Kathleen Hope

Lesbian Collection

Mia loved her job. Writing an advice column for sexually troubled people was a task she was perfectly suited for. She had a therapy degree and an uncanny ability to place herself in other’s people’s shoes. Every day, her inbox greeted her with a new challenge.

Monday morning was no exception. Mia read the email seconds after dragging herself out of bed. She hadn’t had her coffee yet, but the email’s explosive content jolted her wide awake.

Dear Mia,

After years of marriage, my husband and I had become accustomed to wild, passionate sex night after night – sometimes up to three or four times a day.

Taking a break from the email, Mia fanned herself. “Three or four times a day?” she shouted. “Whew!”

But lately things have changed. His hours at work have picked up, leaving him exhausted when he comes home at night. To put it bluntly, I want more. I’d love to return to the days of endless lovemaking between the two of us, the days where he would spend hours tickling my body with gentle strokes and licks until I simply couldn’t take it anymore.

Mia leaned back in her chair easing her legs apart slowly. It was a challenge to keep her mind from drifting, but she somehow kept reading.

The problem is I’m too shy to demand what I want from him. I usually just accept his neglect in silence, hoping that someday he’ll change. But he never does. If I’m lucky, we have sex once a week, and even then it’s not very good. I want him to take his time and explore every area of my body. I want his lips, his tongue, his teeth savoring me all over, but he usually just wants to get it over with and to get back to sleep. Like I said, I’m shy, so I’m not so good at telling him what I want. Can you help me, Mia?

Unsatisfied Frida

Catching her breath, Mia considered…

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  • Vasily Strashkincompartió una citahace 5 años
    Before having a seat on the break room couch, Angie double-checked the lock on the door, making sure her plunge into fantasy wouldn’t be interrupted.

    Leaning into the cheap couch cushions, she spread her legs and brought a hand up her skirt, stretching her longest finger as deep into her pussy as she could manage. With the other hand clamping her mouth shut, she squirmed over the couch, her muffled grunts escaping and nearly filling the room.

    With her eyes now tightly sealed, the images came into clear focus. She saw Cheryl’s nude body drop across a mattress, legs wide and eyes seductively slanted. “Come and take me!” the imaginary Cheryl demanded.

    But even in her fantasies, Angie hesitated. “But… I’m engaged to Harvey.”

    Cheryl said nothing. She pushed her full lips into a sumptuous pout that made words unnecessary. Angie slowly wedged herself between the woman’s thighs, yanking her panties away.

    The door rattled with a loud knock. “Break’s over, Angie!” Harvey shouted.

    Reluctantly, she pulled herself off the couch. “Okay,” she mumbled. Heading back to work, a trace of her naughty smile remained across her lips.

    She headed to the kitchen, picking up a plate of fried chicken and delivering it to Helen’s table. Helen was a customer she’d known for years, a sweet old lady who could always help yank her out of a dark mood. Today she had her face buried in the monitor of a laptop.

    Arriving with Helen’s meal, she said, “Wow, that’s a fancy little thing you got there. Never thought you’d break down and buy one of those!”

    “Oh, honey, I didn’t thin

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