean?” Jess added without emotion. I couldn’t help but smirk at her comment and her eyes lit up as she knowingly pounced on my smile. Her hand which was around my waist snaked down and she smacked my bum, too gently to hurt but hard enough to get my attention. “You are teasing me aren’t you Laura?” I ran my fingers through her brunette hair, “You do look good my love. And I may be teasing, but maybe you ought to ring Sarah and thank her.” Jess’s expressive eyebrows arched questioningly. So, I answered her questioning look, “For showing me there is something more powerful in my life than lust for one of the sexiest women on the planet, a bill which Sarah certainly fits.” Jess’s eyes widened, and she positively glowed, “Does that mean what I think it means?” I softly kissed her lips, and smiled, answering, “I think you know what trumps lust.” “Say it, just say it, Laura, please.” “I love you, Jess.” The shriek of joy reverberated around our hotel room. Jess slipped from my grasp and bounced, there was no other word for it, up and down excitedly clapping her hands. She was petite, and at that moment of unconcealed joy, she was like a teenager whose Christmases had all come at once. Having owned up to how I felt and seeing her excited reaction, I was overwhelmed by the surge of emotion that flowed through me. I needed Jess in a way I had never needed anyone before.
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