1. Lemon House: Stephanie's Story (Part 1 of 2)


    Date: 9/2/2015, Categories: Bisexual, Author: GoBigCatGo, Rating: 1, Source: LushStories

    Fleur’s breath trembled with the speeding thump of her heart as she spread her fingers on the door to Stephanie’s room and, with wobbling knees, lowered her eye to the keyhole. The curtains were drawn, and one dusty slice of afternoon sunlight illuminated the room. Fleur made out the bed, the dresser, the chaise. Oh… She bit her lip, stifling the urge to blurt out a gasp. Stephanie. Off to one side with her back to the door, standing at the ornate dressing mirror. Fleur grabbed the door handle to brace herself, teetering on her toes in a crouch as if ready to spring away. How could the woman still look so cool and sophisticated? Like that? Without knickers? Breath steamed the polished brass of the escutcheon as Fleur peered closer, a smile quivering on her lips. Beautiful bottom! She sniggered, and then noticed a joggling elbow. No! Is she...? Stephanie’s hands seemed… involved at the front. Fleur’s eyes widened and she pressed her forehead to the wood. Oh, Oui… The woman’s knees trembled and her bottom quivered. Fleur watched, the tip of her tongue caught between her teeth and her knuckles brushing the inside of her thigh. Expectant tickles ran up her skirt. ' I knew it,' Fleur thought, ' I knew we would get to you.' # The French taxi took a broiling age getting to Lemon House. Even when she thought they had arrived, the car still had to trundle through acres of gnarled old trees, bursting with fragrant blossom and guarding the Art Nouveau mansion like a fairy tale. ...
    Stephanie felt hot and itchy in her city clothes, and miserable about being alone. Bill was just a sod. It had promised to be the ideal cheap and cheerful working holiday. Free room and board while she translated its library of rare texts from French to English. Trouble was, from her husband’s point of view, it was to be an ideal place to make babies. Full stop. Stephanie sighed and swallowed at her unease. He had not taken it well, her wanting a break from the timetables and ovulation charts. Sodding charts. Who makes love to a timetable anyway? Not Bill that’s for sure, he had performance issues at the best of times. And she never said he couldn’t come at all. So to speak. It was just so typical of him to over-react. Stephanie pulled at the hem of her uncomfortably thick skirt and tried to recall the last time she had enjoyed… It. And then she arrived. The owner, a wild-eyed professor, met the cab in a hurried bluster, opening the door for her. Beyond stood a sullen woman, Stephanie’s age. She was barefoot in a terribly dated, but cool looking, dress. “My dear girl, I’m so sorry, but I will have to leave you.” The professor hauled Stephanie’s bag out of the boot. “No husband either? Oh dear. Not to worry.” He gestured back to the house, climbing into the taxi. “Fleur will look after you. Goodbye girls, have a splendid time!” As the taxi pulled away, Stephanie felt a primal twist of intimidation. Tousled, sun-streaked and tanned, the woman had a tawny and wild, almost leonine, ...
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