To the ordinary person passing by, the house on Springview Street looks like any early 1900's structure which pretty much is the norm in this revitalized area near downtown. A throwback to a bygone time when manners and decorum mattered, the huge red brick Georgian house with its green shutters, expansive lawn, and tall wrought iron fence was no ordinary residence. No family lived here, not even a wealthy long-retired couple. The tastefully small, polished plaque mounted just above the mailbox gave a clue of who lived there and what went on behind the stately red door.
So it's a sorority house of sorts, but not a Greek Letter society of the usual sense. Once one enters that house, all preconceived notions are immediately dashed. See, Sigma Pi stands for "Sappho's Posse." That's right. This private club is for women who love women, but with a twist. It has been said any prospective member lucky to receive an invitation can be assured complete discretion, sisterly camaraderie, a life quite different from what the usual GLBT community offers, and, almost certainly, a broken heart. However, for one such new member, that last item may not see realization, if she's cautious that is.
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Sprawled on the couch in the elegant upstairs sitting room, Zandra Marston, "Zandi" to her friends and lovers, flipped through her photo album, adding newly printed pictures from a recent vacation. Ah, this one is a keeper, taken in Paris last April. There, the Eiffel Tower looming in the background, stood Zandi arm-in-arm with one of her numerous conquests. Conquests?
Zandra, beautiful and glamorous, and a longtime member of this exclusive club for "women who love women," had one major habit: She was a shameless womanizer, given to countless affairs with whoever came her way. Her many lovers had their nicknames for Zandra: Lesbian Lothario, Ice Queen, Doña Juanita, a woman no woman can resist. The type who loves 'em and leaves 'em. She would work up a potential bed partner's libido to bursting point, make love with abandon until the lady of the moment is reduced to a quivering, exhausted heap, then casually walk away. No attachments, no caring, no commitments. It's "Wham bam" terrific sex and nothing more.
It was that way for her since adolescence, when Zandi came out of the closet at the tender age of sixteen. Blame the unbridled lust and insatiable need to bed as many women as possible on her Aunt Brenda who reared a six-year old Zandi upon the deaths of the child's parents. Brenda Marston Ward, Zandi's father's sister, was a married woman but a closeted lesbian at a time when "out and proud" was never an option. Aunt Brenda, the wife of a tremendously wealthy CEO, carried on clandestine affairs with so many women Zandi lost count. These liaisons were often within Zandi's presence, and the girl's own sexual awakenings were shaped by Brenda's many carnal pursuits. Obviously, Auntie's insatiable lust and need for numerous female lovers seemed to transfer to the niece. However, there was one thing Brenda had her niece didn't quite develop: The capacity to love.
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If she knew any better, Taylor would have turned and walked away, but she couldn't pull her gaze from Zandi's shapely form. Taylor, a recent Sigma Pi member, had heard many stories about the infamous Ms. Marston, that the woman had more lovers to keep count, that each Sigma Pi member had, at least once, maybe twice, found herself in Zandi's bed.
"She's a woman no woman can resist," once observed Laura, Zandi's current partner. The other members echoed this same sentiment.
That assessment couldn't have been more correct. Who couldn't resist feasting eyes on Zandi, and entertaining those juicy thoughts of being caressed, kissed, embraced.
Taylor stood in the sitting room doorway, not wanting to be detected – yet. She now understood why so many women gave themselves to Zandi so freely, knowing that once she got what she wanted, they'd be abandoned for someone else.
She is very beautiful, thought Taylor who, still standing in the doorway, literally salivated over Zandi's incredible sexiness. Tall, lithesome and generously curvy body, a wavy black mane cascading past the shoulders, long shapely legs, nicely rounded butt, large firm breasts which threatened to burst from the tight tank top. Yeah, Zandi was a gorgeous woman, and she knew it. No wonder she dressed so provocatively, even in this present casual moment those tight purple spandex hot pants proudly proclaimed a woman born to seduce. However, Taylor, despite the quivering need within her feminine depths, silently promised herself never to become another notch on Zandi's bedpost. She was wrong, oh so wrong.
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The moment Taylor turned to leave, Zandra, as if by sixth sense, caught up the pretty redhead. Once she had the girl by the arm, Zandi cooed, "I knew you were spying on me. If you want me, why leave?"
Damn, that woman sure works fast! And she knows what to say and how to say it. What a dusky, breathy voice that literally quavers with lustful anticipation. As much as Taylor cursed her luck for not leaving sooner, deep down she really wanted Zandi. Come on, the woman is drop-dead gorgeous, knows all the right words and moves to get a girl in the mood, and, if truth be told, is the best lover of the club. The problem is Zandi is as cold as ice, not given to commitment or attachment. To be sure, as soon as Taylor falls for Zandi's charms and succumbs to this seductress' advances, she'll be cast aside as so many before.
Stammering out a lame excuse, Taylor said, "I was looking for something, and I think I left it in here."
Zandra, pulling Taylor closer, cooed, "Ooh, I know what you're looking for..."
No sooner had those words tumbled from the lips that Zandi, standing behind Taylor, wrapped her arms around her prey's waist. Instantly she kissed Taylor's ivory shoulders, tenderly but insolently, allowing her tongue to graze against the smooth skin. She whispered in Taylor's ear: "Why on why I never got you...Oh God, you are so beautiful, Taylor. Such lovely shoulders, silky skin...Mmm..."
She held Taylor tighter, grinding her pelvis against her prey's round butt. Taylor couldn't help it. As much as such casual trysts disgusted her, and could've kicked herself for giving in so easily, Taylor matched Zandi's movements. A slow, hip-grinding dance of lust and love...Oh yeah, Zandi doesn't know what love is...It's let's get it on so she can move on to the next target...
"Oh damn," Taylor murmured. "You're so good, Zandi. Let's go up to my room. Oh God, Zandra, make love to me..."
She turned to face Zandi, letting her captor kiss her firmly on the mouth, the eager tongue working its way inside, digging so deep Taylor actually felt it touching the back, almost to the throat.
When Zandi released her, she said breathily, lustfully, "Why prolong my agony? I want you, Taylor. I want you here and now." That said, Ms. Marston had Taylor in a deep backbend, kissing and caressing the girl all over, wedging her fingers between Taylor's firm, ivory-toned thighs, finding the target.
"Ahh! Ooh!"
Taylor, caught in the throes of passion, forgot all reason, all sense of what's right and wrong. She never wanted this, but Zandi was just so damned skillful, so insistent, so forceful, yet tender and gentle enough to cause Taylor to let go of all inhibitions.
Now the women were on the floor, clothes half off, their hands and tongues seeking and touching those exotic locales. They contorted and writhed in ancient Sapphic patterns, coupling as one...
At last, Zandi thought in triumph as she brought Taylor to climax repeatedly, she had at last nailed the lone woman who so skillfully resisted her. Taylor, with her newly earned PhD and just-acquired condo downtown. The one who had to leave an unwanted marriage when she came out to herself and family. The one who presents a staid, scholarly but friendly persona in public. Now look at her, mastered, pleasured, finally giving up that tight reserve.
It's just too damned easy to get the ladies where I want them, and they're always so willing to oblige. Now, if Taylor starts that, "I love you" crap like Laura did, then it's "Au revoir, mon cherie," and on to the next.
Which reminds me...We get a new girl next week. Now, how long before I have her at my command?
Copyright © 2009 by PRP. All Rights Reserved.