by Sacchi Green
“Then 10 is when I’ll be there,” I said, riding a wave of confidence.
Carla tried for a note of command. “You’d better be.” She turned away, her fine ass eloquent with an assumption of power. But I’d seen some cracks in her eat-my-attitude self-possession, some fear and awe, maybe even excitement. And I’d enjoyed the hell out of how it made me feel. Those beads tight around my wrists—well, they’d sure sparked a tingle of anticipation and curiosity, and there was no denying that I’d go along with a lot just for the promise of some hot, wet, sweaty sex. Still, power was such a rush…It was going to be an interesting night, to say the least.
I was there, in fact, at 8, and again at 9, just passing by, in range of her voice but not in her line of sight. Cal caught up with me in the next row at 9:30 and groused that Carla had turned him down. “She’s prowling around like a cat in heat, but says she’s got other plans, and that’s that. Didn’t exactly tell me to fuck off, but close enough.”
“You can still borrow my pickup,” I said generously. “I’ll probably just keep an eye on the horses tonight in the barn. What about those girls who’ve been trailing you around all day? I saw a couple of ’em hanging with Ethan over by the Tilt-a-Whirl.” He shrugged, but grabbed my keys fast enough and took off toward the rides with a fair show of enthusiasm. Good thing he was too full of what filled his own pants to notice how his big sister was prowling around.
At 10 sharp Carla was shooing the last few customers away. I stepped up, unlatched the front canvas flap, and started to lower it. “Closing time, sport,” I said to the last reluctant straggler. He started to object, tilted back his head to look up at me, paused reflexively at my chest, finally saw my expression, and decided he had business elsewhere. I dropped the flap to close us in and stepped over the low barrier—and into a role I was making up as I went along.
Her back was turned while she unclipped balloon fragments from the backboard. She’d shot me a little smile when I arrived, but there was something tentative about it, wary. Or maybe even nervous. I kind of liked the idea of making her nervous.
“So what does it take,” I asked, pressing right up against her ass and putting my hands on her hips, “for a big old farm girl to distract you?”
She turned right around into my arms and did a slow grind against me. “It’s been a while since I got that lucky,” she said against my chin. “What do you generally have in mind when you pick up slutty carnival hucksters?”
“Once I pick ‘em up,” I said, digging my hands into her round asscheeks and raising her so that her breasts rested above mine, “my mind doesn’t have all that much to do with it.” Which was pretty much true. “But I’ve been known to offer to buy a girl dinner. To keep her strength up.”
She grabbed onto my shoulders and pushed herself higher. My nose was right in her cleavage, and her musky scent telegraphed messages all the way down to my dampening cunt. “If you’re hungry,” she teased, “I have better ideas. If you think you can keep your strength up.”
Well, I had better ideas, too. Like digging my teeth into the lace of her bra where it peeked through her unbuttoned shirt, and tugging. One nipple was about to pop free from constraint. “Hungry” didn’t begin to describe it.
“But not here,” she said, digging her knees hard into my midriff and straining away. I whoofed, groaned a complaint, and let her slide gradually down. One bent knee ground deliberately into my crotch as it went past, forcing out a different tone of groan.
“Think of the show we’re putting on for anybody watching our shadows through the canvas,” she said, once her feet were on the ground.
“We could just turn the damned light off,” I said. “Or, what the hell, sell tickets to the show.”
Carla scooped up a handful of the metal clamps that had held balloons to the wires strung along the backboard. “Nope.” But she did turn out the light. “For what I have in mind, we’d knock the whole booth over, if you’re as strong as you think you are.”
That got my attention all right. So did the clamps. “So where are we going?” All I had to offer was a few not-so-clean blankets in a horse trailer, or a bunk in an RV that might fill up with randy teenagers at any moment. Smooth. Really smooth, Casanova.
“To my cheap, tacky motel room. Where else?” She edged through the canvas flap into the night still bright with streaks of garish colored light from the rides, and throbbing with the heavy beat of music. I followed, choosing strong-and-silent over the distinct possibility of making a fool of myself.
Her car was battered and dented. Prying open the passenger side door might have been a test of strength in itself, but, if so, I passed. Carla’s skirt was hitched up so high in the driver’s seat that I didn’t refuse the invitation to explore beyond her garters, in the process making sure I’d know how to either unhook them with one hand when the time seemed right, or to work right past them. I couldn’t recall anyone at vet school ever wearing garters.
From the pungent wetness of my fingers when we reached the motel, I knew Carla’d been more distracted than any driver should be, but when I tried to clinch just inside the door she pushed me away. “My room, my rules,” she said sternly.
“We’ll see,” I said, leaning back against the closed door. Skin flushed, lips full and moist, heat practically radiating from her thighs, Carla clearly wanted it as much as I did. “What’ve you got in mind? Something like ‘The bigger they come, the harder they fall’?”
“And the harder they come,” she said, her purr verging on a growl. “Get on the bed.”
Well, what else was I here for? I strode over, trying to look like it was my own idea. Then I saw what was fastened to the metal posts of the bed. “Wait a minute, aren’t those the strings of beads I won?”
She reached into her purse. “Plenty more where those came from.” Her voice became a falsetto caricature of a Mardi Gras reveler. “Hey, baby, show me your tits and I’ll throw you some beads!”
I laughed and shrugged out of my jacket, making sure the small tin of horse lube from my vet kit didn’t fall out of its pocket. Then I plopped down on the bed. “Show you my tits? If you can’t find ‘em on your own, baby, maybe you better go back and practice on your balloons.”
She launched herself forward. I was flat on my back, jeans unzipped and yanked down past my ass, shirt pulled way up and nipples firmly twisted between her fingers, before I could do more than grunt.
“Spread ’em,” she ordered, kneeing me without mercy. “Arms too.” She let go of my tits to push my hands toward the corners of the bed, which of course let her tempting breasts hang right above my mouth.
I went along with it. “You’re going to tie me with just those flimsy strings of beads?”
“That’s the plan.” She got right to it. “Sure, you’re thinking you can break free any time. But if you do, you lose out. The challenge is to hold still, no matter what I do to you.” She reversed direction to work on tying my ankles. Now her crotch, skirt pushed up to her hips, was right above my face. So much for getting into her panties; she wasn’t wearing any. I breathed in her scent hungrily but didn’t try to arch up toward her. I definitely didn’t want to lose out.
So I lay still, if not silent, when the clamps came out. She moved them along my flesh like crab claws traveling across a dune, digging into my belly, my ribs, the lower swell of my breasts. Anticipation became as sharp as sensation, until my nipples seemed to be straining toward the promise of pain. When the metal bit into my tender peaks with cold fire, my stifled scream had as much of relief in it as anguish.
My shoulders clenched, my chest heaved, but I managed to keep my arms and legs nearly still. Carla watched my face, and bent to chew my lips when they twisted with the effort to be silent.
“Not bad,” she muttered against my mouth, “for starters.” Her tongue nudged at my gritted teeth until I relaxed them and let her probe deeply. The sheet under my hips grew hot and damp as I imagined that supple tongue probing elsewhere.
Carla finally
reared back and released the clamps. Pain flooded back into areas that had become nearly numb. Then I felt the procession of crab pinches travel up my inner thighs. “How’re we doing?” she asked cheerfully, bending her head to watch her handiwork.
“Next time,” I gasped, “how about a room with a mirror on the ceiling?” Her head was dipping lower. Was that brief pinch on my pussy lips from metal, or fingers? And was that… oh, God! Hot, wet, thrusting deep and deeper, her face hidden between my thighs… My hips arched, my cunt grasped at the pressure, but Carla’s tongue retreated, flicking my clit enough to swell it to desperation, but not quite to ignition.
“Don’t move!” she said, and kept at me, teasing with darting tongue and pinching fingers until my throat was raw with groans and curses. But I must not have moved hard enough to break the strings of beads, because they still hadn’t snapped.
Until suddenly she pressed harder, and deeper, hands under my ass pushing me upward toward the mouth that gave me everything I wanted, everything I could take. My wrists and ankles tore free as I forgot everything but the fierce, consuming bite of orgasm.
“Is that what you call losing out?” I said faintly, when I got enough breath back.
“You did okay,” Carla said. “Look at your wrists.”
They were scraped and bleeding, and so were my ankles. The damned strands of beads hadn’t been so easy to break after all. “Looks like…looks like I didn’t meet your challenge as well as I thought.”
She shrugged. “Those suckers are tougher then you’d think. Nylon string, knots between each bead. There’s a fastener on each necklace that just pops open, but once you release that and tie ‘em like rope they’re really strong. Don’t go thinking something’s flimsy just because it looks tacky and flashy and cheap.”
“I don’t see anything here tacky and flashy and cheap,” I said.
Carla leaned back and spread her thighs. The garters and belt had disappeared somewhere along the line.
“Show me what you got, then, big girl,” she said, “and tomorrow I’ll meet any challenge you name. Even if it means getting up close and personal with horses as big as elephants and twice as mean.”
So I did, with hands that were hard where she was softest, leaving bruises to be savored for days. Finally, my fingers slicked with the horse lube, I worked my way deep into the first cunt I’d known that could swallow me to the wrist and clamp hard enough to give me bruises of my own. Not that I noticed those until much later, or the marks of her nails on my shoulders.
And Carla did meet her own challenge. Molly’s broad black back will never look more glorious than it did when a darkhaired, seductive, naked Lady Godiva rode her through the horse barns one unforgettable midnight at the county fair.
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
JOVE BELLE lives in Portland, Oregon. Her novels include Edge of Darkness and Split the Aces, both from Bold Strokes Books, and the forthcoming Chaps.
CHEYENNE BLUE moves between Australia, Ireland, and Colorado. Her stories have appeared in many anthologies, including Best Women’s Erotica; Best Lesbian Love Stories; Rode Hard, Put Away Wet; and Mammoth Book of Lesbian Erotica.
ANDREA DALE’s (cyvarwydd.com) stories have appeared in Where the Girls Are, Best Lesbian Romance, Best Lesbian Love Stories, and Crossdressing: Erotic Stories, among many others. She is the coauthor of the novels A Little Night Music and Cat Scratch Fever, forthcoming from, respectively, Cheek Books and Black Lace Books.
CHARLOTTE DARE’s (myspace.com/charlotte_dare) erotic fiction has appeared in Tales of Travelrotica for Lesbians, Vol. 2; Ultimate Lesbian Erotica 2008 / 2009; Wetter; Purple Panties; Island Girls; and Where the Girls Are: Urban Lesbian Erotica. She also has work forthcoming in the anthology Girl Crazy.
DEJAY ([email protected]) lives six months of the year in the mountains of Pennsylvania. Two of her short stories, “Who’s in Charge” and “Silent Journey,” can be found in the October 2008 issue of Khimairal Ink.
DELILAH DEVLIN (delilahdevlin.com) is the author of Down in Texas, Jane’s Wild Weekend, the Dark Realm series, and many other books and stories. Her books have won numerous awards, including an Eppie for Best Erotic Romance Science Fiction (Shadow Warrior).
ROXY KATT (roxykatt.com & roxykatt.blogspot.com) lives in Canada. Her work has appeared in Where the Girls Are; Erotika: Bedtime Stories; The Mammoth Book of Lesbian Erotica; Best Lesbian Erotica 2008; and other collections.
RADCLYFFE is a retired surgeon and author-publisher with more than thirty lesbian novels and anthologies in print. Two of her books, Erotic Interludes 2: Stolen Moments (ed. with Stacia Seaman) and Distant Shores, Silent Thunder, have won the Lambda Literary Award. She has stories in Best Lesbian Erotica 2006, 2007, 2008, and 2009 and is the editor of Best Lesbian Romance 2009 and 2010 (Cleis Press). She is also the president of Bold Strokes Books, an independent LGBTQ publishing company.
JEAN ROBERTA (JeanRoberta.com) teaches English in a Canadian prairie university and writes in various genres. Her erotic stories have appeared in more than 60 print anthologies, including seven editions of the annual Best Lesbian Erotica series and her single-author collection, Obsession (Eternal Press). She writes reviews for the website eroticarevealed.com and a monthly column, “Sex is All Metaphors,” for erotica-readers.com.
CRAIG J. SORENSEN has published stories in anthologies edited by Alison Tyler (Hurts So Good, Frenzy, Afternoon Delights), Rachel Kramer Bussel (Tasting Her, Tasting Him), and online at various sites including Clean Sheets.
CECILIA TAN (ceciliatan.com) is the author of numerous books of erotica including White Flames (Running Press), Black Feathers (HarperCollins), and The Velderet (Circlet Press.) Susie Bright calls her “simply one of the most important writers, editors, and innovators in contemporary American erotic literature.” She is founder and editor of Circlet Press, Inc. and also writes and edits for Ravenous Romance and many other publishers.
ELAZARUS WILLS is an artist, used bookstore owner, journalist, and writer of erotic romantic fiction living in a small mountain town in Colorado. His work has appeared in several recent gay-themed print anthologies, including Simon Sheppard’s Leathermen, as well as being regularly featured in the online erotic fiction magazine Ruthie’s Club.
TERESA WYMORE (teresawymore.com) is the author of the erotic fantasy Darklaw and other books. Her fiction has appeared in such anthologies as Cream: The Best of the Erotica Readers and Writers Association and Wild Nights: (Mostly) True Stories of Women Loving Women.
ABOUT THE EDITORS
RAKELLE VALENCIA is an equine behavior and language clinician teaching throughout the country. She has worked with more than one thousand horses of all breeds and disciplines in gentling or restarting. Roping and riding have been lifeskills, played out in both her passions of working with horses and erotic writing. Rakelle has co-edited five erotic anthologies, most recently Lipstick on Her Collar (Pretty Things Press). Her first, Rode Hard, Put Away Wet (Suspect Thoughts Press), was a finalist for a Lambda Literary Award. The author of many erotic short stories, she has also published technical articles on the subject of Natural Horsemanship.
SACCHI GREEN lives in western Massachusetts and New Hampshire. Her stories have appeared in many collections, including seven volumes of Best Lesbian Erotica, four of Best Women’s Erotica, Best Lesbian Romance, and Penthouse. With Rakelle Valencia, she has co-edited three lesbian erotica anthologies: Rode Hard, Put Away Wet (Suspect Thoughts Press); Hard Road, Easy Riding (Haworth Press, reissued by Lethe Press); and Lipstick on Her Collar (Pretty Things Press). She’s also the editor of the recent anthology Girl Crazy from Cleis Press.
Copyright © 2009 by Sacchi Green & Rakelle Valencia.
All rights reserved. Except for brief passages quoted in newspaper, magazine, radio, or television reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying or recording, or by information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publi
sher.
Published in the United States by Cleis Press Inc.,
P.O. Box 14697, San Francisco, California 94114.
eISBN : 978-1-573-44485-9
