Hi...thought I'd post the first part of a (potentially) much longer story. If anyone likes it, I'll post more.
Jaime versus Kristina: Silk nightdress sexfight, Part I
Jaime took a deep breath, gripped the door handle, and turned it. It was unlocked, as Kristina had promised it would be; so the other woman had every intention of going through with this, Jaime realised with dizzily mounting excitement, as she slipped inside the compartment.
The compartment was dim, illuminated only by the soft glow of an uplighter turned down low. She could make out the bed against one wall, a door that must lead to the small bathroom, a wardrobe and, at the far end just before the window, a desk. Then suddenly there was movement, and a brass desk lamp flared and lit the far end of the room. Seated at the desk, her hands flat upon it, was Kristina.
“Good evening, slut,” Kristina smiled softly, hoping her voice would not betray too much of her giddy delight. So Jamie had been as good as her word, she realised, sighing inwardly with relief; so much anticipation, such fervid fantasies, so many nights of diddling herself to long, drawn-out orgasm after orgasm would now bear delicious fruit – as the subject of those dramatic fantasies was stood right in front of her, wanting nothing other than to act out their shared lustful imaginings.
“So you’re the whore Kristina,” purred Jamie, hoping that she was managing to suggest more composure than she felt. In truth her heart was beating wildly, her mouth was dry, and between her legs she already felt the wetness of her inflamed cxnt, a cxnt she’d frigged for hours many nights, only visualising what was now becoming an intoxicating reality. She drank in the redhead sat smirking at the desk, her eyes lingering on Kristina’s thick, wavy locks, creamy skin, her strong neck on powerful shoulders; the vivid gash of red lipstick on her rival’s plump, full lips, so suggestive of other lips as yet hidden, and identical in shade to that on Jaime’s own lips, every bit as bee-stung as the other woman’s.
The colour match was no coincidence. There was no chance at work here; this duel had been painstakingly arranged to the last detail with no expense spared in order to realise the women’s shared dream. The level of organisation and exactitude was hardly out of character for two senior professionals, and the fact that their battle was to take place within the intimate confines of a private sleeper car on a luxurious train clinging to the Italian coast, swaying gently through the night northward towards Venice, spoke to the resources that Jamie, a partner at a law firm, and Kristina, a public relations director, could commit to make things they wanted to happen, happen.
Jaime slipped off the coat she had worn to make her way to the compartment. There was no need for concealment from prying eyes here in a private sanctum where any perversities they wished to explore were solely between the two of them; and she wanted Kristina to look at her. As the coat fell about her feet, Jamie raised her arms, her balled fists either side of her head, mockingly showing Kristina her bicep pose.
Kristina gazed at her rival, admiring Jamie’s thick, shoulder length chocolate tresses, her solid body and powerful limbs. In height they were almost exactly equal, 5’4, and their strong but curvy feminine physiques were just as similar. Jamie too had pale, ivory skin, and Kristina noted approvingly, but without surprise, that her rival was attired as they had agreed: Jaime wore a peach coloured silk nightdress which clung to her curves for dear life, the silk dripping from her, spaghetti straps impossibly thin tenuously holding up the material covering her big, round boobs. The garment was sluttishly short, Kristina realized, seeing it for the first time on another woman’s body; she had not noticed so much when barely covering herself with her own version of the nightdress, identical but for its lilac hue. These nightdresses looked terribly fragile, but the women had stipulated that they should wear them for the entire duration of their contest. There was no doubt at all, Kristina knew, that they would slip them off their shoulders and so expose all of their breasts to one another; not the least doubt that they would hike the dresses up over their hips and reveal their pussies completely. Indeed, as Jamie padded softly toward her across the thick pile of the carpet, Kristina could swear she caught a glimpse of Jamie’s dark snatch between her muscled thighs, and, seated, Kristina’s own nightdress had ridden right up to her already damp groin under the desk.
For her part Jamie was convinced she could smell her enemy’s cxnt as she neared the desk and seated herself in the chair opposite Kristina. She wondered if her own arousal was as obvious; it was certainly possible that Kristina had spotted her nipples thickening under the sheer silk that barely contained her breasts.
“So,” breathed Jamie, a sardonic grin on her lips, at last so close to the woman she had longed to meet, “you think you’re stronger than me, bitch?” “Oh, I know I am,” whispered Kristina intensely, “and tonight I’ll prove it, slut. We’ll fight woman to woman until one of us submits. This train won’t stop for another six hours, and the weaker woman crawls off then. I, meanwhile,” she smiled sweetly, “will continue on to Venice, and a celebratory Bellini in Harry’s Bar.”
Kristina had no real need for such exposition, as the details of the contest had formed part of the women’s mental landscape for weeks, thrashed out during long Skype sessions where they had masturbated furiously whilst threatening each other and describing the contests they were going to indulge in. But talking aroused both women; discussing in detail the flamboyant perversities they enjoyed only served to excite them more.
“It will be you dragging yourself away in disgrace, dear,” smirked Jamie, “when you’ve begged me for mercy. But how shall we start?” The question was a rhetorical one, as the series of contests the women had agreed to do battle in were seared into her mind’s eye. By way of answer Kristina raised her hands from the desk so that her elbows rested on the surface and her palms were facing Jamie across the narrow space between them; under the desk, the women’s bare knees were almost touching, but as yet there had been no actual contact. Slowly, sensuously, Kristina rippled her powerful, strong looking fingers, showing off her long, sharp nails and wide, soft palms. “Put your hands against mine, Jamie. Let’s compare them”, cooed Kristina.
For a moment Jamie was hypnotised by the beauty of her rival’s hands and the erotic challenge they presented. Then, putting her own elbows on the desk, she raised her own hands, mirroring her enemy, spreading her thick, strong fingers, matching Kristina’s slow, sexy ripple, and showing the other girl her own long fingernails. The women’s milky palms were centimetres apart now, and both women could feel the heat of the other’s palms; then suddenly, Kristina pushed forward to make the first skin to skin contact between the rivals.
An erotic jolt shot through their pussies as they touched. Laid against one another, palm to palm and finger to finger, the hands were like mirror images. Jamie revelled in the softness and warmth of Kristina’s hands, and marvelled at how evenly matched they were appeared to be. There seemed every prospect of the long, hard struggle with the redheaded whore she had wanked about so frequently. Unable to control her competitive urges, she began trying to push back Kristina’s fingers with her own. Delighted, Kristina retaliated, and soon all twenty digits were locked in battle, pushing hard against one another, some of the pairs slowly, painfully moving one way, some the other…
