History with a Past

Literotic asexstories – History with a Past by SyPhigh,SyPhigh
All characters are over eighteen years old. This story meets the Literotica Guidelines. Enjoy.

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Maggie stood outside the house and squared her shoulders a moment. She had never been here before. Either to this house or this area. It was an upscale bungalow that was far out on the edge of the city. It sat on five acres of land and was offset back from the street with plenty of plantings masking it so you parked on the street and had to walk through a winding path between hedging to reach the front door. Very professional exterior work and gardening that smelled of money.

She realized with some annoyance that she was hesitating.

She adjusted her blouse in the way nervous forty-two-year-old women do when checking their look before meeting strangers. Or at least someone she had not seen in years and years.

She sighed. Annoyed at herself for having these feelings of hesitation.

Her hair was cut shorter that what she considered ‘normal’ right now. She had been experimenting for a while. Shortening it. It had been closer cut to her head until recently. Now, growing back it was a mass of curls that was maybe four inches long — sort of halfway between what she thought was her ‘look’ and her period of experimentation. Combing it was useless right now and she always thought it looked a wreck in any mirror she caught a glimpse of herself in. That coupled with the lines that had appeared in her face after she turned forty made her nervous about her looks. Along with the eight pounds over her best weight she was carrying around on her hips and belly right now. Medals of age.

You can lie to others.

It is harder to lie to yourself though.

She shook her shoulders. She wasn’t really nervous about her hair, her weight, or about the simplicity of the jeans and T-shirt outfit she was wearing. She accepted these things about herself really.

She knew the truth.

What was making her nervous was meeting Tiffany again.

Tiffany and she had been friends a little less than thirty years before, a long time ago. They had been kind of close for something like three years. Buddies in the free-wheeling way that only youth can be. Fast friends who were trying everything in the world out together. Testing life. They had liked each other, wandering freely to each other’s homes, playing every day together. Socializing. Hanging out. Talking. And learning.

Until things in their learning changed that one day.

Maggie remembered that day most of all.

They had been home at Tiffany’s house at the time.

Tiffany was latchkey. Her folks both worked. Though Tiffany’s mom usually tried to be home by 5 PM, many times work still got in the way and both of her parents often stayed away from home until 7 or 8 at night and the girls often had the place to themselves until a parent came home. The house was big. Much bigger than Maggie’s. A great place for two gals to run around in and hang out without much supervision.

It had been one of those days where they had played games for a while, but were evolving towards other pastimes.

They’d made it home that day from classes by 3PM and had settled in for a girl-time chin wag. Maggie called her mom and told her she was over at Tiffany’s. Her mom simply acknowledged. Maggie stayed over at Tiffany’s so often her mom really didn’t think twice about it. Tiffany’s mom called right after and informed them she would be late tonight, not home until almost nine. They always left money on a clip on the refrigerator door so that Tiffany could call for Pizza if she got hungry. There was no trace of serious parental concerns from either of the two girl’s folks.

She and Tiffany started in talking about this and that. Naturally the conversation eventually wound around to boys. Tiffany then started to brag about some of the positions that men and women could get into. She appeared to know what she was talking about, which surprised Maggie as they both had about the same experience level in sexual matters. Which was to say, basically none. She had pressed Tiffany and it came out that she had been looking at an old sex manual from thirty years before that she had found stashed away in the attic. Presumably, the book was originally her parent’s, but had been rounded up and hidden away up there along with a few men’s magazines by her older brother before he went off to college.

Maggie had been very curious and nervously convinced Tiffany to drag the stash out where they could both look at it together.

The manual was illustrated with drawings and some photos. It was thorough and both of them were intensely interested as the two of them flipped through it. They often giggled and joked over several entries. They were perhaps more still more nervous jokes on Maggie’s part, but both were enjoying themselves.

Maggie’s nervousness came from her mother. Her mom was always spouting off about religious teachings these days. She had sought out the religion industry after she and Maggie’s dad had gotten divorced. She kept pressing Maggie to go to church lately and do religious things with her, mumbling about God and sin and a bunch of other memes. Maggie loved her mom, but really did not care for any of the theocratic drivel. She was smart enough to understood that her mother wasn’t really into finding God, but was really looking for a life purpose and simple fellowship at church. She wanted friends really. Instinctively Maggie twigged that her mom didn’t want true spirituality, any real belief system or immersion in into so idiotic religious dogma. They were just the trappings that went with having someplace to go some nights. Essentially, her mom was just parroting what she heard from the paid priest class and her nuttier co-religionists. On autopilot to fit in.

Maggie was a smart girl.

She could see that in the background of all this her mom felt that the central relationship in her life had vaporized overnight with her divorce and she was just using the religion as a crutch to hold her up emotionally. A prop for her own weaknesses. To fill a void for her. To give her purpose, a purpose she should be able to find on her own. Annoying rather than enlightening. As a result of this tension, Maggie had limited exposure at home to very good sexual information or anything as daring as the sex manual clearly was. As a result, she found herself fascinated by its frankness. Its clarity. She knew if her mother had the slightest idea that Maggie was looking at something so open, she would run down a litany of lines that some member of the ministerial staff had muttered in her ear like a string of pompous bumper stickers. Boring stuff. This book wasn’t boring at all. Maggie remembered being openly thrilled to be looking at a book then that was utterly the opposite of her mother and her mates. Open and free. Honest. The exact opposite of what her mother was trying to fill her life with. Maggie had hung on every page as Tiffany had flipped through the thing and showed her the things that had most amused or excited her.

There had been one page that Tiffany had settled on called ‘strip poker’ and had a drawing of a man and woman playing cards in their underwear. To this day Maggie could recall her looking at the page and then back at Maggie significantly. Then back and forth a couple more times and finally she said something that would always be there in Maggie’s memory.

“Let’s play.” She did not really wait for an answer from Maggie, but fetched a deck of cards from her headboard and sitting cross-legged in front of her, Tiffany dealt them both a hand. They argued for a few moments, about rules and such, but neither really hesitated for long and they began to play. They each began to lose hands and both ended up in their bras and panties. They had each studied each other in their undressed forms shyly, but with shared interest. Maggie remembered Tiffany then lost the next two hands and Maggie had demanded that she stand up and turn around in the nude. It had thrilled her in some subtle way. Her first naked girl stripping for her and Maggie had been surprised at how Tiffany looked naked. Her friend’s boobs had seemed big to her. Her own had just passed the small stage and were getting a bit of meat behind the nipples. By contrast Tiffany’s were almost a B cup already, which every girl wants and have to carry them around for years. Maggie remembered that her friend’s brownish pink nipples had stuck right out like erasers. She even had a tangle of brown hair that was a half shade darker on her genitals than it was on her head. It was certainly far thicker than Maggie’s black pubic hairs.

Having lost, it was almost natural that Tiffany had insisted they keep playing to ‘get even.’ Maggie had pointed out that she had no clothes to lose, so Tiffany had said it would be like truth of consequences and she would have to pay further losses by Maggie assigning consequences for the loser to meet if her clothes were gone. Maggie had agreed to the restructure and they continued. Consequences never arose for her because she lost the next two hands so that she too had to stand in front of her friend and nervously turn around mother naked.

To be frank, despite her blushing, Maggie had been turned on by the whole business. She had felt a distinct tingle from around the nub at the top of her slit. It throbbed as she shyly put her underwear back on after Tiffany made her walk up an down a couple times like a nude runway model.

They had both put on their underwear back on again when Tiffany had upped the stakes.

She declared that on the next hand they would have to figure out how to practice something from the book next. In other words, they were now playing for consequences.

The hand was dealt and Maggie lost. She sat, uncertain yet intensely engaged in the moment. Wearing only her panties.

The book was organized alphabetically. Tiffany flipped through it apparently randomly until it fell open to the letter B. She slid a thumb between pages to open it. The page on it had only a single topic. ‘B’ for bondage. Maggie remembered in minute detail even today how Tiffany’s face lit up. Her crooked smile as she glanced at the drawing of a woman tied spread eagle to a bed and giggled, showing it boldly to Maggie. She’s sprung up then, run over to her robe and pulled the belt of the robe out of its loops and returned with it dangling in her hand. She had gestured at Maggie to rise and she had done so. Nervously she stood there while Tiffany had walked behind her. She had grabbed both of Maggie’s wrists and pulled them behind her back.

Within seconds Maggie’s wrists were bound at the base of her spine.

There had been no discussion really of how the book would be used precisely. It was a surprise when bondage behind the ‘B’ appeared between them. It had happened organically somehow. Naturally. Tiffany had won the hand and was leading now. She was doing the tying. Maggie got what was left. She was obviously the one to be tied up.

To this day, Maggie remembered every detail and moment. Tiffany cinching her wrists together. Her testing her bondage. Straining against the robe sash which held her hands firmly, but not painfully. She might have objected if she had wished. Maggie had not protested in the least.

You cannot lie to yourself. Not really. Maggie had felt incredibly nervous through it all, but standing there in her friend’s bedroom with her hands bound behind her back, she knew she had been incredibly turned on too. Her hips moved from side to side unconsciously. Tiffany had then put her hands on Maggie’s shoulders and held them there. Then she leaned in and whispered into Maggie’s ear. The feel of her breath had penetrated straight through her ear, along her nervous system and to her clitoris which was aching and throbbing as she stood there tied up.

“Have you done it yet?” Tiffany had whispered.

Maggie remembered squirming helplessly.

“Done…what?” Maggie had asked innocently in a whisper.

“You know. It! Touched it. Until you feel… the feeling?” Tiffany asked.

“Fee…fee…feeling?” Maggie remembered stuttering. She half frozen at the frankness of the question. She was aware of having a few recent disturbing dreams. Dreams where she had awoken to an overwhelming feeling of a throb in her crotch. She was aware of touching herself there and feeling a swollen lump of flesh right where her lips split apart. More, she had felt some kind of liquid and her lips had parted wetly, but she had not really done it as a full-on waking thing yet. Just for a few minutes after waking up a bit and was only recently reaching awareness of her body’s capabilities.

“You know.” Tiffany had said amusement touching her voice back then. “Feeling it. Touching it. Getting yourself… off.”

The word ‘off’ had been breathy and it tingled all the way through Maggie as it entered her ear.

To this day Maggie remembered her the innocence in her response.

“Off?”

Tiffany had giggled a bit at that answer.

“You haven’t, have you? Haven’t gotten yourself off? Here! Let me show you.” She had said then. It was then that Maggie had felt Tiffany’s hand on her belly, reaching around her from she half stood beside and behind her. She had run her hand down Maggie’s front and her fingers and stroked the gusset of her friend’s panties. Dragging her nails deliberately over what she later knew to be her clit, feeling its distended height pushing the material outward and then rubbing it in gentle circles. She had alternated between those circles and dragging her nails up and down her crotch. Maggie remembered feeling her wrists tied behind her even all those years ago, the hands pressed into Tiffany’s lower belly and was aware of Tiffany’s mound through her panties on her finger tips as Tiffany frigged her that day. She was not old yet. She was inexperienced. She was horny immediately at the sensations. After ninety seconds she was panting for it. Her breathing had climbed the scales from deep breathes, to open panting, to groaning and moaning as her friend tickled and teased her and then Tiffany had gifted her with her first ever grunting and shrieking orgasm that made her with her whole body about and then collapse onto the floor while Tiffany cushioned her and hugged her for several minutes. Tiffany stroked her hair until Maggie had recovered from the experience of being buoyed up through floating layers of fogginess and lassitude.

It had been the start.

They often met after that, but their relationship had changed with this new feature to it. Maggie realized over time what affect her first orgasm had on her psyche. She had begun to fantasize and masturbate frequently on her own. Whenever she and Tiffany met though, the sexual element had been introduced and was now rather expected between them. It hadn’t all gone the same way. The first three times, Maggie had more less asked Tiffany to tie her up. Each time Tiffany had done so and teased her to orgasm. The fourth time, Tiffany had asked Maggie to tie her up instead. To see ‘what it was like.’ Maggie remembered teetering on the edge between curiosity and fear as she bound Tiffany’s wrists behind her. She hadn’t really needed to think much about it though, because Tiffany immediately asked Maggie to play with her vulva as well and from a sense of fairness alone, she had complied. She had fingered her friend through her panties until she thought from her climbing breathing and subsequent grunts that Tiffany had gotten some kind of orgasm out of Maggie’s undoubtedly awkward and too rough frigging.

It was difficult to remember after all these years, but Maggie figured she had been tied up at least a half dozen more times after that while she had tied Tiffany up maybe twice in her turn. They had both gotten to achieve orgasm within those experiences though. Once she remembered utterly clearly was at her own house in her own room, hands tied behind her back and Tiffany with her hand up Maggie’s skirt diddling away. The danger of a parent sticking their head in at such an awkward moment had made that orgasm especially intense. That time Tiffany had actually pulled Maggie’s panties down a bit and put her fingers right on Maggie’s privates. It was the first time it had ever happened that way since all the previous episodes had been through clothes or underclothes.

Then the relationship stopped. Not because either Maggie or Tiffany had made a conscious decision to break it off, but because her mother had gotten a better job they had to move. They had promised to write and stay close, but it was the stuff of fantasy. They exchanged a few notes and letters, but a variety of factors had prevented it from happening that way. It was the last time she had ever heard from Tiffany.

Until two days ago.

She had gotten a sudden contact on her Facebook page along with smiling picture of an older woman she vaguely recognized as Tiffany from the depths of her memory. It had made Maggie wonder where all the time had gone. They had caught up partially on-line. Maggie talking about her husband and her two kids who were going to college soon. Tiffany about her own husband, her jet setting lifestyle… her divorce that had led her to move back to the city and buy a house in town. After that first flurry of texting sessions, she had immediately invited Maggie to visit her. Visit her here. At this house where she was standing. To stand awkwardly on the porch of this person who was a woman she realized she barely knew, but who years and years before had tied her up and masturbated her. There were oceans of water that had passed under the bridges of their lives since then and Maggie realized she really knew very little about the Tiffany of today. She hesitated, her finger over the doorbell. She had just made a conscious decision to skip it and pulled her hand back to avoid ringing it.

Then the door was thrown open and the Tiffany of today was standing right there. Smiling. Greeting. Hugging. It was suddenly too late to back out and Maggie found herself entering the rather nicely appointed house, moving down a classic hallway rather than fleeing as she had set out to do just a moment before.

Tiffany closed the door and followed her. Then ended up face to face momentarily in narrow hallway. Tiffany examined her face carefully. Then she smiled broadly, pulling up one corner of her mouth up in irony.

“It has been a lot of years, Maggie. Time has passed, hasn’t it? Your life is written on your face. As I am sure mine is too. We aren’t girls any more, are we?”

Maggie made polite noises of agreement. Trying to see and understand everything she could of this woman without having any shared recent experiences. She was neatly enough turned out now, with an expensive angled bob haircut and a clean looking streak of white hair breaking up the dark over one ear. She was still big busted. Maggie was aware, as women are, that Tiffany’s large C cups were approaching a D cup beneath that blouse. They threatened to dwarf Maggie’s own B cup. She wasn’t jealous per se, just comparing automatically as feminine culture and instincts somehow called for. Tiffany noticeably wasn’t wearing a bra right now; her big nipples were standing erect and tenting her blouse material in a pair of big bulges. Maggie realized that there was a bit a droop to the big boobs within that had not been there in their youth. She might smell of money Maggie reflected in her environment, but she was beginning to pay the toll that gravity charged for her larger mummeries. The revenge of the smaller breasted youth. Money or no, time was pulling those big bosoms downward.

Tiffany smiled at the ranging scrutiny she was getting and put a hand on Maggie’s shoulder while holding out the cupped other hand politely in the direction of the kitchen.

“Let’s go into the kitchen for a cup of tea, shall we?” She said.

Maggie turned that way only to feel Tiffany’s hand suddenly tighten on her shoulder and push it from behind to keep spinning her about until her she was pushed rapidly face first into the wall of the hall.

Tiffany snatched her wrist behind her back and Maggie felt the unmistakable feel of rope being cinched around her wrist.

“No!” She cried sharply. She tried to turn, but came up short on the rope holding her wrist behind her back. “Wait. Tiffany!” She cried.

Tiffany grabbed her other wrist and dragged it behind Maggie’s back. Tiffany felt the twisting of more rope over that wrist and began tugging violently to free her hands as the ropes pinned her wrists behind her. She struggled to stop things, but Tiffany leant her weight behind her own shoulder between Maggie’s shoulder blades and pinned her against the wall.

“Stop it! Tiffany. No! What are you…” Maggie half commanded. She tugged and pulled. Her wrists were bound securely behind her now. She stomped her foot in frustration and growled.

Then Tiffany placed her hand back on the off shoulder on Maggie and pulled abruptly so that she was roughly pivoted back around to face Tiffany who then leaned forward and crossed one leg over both Maggie’s so that all her weight leaned into the tied women and pressed her torso back against the wall.

It left Tiffany’s face a few inches from Maggie’s.

That kind of proximity implied an intimacy that was the opposite of what Maggie was feeling at being assaulted this way. She strained her body away from the wall, pulling and wrestling with the ropes and knots that held her wrists behind her.

She kept talking. Trying to get things under control somehow with her voice.

“No. Tiffany! Stop this. Right now! I don’t…”

Tiffany just grinned at her.

“Just like old times, eh Maggie?” She smiled enigmatically cutting Maggie off.

Maggie bucked her hips and wriggled her upper body. Helpless under her weight. She could feel Tiffany’s big breasts pressing into her own chest in this position. Soft pillows. Alien to the last several decades experiences.

“No. Tiffany, look… look… look I know you are probably thinking… well… reliving our… our… experiences from a long time ago in your head or something…but I am not here for that…”

Tiffany rolled her head back and laughed with even white teeth.

“Sure, I want to relive those experiences! Who wouldn’t?” She leaned forward so her lips were inches from Maggie’s.” I am going to tell you something. In confidence…” She dropped her voice conspiratorially and leaned close to Maggie’s face. “You know I have been married right? For years and years. I am going to share a little secret with you Maggie.” She lowered her voice nearly to a whisper. Her eyes inches away from Maggie’s Her face right there, invading, inside her personal space. “For all those years I had sex with my husband. Happily. Fairly lovingly. And for all those years, even when I was climbing the sexual walls and getting ready to orgasm and enjoying my man being inside me. His penis inside me. There you were. You would just pop in my head. Just an image. A thought. A sensation. It might only be for a teenie-weenie moment in time.”

She looked thoughtful then went on.

“Usually, it was the last moment. Just a flash of you really… tied up the way we used to do it. Standing in my bedroom at the old house. You in your cute little underwear. The ones with the bears on them… or those yellow ones…” She paused a moment. The memories pouring out of her right from her heart. “The games we played there would just rise up in my head even as my man’s cock went in and out of me and well… frankly… I often came with that image in here.” She tapped the side of her forehead. Her face hovered close to Maggie’s. Looking down now at her lips. The lines of her cheeks. Then back into her eyes. “There you were… once again… just as I came. And I always came when that happened. When I saw… well, when I saw you! Can’t tell you how many times that happened to me over so many years. Orgasm after orgasm. And let’s not even talk about how often it happens when I masturbate alone either.”

Maggie had frozen as this diatribe poured out of Tiffany.

She felt panicky. Helpless. Frightened at the confession of obsession.

She shook her head now. Speaking reasonably, in a tone to dissuade. To be the voice of reason.

“Well… Look, Tiffany. I know what we did together must have been a… well… like a formative event for you. I get that. We played around. Sure. We were younger then though. Children really. Fooling around the way kids do. We are much older now. Wiser. We know ourselves better. So, I know I am straight now.” She said reasonably. “Thoroughly straight, Tiffany. I Know I am not gay. I have a husband. Kids! So please untie me and I’ll just be on my way.”

Tiffany examined her face from those short inches away and instead smiled smugly.

“Liar!” She leaned in and whispered. “You just let me tie you up. Just the way I used to.”

Maggie shook her head from side to side.

“No. NO! I didn’t! You just did it to me. Before I could stop you. You surprised me. Overpowered me. I didn’t want to…. God! Why would I want another woman to tie me up? I am super straight for crying out loud. I love my husband. Sex with him. I really am… well helpless. You did that, not me. You are molesting me!” She ended a bit desperately.

Tiffany giggled and then Maggie felt her fingers fumbling around the button that held her jeans together at her waist.

“NO!” She yelled out and tried to arch her body. She fought the ropes binding her wrists again and jerked her hips side to side and front to back to forestall Tiffany’s actions in undoing her pants. Tiffany just tightened her legs, plating her feet. “I told you. I am not gay, Tiffany!” She cried. “Please. Don’t unsnap my pants! Oh… No… Please…”

Tiffany in the meantime had the button undone and slowly began to lower the zipper until Maggie’s jeans gaped open. A ‘V’ that revealed panty material through it.

“Please! Tiffany. No!” Maggie felt her lip quivering and she was close to tears suddenly. “You’re… Oh! You are opening my pants! You’re… you’re molesting me!” She half screamed.

Tiffany smirked, grasped the denim on one side of Maggie’s jeans and pushed down hard. She had to. The jeans were a tight fit. Maggie’s skin tight, over-40 sexy jeans that she had selected for today. A women’s half-conscious decision, to soften the effects of age. The fat in the thighs. The rounding of the ass. A disguise. In a swift move Tiffany sank to a crouch in front of Maggie, grabbing the denim on each side of her hips and yanking down very hard so that the pants peeled down her thighs to cluster just above and around her knees.

Maggie, finding herself out from under Tiffany’s weight for a moment, felt her chance had come and tried to run towards the kitchen. She only got in a half a step and staggered to a halt though, her jean’s tough material slipping a tiny bit lower, then jamming around and just below the knees, still plastered to the calves and making them into a hobble where the material pinned her shins almost together and kept her from running.

Her eyes were huge and she looked over stricken at Tiffany who smirked with her hands on her hips.

Tiffany giggled at the sight of Maggie, wrists bound behind her back, pants wrapping her lower legs. Her slightly disarrayed panties were on open display. White satin-cotton mix that looked a little shiny in the right light. They framed her juggling buttocks and equally outlined her fat woman’s V-mound as she staggered a step right and then another left helplessly to keep from falling from her pants tripping her up, only to have to stand still pulling on her wrist ties behind her back, a pair of tears leaking out of her eyes now. She sniffled. Half from frustration. Half from helplessness brought on by her predicament.

Tiffany stood up again. She was barefoot and wearing a skirt and blouse. Her hair framed her face. Maggie stared into her face with her eyes large.

“This brings back some memories.” Tiffany said and taking each of the tied woman’s shoulders into her grasp she firmly pushed her shuffling back against the wall again where Maggie stood, gazing at Tiffany with a stricken face, absently rolling her shoulders a couple times in protest, but appearing a bit mesmerized as she met Tiffany’s eyes inches away from her own. Staring back nervously.

Maggie gazed into the eyes of her tormenter, looking and feeling now utterly out of control. It was dawning on her she was truly helpless. Hands bound by Tiffany’s rope. Her legs bound by her own pants.

“Please, Tiffany. Please. I am not gay. I…” She waffled on protesting.

Tiffany eased her hand down between them and slid it into the top of Maggie’s panties.

Maggie felt the other woman’s fingers trail through her pubic thicket, and jerked her hips backwards to deny Tiffany contact with her fat outer labia and clitoris.

Tiffany was ahead of her though and her other hand had slid simultaneously into the back of her panties, sliding behind her bound wrists at the back so that her fingers there slipped along her lips from behind. Maggie’s jerk backwards with her hips caused Tiffany’s fingers at the back to slip between her buttocks and then part her outer lips in the unexpected moisture that was coating her down there.

“Ohhhh!” She cried, being felt up .

Tiffany almost laughed at feeling the slickness.

“Naughty, Maggie! You are panting for it.”

Maggie gasped and shook her head in denial, moving her hips forward again without thinking, only to have fingertips tease her clitoris.

“I’m not… I’m… not!” She gasped. Pushing her hips backwards, only to feel one of Tiffany’s fingertips invade her from the rear.

Both Tiffany’s middle fingers then met right at her clitoris, one from front and one from back. She stiffened and Maggie gasped in her breath to feel the sensation, a fingertip teasing her clitoral shaft on top and bottom. She jerked her hips forward further to escape the teasing finger from behind invading her, but it doomed her because it left her clit exposed to a gentle flicking and circling of her sensitive nubbin at the front. Irresistibly. With a feeling of doom. Maggie knew the contact was raising her sexual feelings. Heat coursed into her lower regions. She felt the moisture. She felt the caresses on her now hard clitoris.

Tiffany smiled at her an inch from her face. She knew too.

“Yes, you are. You are horny. You cannot deny it. You are wet, girl.”

The helpless, tied up woman moaned at the feeling of suddenly being frigged from front and rear while bound. She looked up desperately at Tiffany’s face to see her mature face grinning openly back at her. A mirror of the youthful one from so many years before.

“You may not be gay, Maggie.” Tiffany breathed leaning in close again. Her lips near Maggie’s ear. “But I know your secret. You are thoroughly wet and your hard little clit says you are absolutely a bisexual… I can only think the bisexuality is brought on by bondage…” She rubbed the tied woman’s clit lightly in circles. “Being tied up. Getting sexual for sure. Turned on.”

Maggie grunted and groaned, shaking her head to clear it and jerking her hips about to try and escape Tiffany’s fingers. She wasn’t turned on. She wasn’t! Another lie, she tried to tell the watching world. She could not deny her feelings though. She knew that she could not escape. Tiffany’s fingers felt good. Far too good for a woman who was in denial about how she felt.

Tiffany kept it up.

Her fingers at the front making little flicking circles that grazed the clit and whenever Maggie jerked back in denial moved her fingertip at the end of the finger buried in between the hot damp folds of Maggie’s labia from side to side. The pads of the woman’s fingers stroking the shaft of her clitoris, bringing occasional moisture from deeper inside her.

Maggie groaned in frustration.

“Please… PLEASE… Tiffany. I… I…” She was distracted by the ongoing frigging. Having trouble focusing. The situation was just so bizarre that she felt overwhelmed. Over powered. Over… come. She was astonished of feel her breathing climbing in tempo. She twitched her hips, but Tiffany kept her fingers on her sensitive points unrelentingly. “Tiffany!” She panted. “You mustn’t… mustn’t…”

Tiffany leaned into her until her breath was on Maggie’s face. Maggie was trying not to look her in the eye, for fear of affirming that some kind of real lust was developing between them. Afraid that if their eyes locked it could communicate. Tell Tiffany once and for all that she was a bisexual.

“Mmm.” Tiffany worked her fingers. The front rotating, grazing and rubbing Maggie’s engorging clitoris. The rear dragging along the length of her slit. Teasing. She felt that one dip slightly into her helpless friend’s vaginal opening a tiny bit. “You really are tied up and helpless aren’t you, Mags?”

Maggie was slowly bending forward at the waist. Panting now.

“Please. No!” She said weakly. She shook her head. Then again.

“But your clit is so hard! And you are tied up. And half naked!” Tiffany said a bit tauntingly. Maggie grunted at each of her words. Jerking her hips. “You are turned on. You cannot disguise it.”

“No! NO!” Maggie cried out desperately. “Let me go! Please.” She bent forward further still at the waist. Her arms straining at the rope holding her wrists. “I won’t let you!”

Tiffany half grinned and bending her knees realized that Maggie’s new bent forward position denied her the ability to rotate her fingertips in full circles. Bracing herself. She instead thrust two of her fingers at the rear into Maggie vagina an inch or so. One of her bent fingers rubbing her taint between her asshole and her vaginal opening. The tip of one of the free fingers grazed her anus.

“Oh!” Maggie said involuntarily and half straightened again. “Your fing…”

Her new, more upright position let Tiffany rearrange her right hand slightly and reorient what she was doing to Maggie’s clitoris. She doubled her speed and the amount of pressure she was applying and began to thrust her center finger straight in and out with the occasional sideways jerk.

It worked.

“Ah! No. Stop! I’m… I’m… No… No… I can’t.” She said leaning back against the wall while Tiffany frigged her clit harder. Maggie found herself panting. “Oh! Please! Tiffany… Let me… let me… gooooooo!” She moaned as Tiffany thrust with her left hand so that two fingers held rigidly at towards the ceiling entered Maggie. “Uhhh…. Uhhhh…. No. NO! I’m… I’m… not…I… I’m going to… to…” He mouth was now hanging open.

Tiffany certainly did not stop, but was careful to apply just the right amount of pressure with both hands. The clit teased. The taint and entrance to her vagina at the rear.

Suddenly Maggie stiffened almost upright and her mouth fell open along with her eyes which had been drooping half shut for the last minute or so.

“Ahhhhh! Tifffany! Noooooooo. Please…. I’m not gayyyy….Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!” She screamed out an earth-shattering orgasm, jerking and writhing her body from front to back, riding along with the movements of Tiffany’s fingers.

She quivered, jerked repeatedly and then half collapsed forward so that Tiffany was forced to yank her hands free from Maggie’s body and to catch her and help lower her to the floor where she deftly gathered Maggie into her arms while carefully arching a leg around her body to plant a heel firmly against her labia and pressing it in so that as Maggie jerked her hips with little moans she would have to feel her clit mash or slide across her friend’s heel, increasing her afterglow.

The both lay for several minutes like that with Maggie taking the closing arguments of her pleasure thought thrusts on the back of Tiffany’s foot.

Maggie recovering from her huge orgasm and Tiffany gripping her and holding her in both affirmation and control. Maggie ended up hanging there in her arms. Helplessly collapsed. Boneless.

It took several minutes before Maggie finally stirred. She gazed up at Tiffany a curious mixed look of satiation and fear mingling on her face.

Tiffany smiled at her.

Maggie shook her head in denial of that smile.

“Please, Tiffany. Untie me now.” She almost whispered.

Tiffany’s smile got bigger.

“I can’t do that, Maggie. You have to be tied up.” She caressed Maggie’s hair gently across her skull. “I need to see you tied up… while I watch you eat my pussy out.”

Maggie jerked and stared stricken at Tiffany. Oral sex was never something they had done in the old days.

“No! NO!” Her eyes were big. “I’m not a lesb…. I don’t want to… to…” She cried, pulling on her bound wrists.

Tiffany smiled angelically at her.

“You are so cute. It’s as if you have a choice in the matter. But darling, I have been dreaming of you eating me out for all these years. There are two of us here. You’ve had your fun, haven’t you? It is my turn. Are you ready?”

Maggie shook her head violently.

“NO! You are crazy! Help! HELP! Someone… anyone…HELP! She has me tied up! I can’t escape! I’m helpless!” She shouted.

Tiffany smiled at her tuning sideways to the hallway, spread her legs slowly and deliberately. She lifted her skirt slowly until her crotch came into view. Maggie staring at her with wide, panicky eyes. Seeing the smooth column of her legs come into view. As the skirt reached her waist, Maggie realized that Tiffany wore not underwear. Instead she was staring at pair of engorged labia, framed by a thicket of pubic hair. She didn’t want to. But she stared. It was as if the first labia other than her own she had ever seen first-hand — other than a few she had seen in porn movies her husband had insisted she watch, was hypnotic. She could not tear her eyes away.

“Might as well get that over with right here.” Tiffany said bending her knees more so that her wet labia parted and Maggie was staring into her inner wet pinkness. She struggled to rise to her knees. She kept shaking her head in denial.

Tiffany reached up and cupped Maggie’s face in both hands.

“C’mon, Darling. It’ll be fun.” She moved her hands behind Maggie’s neck, gathered some of her hair into her fists. She began to every so slowly lean backward, putting her weight on Maggie’s neck.

Maggie resisted being pulled forward for a minute, but kneeling there, bent over, hands tied behind her and her legs tangled in her own pants and panties gave her little means to improve her resistance. The toll of Tiffany’s weight slowly began to bend her forward. Then still further. Finally with a moan of protest and a series of little whimpers she inch wormed onto her belly and her face half fell and half was pulled into Tiffany’s naked crotch. As it approached her nostrils filled with the scent of a woman for the first time. Then it was too late. She lay on her belly between Tiffany’s legs. Hand bound behind her by her tailbone. Nose and mouth right there. In Tiffany’s womanhood. Tiffany’s hands at the base of her neck. Keeping her there without much force.

A whimper escaped her and she opened her mouth releasing the tongue which slowly and reluctantly flicked across Tiffany’s hard clitoris.

“Oh! YES!” Tiffany cried. “Do it! Lick me there, darling!” She panted, then lay back. He bound friend lapped away helplessly in a sea of wetness, adjusting to her new reality. A wetness that coated her lips. Her tongue. Her nose. Eventually her cheeks.

Maggie goes over to Tiffany’s house every two weeks now, adding to their history together. They are not young now. Not inexperienced. They just feel that way though, as they add some new element to their play. Building on their history. History together.

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