The Devil Wore Dark Glasses

by Teresa Noelle Roberts

She was dressed like a saucy devil. Red latex bodysuit, tail, horns

peeking out of her short blonde hair, dark sunglasses, pitchfork,

blatantly fake goatee, meant for laughs because the bodysuit left no doubt

that she was all woman.



I worked my way over to her through the party crowd, admired her costume,

and introduced myself.



“I’m Maddy,” the devil said, “or Mephisto, tonight.” She extended her

hand, shook mine, held it just a second too long, long enough for me to

tell she was flirting.



We chatted back and forth for a few minutes, figured out how we were

connected in the six degrees of sexual separation of lesbians in small

college town. (I’d once dated our hostess; Maddy had dated her current

girlfriend.) Finally, she asked me, “So, what’s your costume?”



I was dressed like a French maid, complete with feather duster, so I was

taken aback—it was what I’d have called a no-brainer.



Then I put details together: the dark glasses indoors, the “pitchfork”

with a white tip, the way she’d extended her hand to me but waited for me

to take it. My hot blonde devil-girl was blind.



There were two ways to deal with the embarrassing fact I hadn’t noticed.

One was to fall all over her and apologize.



I sensed she might not like that. And even if she were all right with it,

it wasn’t exactly going to further my evil aims.



I chose the other. “Why don’t you figure it out for yourself, you devil?”

I guided her hands to my hips.



She circled my waist, making note of the apron. One hand dipped low,

following the flare of my hips and the poufy, crinoline-lined skirt. She

smiled when the skirt stopped abruptly. Then she let her hand skim along

the hem to my fishnet-clad thigh. She reached up a bit, under the skirt,

feeling the line of demarcation where stocking stopped and bare flesh

began. That provoked an even bigger smile. “It’s intriguing, but I’m not

sure what you’ re supposed to be. Want to give me a clue or should I try

some more?”



I could have tickled her with the duster right then and given it away—but

I’ m not an idiot. “Oh, keep trying. I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”



She bent over (giving the lucky women behind her a great view of her ass

and me an even better view down the dramatic neckline of the bodysuit),

running her hands down my leg. It wasn’t merely a caress, although it sent

shivers through me. She was taking her time, building a picture of what

that leg looked like through her fingertips. Finally she reached my high

heeled pump, traced it with two fingers. “You slut. Four-inch heels. The

politically correct police are after you tonight.”



I laughed. “Actually Val and Leda are here as the PC police and they’ve

already offered to ‘arrest’ me.” I said “arrest” so it was obvious I meant

“grope me in a dark corner.”



“Lucky you escaped.” Maddy stood up, letting her hands travel up me as she

did. Up to my waist. Up my side, skimming the outer curve of my breast, up

to my bare shoulders and down around the strapless neckline of the dress.

I shivered uncontrollably. “But this outfit is definitely sinful. You’ll

have a harder time escaping me.”



For all that she couldn’t see, Maddy didn’t have any trouble finding my

lips to kiss me. Then again, I helped.



As we kissed, I tickled the back of her neck with the duster. She paused

just long enough to giggle and say, “French maid?”



I confirmed it.



“You’re mine, then. Definitely wicked and lustful. Going straight to hell.”



Instead of hell, we went straight to her apartment in the back of a cab,

making out the whole way. Maddy’s clever fingers unfastened the tiny

buttons on the front of my bodice, faster than I could have done it

sighted, so my breasts spilled into her hands. I caressed her through the

latex,

desperately wanting to peel it off her, but appreciating how it seemed to

transmit my touch, how her nipples popped and how she mewled and squirmed

when I stroked between her legs.



I had to hold my dress together as we ran inside.



Her apartment was orderly and very bare. Of course. Why would she have

ornaments, art on the walls, when she couldn’t see? But her bedroom was

big and open, with a huge bed, and we went there without bothering with

anything else.



We finished getting me out of the dress. I started to take the stockings

off, but Maddy reached out and stopped me. “They feel good,” she said.

“Sexy.” So I left them and the heels.



She peeled out of the bodysuit, revealing lush, heavy breasts, round hips,

the kind of thighs I could camp out between for a week. I tried, but she

begged, “Let me see you,” and tipped me back onto the bed.



Long, sensitive fingers caressing, and red lips, leaving prints on my

skin, traveling in the fingers’ wake. She didn’t leave an inch unexplored,

and fire followed where she went, as befitted the devil. She bypassed my

pussy, though, working her way down my legs, slipping my shoes off,

sucking on my toes until I was squirming and giggling and begging.



Finally, she deemed she’d explored enough. “Beautiful,” she whispered.

“And you smell so good.” And then she went where I needed her, putting all

the precision of her touch, all the skill of her tongue, to work on my

swollen clit, on my pussy that was already flowing like the sea under her

ministrations.



I slicked her pretty face with my juices as I came and came.



Like a good French maid, I cleaned her up.



Then I licked her dirty again.



And later, after a little rest and a glass of wine, we burned together,

devil and naughty maid together in a sexy little hell.

end.

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