Older women/younger girls - a lesbian picture/story thread

darkheels said:

ditto. Love it.

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EllaFord said:

With age comes confidence, and Carrie had it in spades.
"Can I help you?" she said to the nervous college girl that she'd spotted across the crowded bar.
The girl's delicate cheeks flushed rose pink and she shook her head.
"You weren't looking at me?" asked Carrie with a sly smile.
"I'm s-sorry. I... thought I recognized you," replied the girl. She looked deeply uncomfortable, like a puppy caught in a forbidden act.
"You recognized me by my legs?" Carrie probed, continuing the light interrogation.
"I'm s-sorry?"
Nothing made Carrie hotter than a reluctant college girl, and this one was greener than most of the fresh faced sluts that she'd met in this bar.
"My legs, you were looking at my legs. Was there something about them that you wanted to tell me?"
The girl shook her head quickly. She looked panicked, flustered, as if she hoped that a hole would open up and swallow her. "Listen, I didn't mean to offend you. I'm sorry if I did. Can I just get back to my friends, they're waiting for me..."
"No."
The girl blinked in surprise. "Excuse me?" she said timidly.
"No, you can't go back to your friends."
"Please, I just..."
"You were staring at my legs because you were wondering how they would feel, what it would be like to kiss my feet, or have them wrapped around you. You were wondering what it would be like to be with a woman twice your age, even though you're not even sure you like girls or not."
"Please..."
"So here's what's going to happen. You're going to tell your friends you're not feeling well, then you're going to get your coat. You're going to meet me up front and you're going to get into my car. I'm going to drive you to my house and you're not going to say a fucking word. I don't want to know your name or your major, or anything else about you. When we get to my house, I'm going to show you the answer to all your questions, and more besides. And when I'm finished with you, I'll even call you a taxi."
The girl exhaled quickly, her face burning crimson. She shook her head and took a step back, but then her eyes flicked down Carrie's body and lingered on her long legs. And in that half-second, Carrie caught a momentary flash of a familiar reaction: temptation.
"Okay," breathed the girl.

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CarolsQuietCorner said:

It is exhilarating to find a shared fantasy, to wonder if the author has read my mind, written this just for me

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EllaFord said:

It's based on an encounter I once had in a bar. I won't say it played out exactly like this, but it was close and one of the hottest nights I ever had

Ella

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EllaFord said:

Kim had never been on a date quite like this. The outfit she wore was not of her own design. It had been chosen instead by her date, specified in an impossibly neat, handwritten note delivered directly to her office desk. The note had detailed, down to the smallest attribute, exactly what she should wear and how she should wear it. From the style of her hair to the particular brand and shade of pantyhose. The tone of the note had suggested that this was not a request, but a requirement.

Honestly, if she'd gotten the note from a guy, she would have ripped it in two and told the pervert where he could go, probably giggling about her lucky escape with her girlfriends later on.

But it was not from a guy. It was from another woman. A strange, confident, older woman. One that she barely knew but nevertheless felt an unfathomable attraction to. Now, as Kim sat in the hotel lobby waiting for her date to arrive, she mused on how readily she'd accepted the woman's demands, submitting to her whims with barely a single thought. And, while her blank capitulation still surprised her, shocked her even, there was one further detail that surprised her somehow even more...

And that was how much she'd liked it.

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SophieUK said:

Wonderful thoughts, wonderful writing

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BethAnn38 said:

Wonderfully written as always.

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EllaFord said:

I glance into the sleeping room, hours after the welcoming ceremony had ended, checking up on my charges as I do every year at this time.
I am greeted by the sound of quiet snoring, of light breathing. The very air itself is thick with the sweet-sour scent of wine and perfume. Not a single girl is still awake, not a single one is moving. Hardly surprising after the night of song and dance that they had enjoyed, a night of individual expression and glorious celebration.
And who could blame them? The welcoming ceremony was their last chance to be themselves, to express the individuality that defined each of them one final time. It is rare indeed to find a girl that doesn't relish the opportunity and embrace it wholeheartedly.
I cross my arms and sigh, captivated, as I always am, by their beauty, by their youthful innocence. Had their chests not been visibly rising and falling with the shallow cadence of sleep, I might have thought them dolls. Each one different, no two girls the same. I shake my head and sigh again, overcome with a sudden melancholy.
Tomorrow, their training will begin. Each girl will be stripped of that defining spark, that beguiling uniqueness. She will be dressed like the other, when she is even permitted to wear clothes, she will be styled identically to her fellow students. Her personality will be broken down through repetition and reinforcement, rebuilding her from the ground up, teaching her new instincts, installing into her a new personality, one that better suits the peculiar fate that each of these girls shares. She will be taught the physical arts, how to please another, how to entice and seduce, how to surrender and submit. She will come to know her fellow students as lovers and sisters, perfecting her craft on the others, learning together with them until the female body becomes her natural territory and the sensual provocation of it is her sworn destiny.
But that is tomorrow. For now, they know only peace.
I frown, feeling suddenly wistful. Not all of them will make it, I think to myself. Not all of them will take to the exhausting demands of total obedience, the myriad pains and pleasures their bodies will be made to endure, and later crave. It is not for everyone this life, and the realization will be heartbreaking for those that have to learn this about themselves. Not for the first time, I try to discern which of this intake would fail. The cheerleader? The class president? The scholar? I know from experience that such speculation is futile. It is never the one you expect.
A girl in the center of the room stirs softly, rolling over and burying her head into the shoulder of the girl beside her, smiling contentedly as if lost in a pleasant dream. She is golden haired and angelic, someone's daughter in another life, someone's lover, perhaps? Does she dream of that life now lost, of days gone and memories cherished? Or does she dream of the life yet to come? Does she dream of where she might find herself when she finally leaves this academy of mine? Does she dream of blank capitulation and eager submission, the bitter sting of punishment or the sweet thrill of reward?
I can't know, I don't want to know.
In all my years running this very special school, I never cease to be amazed by how many women have the wealth and desire to take that most forbidden of steps, how many were willing to risk everything to own another person, in body and in mind. Older women, women of experience and curiosity, women who posses needs and desires that step outside the sphere of conventional relationships. Among these women, appetite for girls like this is unfathomable, its reach limitless.
But for all the mind-boggling scale of this market in human flesh of which I am both facilitator and enabler, there is something yet more surprising about it. And that is how many girls exist to feed that demand, girls like the pristine beauties I gaze upon now. Girls who wish to cast off the heavy cloak of expectation and responsibility that society demands they endure, to sell themselves into voluntary slavery, giving themselves to another woman as a toy or a plaything, submitting to her whims and rejecting the very notion of self determination. It is this asymmetry that I exploit and revere, fulfilling both sides of a natural equation.
With a satisfied sigh, I slowly close the door to the sleeping room, allowing these exquisite wonders their final night of peace and the fading gift of privacy.
There will always be more girls to gaze upon.

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Dumpington said:

http://indecentimages.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/05/lesbian-titties-on-parade-with-lovely-smile.jpg (Butchy-looking lesbian showing-off her beautiful nude young girlfriend in public!)

http://www.hentai-and-fetish-galleries.com/galleries/lesbian-bdsm-school/bdsm-school03.jpg (Lesbian professor agrees to give her beautiful female student a passing grade!)

http://68.media.tumblr.com/8dc155afe4edcec403da1dd8c3912ea1/tumblr_o6f0koLtUB1tyd24fo1_500.jpg (Older lesbian woman with her beautiful young female lover!)

https://78.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_kyilxu3Vxe1qb7c37o1_1280.jpg (Butch lez spanks beautiful nude blonde!)

https://68.media.tumblr.com/f72b3829c3fb8c1cc01fd079e8502652/tumblr_nu9jbzOen51uwyrl3o1_400.gif (Lesbian CEO carrying off her beautiful young & submissive blonde secretary to bed!)

http://68.media.tumblr.com/2676f12e6f87a91dfa4b238cb50a2b97/tumblr_np722pYLoC1u6jhhoo2_250.gif (Older lesbian woman appreciates her younger lover's delicious hot body!)

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EllaFord said:

The strange thing about what happened, between my daughter's best friend and me, was that it seemed so perfectly natural, so utterly ordinary. It was never a destination that either of us chose, but it was a place that both of us were happy to travel to. More than happy in fact, ecstatic - at least in my case. You'd have to ask Cassie about her recollection of the events of last year.
Most of all, it didn't seem strange and it didn't seem wrong, though it was clearly the former and more than likely the latter too. When all's said and done, the thing it most seemed was inevitable. It was always going to happen. From the very first moment we were alone together, the very first time she confided in me, the very first time I inserted myself into her life as a trusted friend and source of womanly wisdom.
It all started when Leanne, my daughter, left for college. Her sudden absence left a hole in the house that I found difficult to cope with. My husband, Rex, worked away most days. And let's just say that relations between us hadn't been particularly great up till then. His usual lack of interest in me, or sex in general for that matter, had escalated to the point where we barely spoke, even when he was around. But I didn't care about that. I'd married Rex out of obligation, expectation. The prom queen and the quarterback, a modern American love story. My heart wasn't in it though. For all of those twenty long years, I'd had a nagging feeling that I wanted something else, something different...
Cassie was nineteen, my daughter's best friend since kindergarden. I'd known her since she was in pigtails and bows, but she was all woman now. As my daughter went off to college, Cassie stayed behind. When others asked her why she didn't go, she offered a multitude of reasons - her grades weren't good enough, her Mom needed her around to take care of her sisters, she loved our hometown too much to leave it. But the real reason was something else. Cassie hated the burden of expectation that was placed on her, she hated the weight of responsibility, she was paralyzed by what others thought she should do, so she did nothing at all. She longed for structure, for someone to tell her what decisions to make.
How do I know this? Why, she told me.
Because, when Leanne left town, but Cassie kept coming around to our house. At first, she'd visit seeking updates about Leanne's college adventure - though we both knew she had emails and her cellphone to find out herself. Eventually she lost interest in my daughter entirely and came for my company instead. We'd talk over iced tea in the garden, or over hot chocolates in the den, giggling like schoolgirls and telling each other our secrets. I told her about how Rex had been in the early days, or the time I got smoking weed beneath the high school bleachers. In turn, I found out that she'd never been with a boy, hadn't even kissed one before. I asked her, with only mild interest and no judgement, if she liked girls instead. She simply blushed and fell silent, changing the subject to something else entirely.
Looking back, it was that fumbled confession that got me thinking about what it was that I wanted, what I needed. The small spark from which the forest fire exploded.
Over a period of months, I started to see Cassie differently. No longer the pretty little princess in pigtails and bows, Cassie was a woman in her own right now, and I found myself unable to think about anyone else. I started to obsess over small details. The way she touched my hand when I passed her the sugar, the way she blushed when I asked if she was dating, the cute little outfits she would wear, the way she complimented mine.
Like a festering sore, my obsession with my young companion grew to rule my waking thoughts and my sleeping dreams. I barely even stopped to acknowledge my revealed sexuality, the cause of my lack of interest in Rex and my apathy towards my marriage in general. It was just one more facet of my paralyzing obsession with Cassie, and not the most surprising one at that. I like girls, I thought to myself in my brief moments of lucidity, well duh!
Even my reputation and my standing in the community didn't dampen my sordid imaginings, at least not too much. Oh, I worried about how the high school governing board would view my sinful lust, or my church bridge club. But they were only half-concerns, replaced quickly by fevered, immature thoughts of Cassie's toned body in the tight little crop tops and denim jeans she always wore, and what it might be like to feel it pressed up against against mine.
The tipping point came a week after Thanksgiving. I was changing to go out for dinner with friends, half dressed in lingerie and pretty French stockings, busying myself with my hair and my makeup, when Cassie stepped into my bedroom.
"I'm s-sorry, Ms. Cole," she stammered, seeing me standing there in my underwear. Her face lit up fire red, a growing flame that licked her neck and the exposed flesh of her upper chest. "The door was open, I should have knocked, I--"
"It's fine, honey, come on in, take a seat, I'll be right with you," I said, smiling warmly, turning back to the mirror. I felt a flush of excitement that Cassie was in my bedroom and that I was so inappropriately dressed. "Can I help you with something?"
"No, Ms. Cole, nothing important," she said, sitting gingerly down on the edge of my bed. Every few seconds, her eyes would flick over to where I sat, lingering for a second on some fine detail of my revealing outfit - my legs, my breasts, my bottom. "I just wanted to see how your Thanksgiving was," she added.
"It was good, really nice to see the family. And to see Leanne again, of course," I said, offering my daughter out as a lure, to see if Cassie would bite. She didn't.
"Say, you look really nice tonight, Ms. Cole," she replied instead, using the compliment as an excuse to gaze over at my bra and panties.
I nodded and stood from the dressing table, stepping across the room in heels that seemed perilously high for a woman of my age. I sat down on the bed beside Cassie, still unsure what I was going to do, knowing that I really shouldn't, but knowing that I definitely would. This had gone on too long.
I turned to face her and curled my leg up onto the bed. Cassie gazed down at the floor and started to shuffle away from me. I reached out and touched her bare arm. "I won't bite," I whispered, stroking her skin with the backs of my fingers. My touch provoked fields of goose flesh wherever I caressed her. She sighed.
"Ms. Cole, I--" she said, but didn't finish.
"I want you to turn to face me," I said, feeling powerful, feeling in control for the first time in my life. All thoughts of propriety and reputation had fled, leaving only raw desire and palpable longing. In as long as I could remember, I'd never felt this much like myself. I was no longer playing a role, acting out the me that others thought I should be.
Cassie sighed and closed her eyes, then turned her body to face me. I touched my fingers to her chin, gently lifting her head until she opened her eyes and gazed into mine. She looked terrified, uncertain, and something else - was it relief?
"We shouldn't," she breathed, but there was no conviction there, no real resistance. "Leanne... your husband..."
I tried to ignore my own feelings of guilt. It wasn't hard, if you want the truth. I felt like the old me, and all the aspects that had defined her, had been hollowed out and filled with something else, something new, something wonderful. Cassie's fear thrilled me, her nervous trepidation fanned the flames that burned deep inside me. I felt a pulsing throb between my legs, a nagging ache that I couldn't ignore.
"I'm going to kiss you now," I said, holding her cheek in my hand.
"O-okay," she replied, her voice soft and timid. Her eyes were wide, her full, red lips were parted in nervous anticipation.
I leaned forward and held my face inches from hers, basking in the radiant heat that was rising from her and the intoxicating scent of perfume and desire that filled my nose and throat. She closed her eyes, waiting, frozen, a perfect flower, ripe and ready for plucking. I took a breath and tried to calm my thoughts, tried to still the incessant drumbeat of my heart. Then, with a sensation that felt like flying, I closed the gap and touched my mouth to hers...
The rest, like our eventual coupling, was inevitable. I won't bore you with the sordid details of what we did that night, and the countless nights afterwards. How we explored each other, how both of us developed our nascent feelings in different directions, becoming the women we always were going to become. I won't tell you about the myriad depravities we enjoyed in the dead of night. The themes of seduction and capitulation that we explored, of pain and pleasure, of domination and submission. I won't tell you about how I had her call me mommy and spanked her when she was bad, or about how much she begged me to do so. All of that is irrelevant.
The only thing that matters is how utterly normal it all felt. Some things, they say, are just meant to be.

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SophieUK said:

Ella your writing is just so... ‘right’

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EllaFord said:

But also, one hopes, "wrong"?

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