COMPANION WANTED
This is a work of lesbian fiction. The names and scenarios existed only in the imagination of the author. If you are offended by stories involving lesbian sex, please stop reading immediately.
(Lesbian College)
My name is Jennie Cabot. I was named Genevieve at birth, but I always thought that name sounded a little too hoity-toity to me, so I have always preferred the name, Jennie. Let me start out by saying that you probably won't believe this story, but I swear that it's true, because it happened to me.
I was 19-years-old, and had recently completed my first year at UCLA. In high school, I had been a good student, and had played volleyball at West High in my hometown of Tracy, California, which is located about 60 miles due east of San Francisco. I was no great talent at volleyball, but I enjoyed the sport.
I was later accepted to UCLA. As it is a state university, tuition is considerably less expensive than say, USC or Stanford. I was fortunate to receive a Pell Grant for financial assistance, but even that was proving to be inadequate while living in highly-expensive, Westwood. Rent alone for my tiny studio apartment was nearly $3,500 per month. Even with my savings, and a job as a Starbucks barista, it was clear that I would soon be in the hole, and forced to sign up for one of those usurious federal student loans which would promise to leave me in debt for many years to come.
Searching through the classified section of the online Los Angeles Times, I didn't quite know what I was looking for? A higher paying job? Roommates? I didn't know.
Somehow, I stumbled upon an intriguing personal ad that, unfortunately, offered very few details:
COMPANION WANTED
Mature woman seeks female companion (18-25) to live with me at my Beverly Hills home.
Send resume w/photo to lilian765@bh.com.
I'll be honest. It was the Beverly Hills home that first caught my eye. The upscale, world-famous city is located only four or five miles from the UCLA campus.
Not having to pay rent would of course be a Godsend! But, what did it mean to be a companion? Anyone living in Beverly Hills was presumably wealthy. Was the "mature woman" that took out the ad an invalid that required constant care? Obviously, that would be impossible for me as a college student. And why was a picture required?
Having more questions than answers, I rationalized that even if I was rejected, or deemed the position creepy or something, I would be no worse off than I was now. Sitting with my laptop on my knees, I composed a simple resume listing my academic accomplishments, hobbies, and even my current employment at Starbucks. Searching carefully through the photo section of my Smart Phone, I picked a photo taken recently where I thought I looked cute. Not thinking too much of it, I emailed the items to lilian765.
I just realized that I haven't told you very much about myself. At the time, I was 5'5" tall, with black hair that was cut into a medium-length page boy haircut. The hairstyle was easy to maintain with my busy schedule with work and school, and it had been practical when I had played high school volleyball, and I thought I looked a little like a picture I had seen of Jane Wiedlin from the Go-Go's.
Even though I didn't play a sport anymore, I was quite proud of my fit, 105 lb. body, and enjoyed going on daily runs and working out at the student fitness center at UCLA.
I guess that I should also let you know that I had by now confirmed, to myself at least, that I was a lesbian.
As a senior in high school, I had fooled around with Pam, a girl my age who was on the softball team. Our secret assignations were excitingly fraught with the danger of being caught. Too scared to go all the way, our sexual curiosities were somewhat satiated by hurried make out sessions, usually consisting of kissing, and fondling each other's squirming, clothed bodies.
Unlike the other girls that I had grown up with, I had never had much of a romantic interest in boys. Entering college, I still wasn't even 100% sure of my sexual identity. That changed forever when as a freshman at UCLA, I had allowed myself to be picked up by a pretty, graduate student from Norway.
I first met Brina at a UCLA volleyball game soon after arriving in Westwood. I would later learn that we were both turned on by watching those long, lean, college girls on the volleyball court, with their tight shorts and cute butts.
Brina was almost six years older than me, and seemingly everything that I was not: Tall, blonde, glamorous, and sophisticated. Naturally, I was instantly attracted to Brina. Not sure if she was interested in me, or just being friendly, I was anxious to get to know her better.
Suggesting that I join her for a cup of coffee at her apartment, I eagerly agreed. I began to get my question answered when Brina blithely reached for my hand as we walked down Gayley Avenue. Even with my secret high school girlfriend, Pam, we had never held hands in public. I'm sure my palm was sweaty and clammy, but Brina didn't mention it.
We were both dressed similarly in tank tops and shorts on that hot September night. Even in athletic shoes, Brina was at least five inches taller than me. Her legs were long and slender like some sort of Scandinavian movie star.
I was a little taken aback when I was introduced to Brina's male roommate, John, a Medical school student from Michigan. I jealously wondered if the two had any sort of physical relationship? Maybe they were "friends with benefits?"
I sat on the couch near John while Brina prepared her coffee press. At this point, I hadn't mentioned that I worked at Starbucks, and a cup of coffee was the last thing in the world that I wanted that night. John was a friendly guy, and we were able to converse easily. He even suggested a movie that I should see at the nearby Landmark Theatre, adding casually that he and his "boyfriend" had really enjoyed it.
Case closed. John wasn't fucking Brina, and we would end up becoming very good friends.
Handing me a cup of coffee, Brina suggested that we go to her room to listen to music. I wondered if other girls had gone through a similar seduction routine with the statuesque Norwegian? Or, was I just letting my fertile imagination get the better of me? As we got up, John sat there wordlessly and continued to watch TV.
The only chair in the small bedroom was the one Brina used for studying, so I sat on the bed. I nervously sipped on the coffee that I really didn't want. Brina retrieved a vinyl record and placed it on her "old school" turntable. Some sort of 1970's disco music began to play. I was unfamiliar with the song or the artist, and I wrote it off as some sort of European peculiarity of Brina's.
With the music playing at a medium volume, Brina reached for her cup of coffee, and sat close to me on the bed... very close to me, in fact, as she quickly cut to the chase.
"I like you Jennie," Brina said with only the slightest trace of an accent. Her bold hand began to gently touch my face. "Do you think you like me?" I could only nod my head, I was too nervous to speak.
Brina leaned in to kiss me. Needless to say, I kissed the beautiful blonde back to the best of my limited ability. Soon, Brina placed an eager hand on one of my modest boobs, and began to curiously rub and squeeze it.
I was still wearing a tank top. With my little boobs, I rarely wore a bra. Other than Pam, in high school, I had never kissed or been felt up by another girl. Leaning into Brina's pretty face, our enthusiastic tongues quickly met. This had been the first time that I had really been alone with another girl without having to look over my shoulder for fear of being caught.
I lifted my baby blue tank top above my smallish breasts. Brina immediately took the bait, and began hungrily nibbling and slurping on my little boobs and brown nipples. Seemingly, in a snap of a finger, Brina was naked, and tugging at my white shorts.
Brina's 5'11" body was long and lean, much like the volleyball players that I had just lustily watched. My hands spontaneously reached for Brina's enticing B-cup boobies. They were the first bare breasts that I had ever touched, and they were wonderfully round and firm. Seeing my excitement, the Norwegian girl placed her hands atop mine as I eagerly fondled her gorgeous boobs.
I was surprised to see that Brina's pussy was completely shaven. While I was initially disappointed to not see a blonde bush, I liked the look and feel, and Brina would later help me to shave my dark-haired pussy, which I have maintained ever since.
The rest of that first evening is sort of a blur in my memory, as my emotions went from nervous fear to unrestrained sexual passion. I do, however, remember Brina's pretty face rising between my virgin thighs. Her long, blonde hair shook maniacally from side-to-side as she expertly ate my pussy.
Sensing my inexperience, Brina allowed me to explore her slender body with my hands, lips, and tongue. Her body was simply incredible, and she was as beautiful as any lesbian porn princess that I had watched on my laptop.
While naked and cuddling on the bed with Brina, I reluctantly explained that I had to work early the next morning at Starbucks. Brina accompanied me on the short Uber ride back to my studio apartment, holding my hand the entire way.
Brina and I were lovers throughout my freshman year at UCLA, until she received her M.S. degree and returned to start her career in Norway. I hoped that I would someday see her again.
I had basically forgotten about my email to lilian765 until a week or so later when I received a call on my cell phone. A cheery voice on the other end asked, "Is this Jennie?" "Yes, it is." I politely answered, looking quizzically at the unfamiliar phone number.
"My name is Lilian Chesterfield. You answered a personal ad that I placed in the Los Angeles Times?"
I was silent for what was probably two seconds, but seemed like an eternity. "Yes, of course." I awkwardly answered, the mysteriously-worded ad suddenly coming back into my head.
"If it's convenient, I'd like to meet with you on Friday to discuss the... uh, position." This time it was she who sounded a little awkward.
School had recently started up again, so I explained that I could come by her Beverly Hills home sometime after 4:00 p.m., following my final class of the day. Lilian agreed. I could almost hear her friendly smile over the phone. She promised to text me her address.
Lilian asked me if I needed "car fare," which I thought an oddly old-fashioned expression for an Uber or Lyft ride. I explained that I had my own car, and thanked her for her thoughtfulness.
My mind began to race. The woman on the other end certainly sounded full of life, so it was unlikely that she was a shut-in or invalid. However, the "car fare" expression had struck me as very odd. "Maybe she's older than she sounds?"
There had been no conversation regarding the duties and expectations of being Lilian's companion. I supposed that I would ask all of the necessary questions on Friday. To be perfectly honest, Lilian sounded nice, and God knows I could solve my problems and save a fortune by not having to pay rent in Westwood. Besides, with Brina back in Norway, there was nothing or no one really keeping me in such close proximity to the UCLA campus.
By agreeing to the 4:30 interview on Friday, it would allow me time to change out of my usual school clothes of jeans and a blouse. Quickly showering, I put on my only really good dress, an attractive, white, summery print that I had bought on sale at the mall. I had meticulously ironed it the night before, wanting to make a good impression.
With the normal, heavy, Los Angeles traffic, it took about 20 minutes for Google Maps to lead me to Lilian Chesterfield's Beverly Hills house. House was actually a gross understatement. Estate was a better description.
Parking my beat-up 2014 Toyota Camry, I looked on in wonder at the spacious, well-manicured grounds, and the large, sprawling, California Ranch-Style house. I smoothed my dress, and took a deep, nervous breath before knocking on the door, which was answered by a middle-aged woman in a housekeeper's outfit.
"I'm here to see Ms. Chesterfield," I said with a smile. I didn't know if Lilian was a Miss or a Missus, so I opted to use the feminist version, Ms. "She's expecting you, Miss. Please come in," replied the stone-faced older woman. I was led to a large, elegantly-furnished living room, where I was asked to sit down.
Minutes later, a very attractive, well-coiffed, and expensively dressed, blonde woman, who was perhaps in her early 40's came into the room. I stood up politely, and she smiled broadly upon meeting me. "Manners. I like that." She said to no one in particular as she shook my hand.
Placed neatly on the coffee table was the short resume that I had e-mailed, as well as my picture, which had been blown up into an 8-1/2 x 11" format. Looking at the image, Lilian remarked with a smile, "You're even prettier than your picture." I wasn't quite sure what to make of the compliment, but I thanked her graciously. Looking at the fit, attractive, older woman, she certainly wouldn't need to pushed around in a wheelchair, or spoon-fed chicken broth. Why would she be interested in a "companion" who was only 19?
Picking up my resume, she went down the line: "Second-year student at UCLA; Top 5% of your high school class; Athlete... excellent; Starbucks? That'll have to go," she said with a little chuckle.
We chatted amiably for thirty or more minutes. She was obviously more sophisticated than any 19-year-old from Tracy could be, and she scrumptiously slipped in questions about art, music, and the theater.
When asking me what I knew about the Los Angeles Philharmonic, I admitted that I had never been able to afford a performance, but I knew that Gustavo Dudamel was the director, and added jokingly, "And that there are no saxophones in a philharmonic orchestra," which caused Lilian to smile. Truthfully, that was about the extent of my knowledge on the subject.
Lilian seemed impressed overall, so I felt comfortable enough to begin asking her questions.
The obviously wealthy woman was unusually candid. Once, an aspiring actress and model of limited means, she had married a much older man when she was in her early 20's. It was a pairing that benefitted both: He had wanted a young, trophy wife to show off on his arm, befitting his wealth and status. Lilian wanted the security that only a wealthy husband could afford her.
She explained, "While it might never have been considered a `mad love' relationship, we both developed a deep affection and understanding during our marriage." Further explaining that her husband had passed away peacefully some five years earlier.
"John had a son," she explained. "He was being groomed to run John's companies, but died unexpectedly in a car crash early in our marriage. I inherited all of John's assets, including this house and his companies."
I felt a great deal of sympathy for this attractive woman who was baring her soul to what was essentially a complete stranger.
"On the advice of, well... everyone, I decided to sell his companies, and to live the life of a well-to-do widow and nascent philanthropist," she said with an ironic chuckle. I then asked: "Can you explain what you're looking for in a companion? The ad was a little ambiguous."
"Purposely so," Lilian answered. "When I turned 40, I realized that life was too short to be all alone in this big house. I'm now what you could call a `patron of the arts,' and I decided that this time it was me who wanted to have a pretty girl on my arm."
While she hadn't quite said it, I distinctly got the impression that the companion that she was looking for would be more than just `arm candy' to join her at the theater and the philharmonic. Would I be expected to be her young, live-in lover as well?
While that situation was sinking in, Lilian asked if I would like to tour the house? Naturally, I agreed. We went from well-appointed room to well-appointed room in the spacious house. Opening the door to a large room, it was bare except for an elegant glass desk. "This would be your study room," Lilian said, offering no other explanation. I asked myself, "Well, where would I sleep?"
That question was soon answered when we walked into her grand, elegant, master bedroom, with its King-Size canopied bed. The large room was professionally decorated in tasteful shades of white. Two complete vanities were positioned side-by-side, each with large mirrors.
Opening an empty walk-in closet that was nearly the size of my entire studio apartment, Lilian explained, "And here is where you can keep your clothes." I laughed a little, explaining, "I'll have a lot of room left over." "We can take care of that," Lilian said matter-of-factly.
"I think you'll be very comfortable here," Lilian said as she sat invitingly on the bed, and reached for my hand. Any questions were now answered. I would be expected to share her bed. Looking out of the bedroom window, I spied a pretty garden and a large, rectangular pool.
Looking at me intently, I don't know if Lilian expected me to bolt at the obvious implications of a lesbian sex life with the wealthy, older woman.
Sitting on the bed next to the attractive, blonde widow, I said, "I'd love to be your companion, Lilian." The older woman placed her arm around my bare shoulder in an almost motherly fashion, but made no sexual overtures that afternoon.
A moving company was soon dispatched to transport my meager belongings out of my Westwood apartment. I next received a text from my landlord stating that the remainder of my lease had been paid off, and asked where my cleaning deposit check could be mailed?
Lilian was out of town for a couple of days. While I was being moved in, I was put up at the Beverly Wilshire Hotel. I must admit that I probably had the crappiest car in the parking lot, and was the only hotel guest spending her nights studying.
As scheduled, I returned to Lilian's home late Saturday morning. I was greeted at the door with an exuberant hug from the immaculately-dressed woman. "This is your home, too, Jennie. I always want us to be upfront with each other." Excitedly, she took me to see my "study room." It had been freshly painted, and the elegant glass desk that I had seen was now equipped with all of the computer equipment and programs that I could have ever dreamed of. A new wi-fi router glowed in the corner, and she presented me with a new iPhone. I was overwhelmed.
I took my beat up laptop out of my book bag, and placed it on the desk, hoping that it wouldn't somehow contaminate the much-nicer computer equipment surrounding.
As expected, my few clothes were hung in the walk-in closet, which made it look even emptier. Seeing my embarrassment, Lilian said, "We can go shopping later on." I was again wearing the only nice dress that I owned.
Lilian said that she had to make a few phone calls that morning, and suggested that I hang out at the pool until lunch was served.
Looking through the drawers, I eventually found my bathing suit and put it on. If I do say so, I have an absolutely adorable bubble-butt. I had carefully chosen the black, T-back bikini that I was wearing to show off my round butt-cheeks, which had been developed from playing four years of high school volleyball. Brina had particularly admired my meaty backside.
Lilian was talking on the phone, but I was very aware that she was surreptitiously admiring my thick butt, and otherwise taut, young body as I walked to the pool, text book in hand. I had decided that if Lilian were to fuck me from time to time, it would be more than worth it. After all, she was a very attractive woman for her age, and I was by no means inexperienced when it came to having lesbian sex. Brina enjoyed experimenting, and had been a very good teacher.
Lunch was wonderful. I learned that Brina's cook lived in what used to be considered "the chauffer's quarters," and a housekeeper arrived daily. Both women were in their late 40's or early 50's, and seemed to keep to themselves.
After lunch, I excused myself and began to explore the various items which were now in my new study room. I was in heaven!
When evening approached, I knew that it would soon be time to earn my keep. I followed Lilian to her bedroom. Usually sleeping in a t-shirt and panties, even when I had been with Brina, I was at a loss for something sexy to wear to bed.
Finding a fluffy, white bathrobe hanging in the bathroom, I took off all of my clothes and put it on. Lilian was already in bed. She was wearing a black, diaphanous negligee that clearly displayed her large breasts.
As I approached the big bed, Lilian opened the covers expectantly. Seeing that she was watching me intently, I nervously removed the robe. Lilian gulped as her eager eyes traversed my naked, petite, 105 lb. body. My clasped hands attempted to shield my crotch.
Although my tits are small, they are perky and pointy, like little, puffy pyramids. My brown nipples were already erect from being stimulated by the fluffy bathrobe. As Lilian's eyes descended from my flat stomach to my pussy, she smiled when she noticed that it was cleanly shaven. As an odd compliment, Lilian said, "You're as cute as Tinkerbelle," admiring my pixyish pageboy haircut.
After a couple of recent trips to the beach, my little boobs and lower torso bore unmistakable bikini tan lines. Moving my hands to my hips, I allowed Lilian an unfettered view of my 19-year-old nude body, as the lights in the bedroom were still on.
"Can you spin around," Lilian asked hopefully. Accommodating my 40-something-year-old benefactor, I did a very slow 360-degree turn to show off my pride and joy, my bountiful, meaty, bubble-butt. Lilian had previously seen it when I wore my bikini, but now it was completely exposed, and in seconds I would be making myself to available to be her sexual plaything in bed.
Pulling the negligee over her head, Lilian tossed her soft, blonde hair so that it fell back into place. Her large, C-cup breasts swayed seductively in unison as she shook her head. Patting the bed as means of inviting me to lie next to her, I anxiously entered her bed. I was greeted by a soft, and gentle kiss on the lips.
My sexual relationship with Brina had become increasingly kinky as the months wore on, so I was physically prepared for just about anything. The depth of feeling in Lilian's kiss surprised me. Expecting to be hungrily assailed by my older bedmate, Lilian looked uneasily for me to take the lead.
Returning Lilian's kisses, my hands initially reached for her big, surprisingly firm breasts. I could feel Lilian's heart beating rapidly as I curiously fondled her meaty boobs. Lilian began to heatedly stroke my short, dark hair as my hands manipulated her breasts.
Repositioning myself on her lap, I began to lick and suckle Lilian's breasts. She was clearly enraptured by the experience, and began to moan softly at my oral ministrations.
Kicking off the remaining covers on the bed, I brought my young, naked body on top of hers, pressing our breasts together. Lilian clutched my muscled butt cheeks as I laid on top of. Opening her legs, I inserted my crotch, and began to slowly grind against her pussy from the missionary position. Lilian was now moaning audibly with each measured thrust.
As I arched my back upwards while on top of her, she eagerly reached for my pointy tits. Gripping and squeezing them like an eager teenage boy, I was happy that Lilian was enjoying my lovemaking skills.
As the evening progressed, I again parted Lilian's legs and began to feast on her dark-haired pussy. Clearly, her beautiful, blonde hair was dyed, and carpet didn't match the drapes.
Even Brina had never responded to cunnilingus with such a fervor. I stopped counting after Lilian experienced her third orgasm. I had only used my tongue, not knowing if she would like being finger-fucked.
As we laid naked in bed that first night, Lilian thanked me. She embarrassedly admitted that this had been her first lesbian experience. She had wanted to be with another woman for some time, but had never cheated on her husband in any way.
As she kissed me, she said, "I'm glad that it was with you." I laid my head atop her large breasts and drifted off to sleep.
I could sense Lilian's displeasure every morning when I fired up my old Camry to go to school. Some days later, I found a new, silver, Mercedes Benz AMG GT convertible coupe parked in the driveway, a big pink bow was attached. My Camry soon disappeared, and I received a small check from Carvana.
With only a short commute to school, and having the newfound freedom of not having to work, I now seemed to have plenty of time to study, as well as to entertain Lilian.
Searching among all of my new clothes in the large, walk-in closet, I asked Lilian to help me pick out an outfit for the night. She selected a particularly, slinky, sparkly, black dress that barely covered my ample ass. Only a very young, confident girl could get away with a dress like that.
Lilian, a budding philanthropist, was a board member of the Ahmanson Foundation. It was opening night of a new production of the London musical, Les Misérables. I was excited to learn that we had second row, center seats. I felt like a princess as I was unashamedly introduced to the wealthy and powerful patrons who generously supported Los Angeles' famous Ahmanson Theater.
I'll be honest, there were more than a few men AND women who jealously looked at Lilian, and then seemed to be actively undressing me with their eyes. My push-up bra added to the illusion, making my little boobs look bigger and fuller to the well-heeled strangers. My four-inch heels brought me up to model-height of nearly 5'9".
The musical was great! I had read the Victor Hugo novel in high school, but I will admit that I had been a little bored by it. The play, however, was a completely different story. The songs and music were compelling, and the visuals were exciting.
One young actress who caught my eye was Deborah Shields, who played the part of teenage Cosette, the innocent, illegitimate daughter of Fantine and a disingenuous college boy. Cosette was eventually raised to be a lady by Jean Valjean, and later in the play falls in love and marries Marius. Cosette is the kind of character that you wanted to root hard for.
While the engaging young actress was singing her solo, I whispered to Lilian, "Isn't she beautiful?" Lilian squeezed my hand and smiled.
The night was a triumph for Lilian, and for me, I suppose. I had more than held my own socially and intellectually, and had demurely impressed her many high society friends and acquaintances. Unknowingly, I had managed to perform all of the required duties of a well-educated, trophy girlfriend. Lilian had never seemed prouder as she undressed me and eagerly took me to bed that night.
Focusing on my A-cup breasts, she excitedly fondled and suckled my little morsels. The tan lines on my chest had disappeared following afternoons studying topless by the pool. Grabbing Lilian's hair, I pressed her eager face into my tiny boobs as we made passionate love into the early morning. Lilian was proving to be an excellent lover.
I began to better understand the complexities of our intimate relationship when I was surprised a couple of weeks later by the appearance at our home of minidressed-wearing 17-year-old actress, Deborah Shields, who had played Cosette.
I was happy to meet the young actress whom I had so recently admired. I praised her on her performance, and admitted that it was my first time seeing the play, or any other. As a thank you, the young actress surprised me with a prolonged kiss on the lips, and wrapped her slender arms around me, the palms of her hands on the upper curvature of my prominent butt.
Looking quizzically at Lilian, I noticed that she was wearing a Cheshire Cat-like smile. She had obviously planned this encounter with Deborah for my benefit.
It felt like Christmas morning as the three of us arrived in the bedroom and began to I unwrap my present from Mrs. Claus. Just 17-years-old, Deborah's long-legged body was appealingly slender, like a young doe. I took my time as I unzipped her short minidress. She was only wearing a pair of black panties underneath.
Deborah's shoulder-length hair was a unique platinum blonde. With her alabaster skin, her body shone like a diamond under the stage lights. Her boobs were little more than small bumps on her slender chest, which I eagerly assailed with my anxious tongue.
With her panties removed, Deborah revealed a sparsely-haired blonde bush, which I began to eagerly pet. It gave her the look of an even younger girl, which I found to be particularly thrilling.
At first, Lilian only watched as I made passionate love with the 17-year-old musical theater actress. In a lot of ways, Deborah reminded me of a younger, pink-cheeked, Brina. It was very clear that at some point in her life, Deborah had enjoyed prior sexual experiences with women or girls. Straddling my eager face, I feverishly licked Deborah's blonde pussy, while my hands roamed impatiently across her similarly-modest breasts.
Eventually leaning against the headboard of the large, four-poster, canopied bed, I pulled the blonde girl towards me, placing her between my splayed legs, and avidly groping her alabaster breasts. Lilian stopped being just a spectator. Spreading Deborah's young legs, she began to hungrily devour the teenager's pussy before turning to me for more of the same.
As Lilian's fingers bore into me, I was surprised at the sexual voraciousness that Lilian was now exhibiting. I never asked how Deborah had managed to arrive in our bed. I simply chose to enjoy it.
The next morning, Lilian explained that any of my female college friends would be very welcome visitors.
The End of Part 1.
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