All Chapters of The GxG Wet Diary : Chapter 31 - Chapter 40

I’d heard about the parties at Jeni’s. Everyone had. It was a small liberal arts college, and six foot tall plus blonde lesbians were not exactly falling out of the trees. Everyone seemed to know who she was and that she was “that” way, both she and her nearly equally tall and beautiful roommate, Veronique.Veronique had also been pregnant in their freshman year, which caused even more talk and suspicion, but neither girl seemed to be bothered by being the subject of gossip and innuendo. They were from well-off families and were at the college to have as much fun as was humanly possible while getting their degrees. Well, Jeni was. Veronique didn’t come back after that first year.No one knew how exactly you came to be invited to one of Jeni’s parties. Not everyone wanted to be, of course. There was no drinking, for one thing, and no drugs. And no men. Ever. I’m not gay or anything, but I still wondered what went on there. There was a girl in my hall who was rumored to have been to on

I smoothed out my pinstripe black suit and ruffled my short strawberry-blonde hair into that messy bedhead look I knew she loved. It worked perfectly since my hair was only about an inch long. I locked my office door, dropped the key into my briefcase, and grabbed my car keys.It had been another long, draining day. I couldn’t wait to get home to Jennifer.I slipped into the elevator just as the doors were closing and found myself sharing it with Rick — one of my court-ordered patients. I positioned myself slightly behind him, on guard. He had a nasty history, and I wasn’t taking any chances.“Miss Cole! What are you doing here so late?” he asked, licking his lips.“I’m heading home. Why are you still here, Rick? Our session ended an hour ago.”“I was waiting for you,” he said, stepping closer. “You worked later than you should have.”“I had paperwork, Mister Lonax,” I replied coolly. “You know I only discuss matters in the office. You should go home.”The tension thickened as he move

It all started my senior year. I was one of the oldest girls in our tiny-ass high school, the kind of place where everybody knows everybody. I was smart enough but never gave a fuck about grades. The only reason I dragged myself there every day was NJROTC… and Rachel. Rachel was my best friend in the unit. Thick, curvy, 5’6” dirty-blonde bombshell with heavy C-cup tits that bounced just right when she marched, wide hips, and a fat, juicy ass that I had to force myself not to stare at. She carried her weight like a fucking goddess. I’d been secretly dying for her for two years, touching myself almost every night imagining her soft body on mine. I was a lesbian, fully, but I kept that shit locked down tight. As far as I knew, Rachel was straight. She flirted with guys sometimes. I figured I’d never have a chance. Then came her 18th birthday. “You’re coming, Ava. No excuses,” she told me in class, poking my side. “Your car’s still fucked, so I’ll pick you up and bring you home. Dea

I lay on my back in my own bedroom, legs spread and trembling, while Ruth’s fingers moved steadily inside me. Her thumb circled my clit at the same time, sending waves of unwanted pleasure through my body.I hated how wet I had become, how easily she had taken charge after everything that had started with that cursed letter of recommendation.I had only been trying to review the letter she had written for herself, the one full of generic praise about what an exceptional student she was. how inquisitive and intelligent she was, how she excelled at public speaking and creative writing, how she was a model student who would inspire all the others to succeed. I had shaken my head at how fake it all sounded, knowing it stretched the truth, but I kept reading anyway. And then came the final paragraph that changed everything: the declaration that she had become my Black Mistress and that I, her white teacher, now eagerly served her as the obedient slut she owned completely.I had confronte

The morning light filters through the half-open curtains, warming my bare skin as I stretch lazily across the sheets. It has been exactly one week since that unforgettable night with Tara, and her scent still lingers faintly on my pillow. My body carries the faint remnants of her marks, now fading into soft yellowish traces, but the memory of her submission still makes my pulse quicken. I roll out of bed, slip on a loose tank top and black boy shorts, and decide today feels like the perfect day for something new. I head to my favorite little café downtown — the one with the cozy outdoor seating and strong espresso that always clears my head. The air is warm but not yet unbearable, and I choose a table under a large umbrella where I can people-watch while sipping my iced latte. My jet-black hair is pulled up in a messy bun, and I’m wearing a simple white crop top that shows just a hint of the love marks still visible on my stomach. I scroll through my phone absentmindedly when I noti