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Thursday 10 January 2013

Secrets: a tale of lesbian love

An erotic story by my friend Karen...

The two women were no older than twenty-five, or so Berinda guessed, as she watched them from her hiding-place among the trees. The small glade where they met for their weekly tryst lay near the edge of the forest, not far from a half-forgotten trail, and its location had been a secret for many months. A secret known only to these two furtive lovers, until Berinda discovered it.

She knew both women slightly, having briefly worked alongside them at harvest time, but only in recent weeks had she learned of their secret meetings in the woodland glade. There, upon the green grass in the sunshine, they met each week, at the third hour after noon. In a silence broken only by the rustling of leaves and the buzzing of honeybees they made passionate love, breathlessly enjoying each other's gentle caresses until the sun went down on the western plain.

Berinda knew their names: Cathkin of the River Ridge and Lily of the Stoneland. She knew also the names of their husbands. What price, she wondered, would these women pay to ensure the preservation of their secret?

She wondered, too, what their husbands would do if they ever discovered the truth. Berinda knew what her own husband would do if he caught her indulging in such pleasures: nothing at all, for he no longer kept any affection for her and had little interest in her life. After six years of marriage their relationship had crumbled, although Berinda still had to yield her body to his drunken passion every Saturday night. She detested him, and he despised her, calling her a barren witch. He often cursed her childlessness but still leered at her voluptuous form whenever she bathed. Her long black hair, reaching down to her buttocks, still fascinated him, as did her narrow waist and sumptuous breasts. But Berinda no longer found him attractive in any way, nor indeed did she feel attraction to any man. Her preferences were shifting in a different direction, as she neared her thirtieth year, and she now liked to imagine herself sharing her bed with a beautiful woman.

Cathkin and Lily were certainly beautiful. Their lithe, suntanned bodies stirred Berinda's desires. She loved to see their blonde hair catching the sunlight in the glade, or their blue eyes shining as they whispered their secret love. Every week, for the past two months, Berinda had followed them furtively to the forest, creeping behind them as they made their way to their trysting-place, watching as they slowly undressed. Seeing them kiss and caress in a gasping embrace made her so envious that she almost wept with self-pity, wishing desperately that she could share the same delight. For Cathkin and Lily always laughed whenever they kissed. They expressed their affection with boundless joy, like a couple of golden-haired forest sprites, giggling excitedly as they held each other close.

Berinda longed to make her hidden presence known to them, to enter their special glade with an honest heart, to admit that she enjoyed spying on their lovemaking. Perhaps they might invite her to join them? Perhaps they might kiss her breasts and stroke her feminine parts in the way they kissed and stroked one another? Or perhaps they might become angry, running away in shame and fear, tearfully begging the unwelcome intruder to keep their secret safe?

For the moment, however, she remained content to merely observe them. The sight of their slender naked bodies writhing on the grass gave her such a thrill that she always masturbated while watching them. There she would crouch, as silent as a fox among the green leaves, with a hand beneath her skirt, coaxing her moist slit to a quiet orgasm. Then, as her climax subsided, she would crawl swiftly away through the undergrowth until she reached the path.

For how many weeks could she endure such furtive self-pleasure, such exquisite temptation, in secretive silence? How long must she wait before her courage grew strong enough to reveal herself to Cathkin and Lily? To these questions she had no answer, even though the words tormented her each week as she trod the lonely path back to her village. She knew she was not yet brave enough to show herself. One day, perhaps, the courage would suddenly come. Until then, she could only watch and wait, before going home alone and frustrated, with teardrops stinging her eyes as she walked through the bright woodlands.

THE END


Copyright © Karen Sacoma 2005

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