Submissively Addicted To You

An eBook By Lizbeth Dusseau.

Galen must have seen my bemusement as I stared from poster to poster, then as my eyes dropped to the bookshelf, lighting on a dozen volumes with shappos, lesbian and lavender ladies in their titles. I'd been barely cognizant of the movement afoot to right the consciousness of the masses about all things gay. Until then. Until that hour, when I stared a real life lesbian in the face inside her walls, her own defined space, a lesbian space. It didn't seem all that unusual or threatening.

"You said you like Chagall," she finally broke my trance.

Yes, I had.

I looked up, suddenly aware of my heart beating more rapidly than I was used to, and that strange rumbling in my lower regions having an acutely erotic feel.

"I stumbled across these in an old bookstore near home," she said-her home being some suburb of San Francisco. She held out her hand with a sheaf of art plates, all paintings by Chagall.

"Where did you get these?" I stupidly asked.

"The bookstore? Near my home?" she repeated what she'd already told me with a wry grin.

"Yeah, right." I blushed. "It's just..." I could barely speak. "They're terrific." I shuffled through the ten prints, recognizing most of them as Chagall's more familiar paintings, then I handed them back. "You going to redecorate your room?"

She pushed them back to me. "No, they're yours."

"Mine? Why?" There I stood dumbfounded again, staring like a trapped animal at her grinning face.

"I saw them when I was home on break and thought of you."

She'd thought of me when she was on break? I didn't know whether to be complimented or repulsed.

She moved directly forward, and it was only then that I realized she was shorter than me by at least four inches. Her hand moved toward my head and I instinctively moved back. "It's okay," she said, and she brushed the hair off my face in a gesture so tender that it nearly brought me to tears. "Is it so odd that I'd be attracted to you? You're beautiful."

She stunned me with that remark.

Then her hand moved gracefully down-inherently graceful for a woman who was no longer clumsy like the dyke I imagined her to be-until her palm rested on my breast.

My, God, what was she doing...hitting on me!

I stepped back, but she took my arm and pulled me back to her. "Don't get all scared. Remember, I don't bite."

But I don't do lesbians and I don't want to be here, my flagging mind was screaming. Meanwhile, a steady sexual pulse between my legs took a frighteningly thunderish turn that was painful to ignore.

"I get that you're one pent-up lady," she said, almost admiringly, her face now filled with awe, while one hand continued to hold my arm and the other moved subtly from place to place in a sensitive inspection of my face, my breast, my hip. Then around to my ass.

"I'll never tell a soul about this, pretty Polly. It's just you and me, no one's going to know."

She pushed me back into an alcove onto a daybed strewn with pillows. Mesmerized by a seductive charm I'd have never guessed she had, I let her kiss me on the lips, again and then again. Her small and delicate kisses were unlike the kisses of a man-at least the few I'd known.

She moved her hand with graceful force between my legs, prying them apart, her fingers under my skirt where, with just the slightest touch against my panties, the vibration set off a sexual spasm deep inside my belly.

"Oh, my God!" escaped my lips, as the breathless wonder of the moment gripped me like nothing else ever had.

She came down harder on my lips, while her hand plunged deeper, more decidedly, grabbing at my pubic mound with her fingers fishing their way beyond the elastic of my panties and between my labia.

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