 Cassandra Snow is a professional journalist by day. Cassandra spends her evenings submitting to her most beloved vices. With a passion for all that is sensual, she revels in the dance of seduction and seizes every opportunity to indulge in the decadence of the moment. Cassandra is the author of two stage plays and a collection of original poetry, among appearances in various publications. Sleepless Another sleepless night… His hand rests upon my shoulder as he sleeps, unaware that my eyes are open a sliver, gazing upon the fantasy of her body pressed against mine. The cool night chills my arm despite his touch, yet I can't stop the low burning deep within my sex. Perhaps my desire, my longing, for her is premature. After all, I know nothing about her other than that she owns Earth Beauty, the new age shop across town where I purchase my Celestial Spice incense and yoga CDs. I don't stop by all that often, but every time I see her there, I fall in love all over again. The hint of her thin, gold belly ring, the mussed style of her boyish blonde hair, the sincerity of her smile. She always embraces me before I leave. I find myself continually now wondering if I should confess to him my longing for her. Men love their lesbians, right? Perhaps it would turn him on to know that his wife wants nothing more than to bury herself deep within another woman. * * * * "Cass, hi! What are you up to?" she asks with a smile as I step into the shop. "Not much. I just thought I'd treat myself to a little shopping and maybe grab a late dinner around the corner. Gabe's away on business," I explain. "I want wondering what you were doing out. Anyway, can I help you find anything? I was just closing for the night." "I'm sorry," I apologize. "I don't want to hold you up." "Nonsense. I'd love the company." "Okay, if you insist," I reply, easily letting go of my hesitation. "Have you gotten anything new in recently?" "Just a couple of things - a few malas, aura spray. Wait. Actually, I do have something you'll absolutely love. It just came in this afternoon," she informs me enthusiastically, guiding me to a rack upon which hangs an ankle-length organic cotton dress. I'm not surprised. Everything Jasmine sells is environmentally responsible. The dress is a gorgeous shade of burgundy (a bright hue from the pigment of South American onions) with long, thin straps. "Try it on," she instructs as she opens the door to the fitting room. "I'm just going to count the drawer. Let me know if you need anything." I've always appreciated the lighting of Earth Beauty's fitting rooms. Somehow the soft glow of what feels to be half sunlight/half moonlight creates a most flattering effect on the image in the mirror - or maybe it's the ambiance enhanced by wafting incense and seductive sacred rhythms that does it for me. Whatever it is, I try to give it as little thought as possible. Why over-analyze? Facing the mirror, I shed my jeans and my somewhat faded lapis-blue Yoga Zone camisole and take in the image before me. Entranced by the subtle shadows projected along each curve and line of my admittedly lean form, I am pleased by the effect may thousands of Sun Salutations over the years have created. Absentmindedly, I allow my fingers to move in tender circles over my breasts. Gently breaking from my reverie, I slip into the dress with a sigh of pure pleasure. The fabric feels cool and luxurious as it washes over my stomach, hips and thighs. I feel like Venus - or perhaps Pandora - Sappho, even - as I step out, enveloped in the soft, easily flowing fabric. With a tinge of anticipation, I peek around the corner toward the register area where she's busily logging something into a lined notebook. "What do you think?" I ask. She steps away from her work and smiles broadly. "Cass," she beams as she draws me to the mirror to the right of the fitting room. "You look gorgeous." "Don't you think the straps are a little long?" I counter. Jasmine stands behind me, studying the mirror as she contemplates the hang of the dress. Her chin virtually rests upon my shoulder as she tugs lightly on the straps. "Well, you could always…" Our eyes meet in our reflection, and, for an instant, time ceases. I turn my face toward hers only to experience the long-awaited sensation of her lips upon my own. Yes, they do taste sweet, just as I had imagined. Slowly and naturally, her hand, soft and delicate, makes its way down to my breast. My nipples respond instantly to her caress. There's no doubt in my mind, no second guessing my desire now upon having felt her touch. I want her to take me - body and soul. I want to feel her hands, her lips, her tongue upon my skin. I need for her to take me, to give me a taste of the ecstasy I sadly have never experienced but still dream possible. Perhaps she recognizes the look of longing within my gaze or perhaps, as a woman, she instinctively understands, for without a word or a moment of hesitation, she turns and draws me back toward the fitting room. Gently pressing me to the wall, she slips her thigh easily between my own. We explore one another's mouths hungrily. Then, with an enticing yet mischievous bite of her lip, she lowers herself to her knees and begins to gather the fabric of the dress, exposing my legs as well as my sex. I know well enough that one isn't supposed to try on clothes without wearing panties, but from the way she nuzzles my bare pussy, Jasmine doesn't seem to mind the violation in protocol. Rather, the moist warmth of her breath upon my tender inner petals brings me to heights of wanting I have never before known. I gasp audibly. "Don't you dare cum yet," she reprimands with shimmering lips. Realizing that she has precious little time to waste, she parts my netherlips wide. Hungrily she devours my fleshy seed, eagerly sucking the swollen bud of my desire. She eats of my pink flesh and drinks of my juices as though my cunt were ripe fruit, having grown ever more luscious by the day, lingering upon the vine just for her. Finally, in an inspired act of passion, she buries her tongue deeply inside of me. I cum hard. My knees weaken, and I slide slowly down the wall to join her on the floor where she continues to nuzzle me until the throbbing ceases. What astounds me as I lie spent, enveloped within the intricate pattern of mehndi art upon her bare shoulder, is that never before had I felt so cherished, so desired as I had while being devoured by the hungry mouth of a woman. For, that insatiable hunger felt to be spurred by a desire to give, to connect, to experience with another the rapture that only two women can share. Reveling in the gentle aftershocks, the lingering tremors of passion, I vow, at that moment, to embrace that hunger and make it my own. As though she were reading my thoughts, Jasmine kisses me tenderly, then traces my lips lightly with her finger. "Let me finish closing up and I'll go with you to grab some dinner. That is, if you don't mind my coming along." With eyes closed, I offer only a smile of contentment and nod my head ever so slightly. Despite my half-hearted attempt at speech, the words do not come - nor do I wish to utter a sound. Within our silence, every desire, every need is understood. Preparing to leave the shop for the night, she pushes the door open for me. "I guess I forgot to lock up earlier," she admits with a soft laugh. I take her hand within my own. Indeed, she has left the door open ever since. * * * * My eyes slowly open as I feel her hand upon my shoulder, my skin hot beneath her touch. I know by her increasingly rapid breath that she's awake; yet, before I can whisper my desire for her, I feel the soft caress of her lips where her hand rested a moment ago. Her fingers gently circle my already-erect nipple, sending waves of sensation throughout my body. As she brings her mouth to my breast, I am acutely aware of the effect of her touch and the low burning deep within my sex. A rush of wetness emerges between my legs, and I silently pray that the hunger, the passion, the desire that I now know so well will never diminish. As Jasmine looks up at me with a tender gaze and a naughty grin upon her lips, I know that it never will. Copyright © 2000, Cassandra Snow . All rights reserved. Do not copy or post. 
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