Thursday, January 15, 2009

Erotic Lesbian Stories by Sage Sweetwater (Message in a Bottle)




The ocean was the method of disposal and also that of boomerang serendipity. Clarice St. Martene threw the reisling bottle as far as she could. It caught air and drifted on the intoxicating wine fumes left inside. Her and Cassie sailed their relationship on kite strings, flying high on insomniac sex, only sleeping in between orgasms. The tip of Cassie's pink peninsula eroded into white sand in Clarice's mouth where they were both anchored off the clitoral swell. Clarice being a yacht agent knew about the message in a bottle..."I hope this reaches a woman who I know had been roughed up by the pirates. Her name is Cassie Reinhold. If this message in a bottle reaches you and you were able to retrieve it, please call me..." and then the phone number.

The sails were woven colorfully with threads of contradiction. It's a land of priests and pagans, pirates, and saints. The Mafia Godfather said there may be some bizarre connection to the kidnapping. "Get your feet a great massage, St. Martene...my Marina was absent for three months...and then...one day, she appeared out of nowhere with a cask of a rare aged wine...and we drank....and we fucked like we never fucked before...so you see, you miss the woman, then she appears and you fuck like you never fucked before..."

International bluewater, the question to reef or not to reef. Whether 'tis easier in the end to weather the gusts and torrents of outrageous squalls, or to take arms against a sea of troubles. It gave Clarice St. Martene time to furl Triangle's Island. She'd been pulling sails up all of her life, like a Venetian blind and she was tired of it. Six hundred miles from the Galapagos Islands, Main and job flogged cannon shots in the pelting wind, driving the gunwale under. This can't be happening, Clarice thought, in drop-jaw astonishment. The illusion sluiced up to her pussy. She put her hand down under panty line and fingered her pussy anticipating a reciprocal course, navigating foreplay.

Her affair at sea had been with the very lucid copper-skinned Cassie Reinhold. The cell phone rang. "Hello."

"Hello, is this Clarice St. Martene?"

"Yes, speaking."

"Ms. St. Martene. I have found your message in a bottle."

Clarice listened to the voice. It was right behind her, trailing with a yard of candle and a message in a bottle. "Cassie! Cassie!"

Cast as the "Mafia Godfather," the yacht pilot came up from the pilot house and served wine. Clarice St. Martene loved to play out the kidnapped fantasy with Cassie.

Cassie had chartered the yacht for a two-month instructional cruise. She prided herself on learning the ropes of big boat sailing. Mentally conditioning herself to be sea worthy threw her into the arms of well-endowed Clarice St. Martene, a gorgeous lesbian whose tongue swam in Cassie's salt-lick anus. Her face could have launched a thousand ships. "Pure ambrosia, darling." Those words slipped off Clarice's tongue as smooth as they were buried in Cassie's salty asshole or her pussy, either orifice.

They took turns snorkling the abyss of each other's spindrift cunts. They sucked on each other's cinnamon-oiled clits as the warm chinook breeze puffed out the sails, propelling them deeper into erotic paradise. Lapsus Linguae! (Slip of the tongue).

"Clarice, Clarice..."

"What is it, Cassie?"

"Tie my hands with the ropes. You're going to lose me overboard if you don't. Please. I need you to live up to your billing as we come to know each other more deeply."

They were fucking on the raised sette on starboard that converted into a queen-size sea berth. The personal dignity of Cassie's request required that conversion immediately. Tie you, yes...and resuscitate you with the cold vodka. They kissed freely, and then the request was honored. "If you don't come, I quit my job," Clarice said. "I want you to come to where the coral heads lie in wait."

A beautiful yacht agent fulfilling a primitive passion bound in hemp, Cassie Reinhold's hands tied to the bed, there are simply no words to describe the immediacy of this moment. Cassie tossed her head wildly from side to side when Clarice ate her pussy. "I have you in full hoist submerged in such passion, Cassie. I'm interpreting every move you make. I want your anus." Clarice rimmed Cassie's asshole with such passion not unheard of for a woman to do. Clarice's anal tongue flare showed up in the brilliance of the candlelight reflecting in the mirror. Cassie watched it all, as she was looming close to orgasm, Clarice put a piece of frayed, rough cord in her mouth and touched that end to Cassie's anus. Cassie came with such force, she turned a deep scarlet. The feeling of the frayed cord touching her anus running with pussy juice and Clarice's hot breath blowing on her there Lapsus Linguae! (Slip of the tongue) sent her into waves of climax with an open-faced honesty about itself. Clarice touched the coral head to Cassie's clit, buzzing rumors of a "pirate attack." Clarice St. Martene threw the reisling bottle as far as she could into the ocean.

Copyright 12/30/08 Ms. Sage Sweetwater, firebrand lesbian novelist
unrivaled, bringing you the upper tier in lesbian erotica
http://www.authorsden.com/sagesweetwater