The Mammoth Book of Lesbian Erotic Confessions

by Barbara Cardy

  Her careful use of the scissors fascinated me. The gentleness of her touch was irresistible and watching her full lips move in concentration made me want to kiss them. She placed the cut hair on a waiting tissue with respectful care. I tried not to let her catch me looking at her nipples or her lips but she did and smiled that Alicia smile.

  Putting the scissors down, she said, “Now I will wash you and shave you.”

  The thought of her washing me was exciting.

  The sound the water made as she soaped her hands allowed a sense of tranquillity to ripple through me.

  Her fingers spread over my lower belly with gentle pressure and her thumbs started to wash me. A sound of pleasure escaped me. She caught my eye and teased with her touch, saying, “I want you to keep still now.”

  The sight of the razor in her hand kept me still.

  I concentrated on her lips, distracted only from time to time by her nipples and the light glinting in the dark tumble of her hair. A secret, unique, peppery feeling between my legs held me in a fizz of expectation. Her conquering gentleness had won me over, replacing uncertainty with yearning. I tried, out of habit, to keep my yearning secret but my breathing gave me away as she used the towel to dry me. Tossing the towel aside and seeking and finding approval in my eyes, her fingers parted me enough to slip inside and play. “You are so wet,” she said, “and I am so flattered.”

  Then her tongue was playing over my clitoris. Every tingle translated into a brand new feeling. I’d always known this was how it was meant to be.

  A quiver of pleasure came and went all too abruptly as I gasped appreciation.

  Getting up, she said briskly, “All done.”

  We were supposed to be back in normal time and so, in what was supposed to be a normal voice, I said, “Thank you.”

  She started to clear everything away, almost as if nothing had happened, and in a normal voice asked, “Debbie, was that your first orgasm?”

  “Of course not!” I protested, adding, “but it was the best.”

  She smiled. “In that case, if the idea isn’t too disgusting, may I kiss you properly now?”

  Disgusting? It was a beautiful idea. The salt and pepper flavour of the kiss was as much me as it was her. Disgusting? Her salt made me thirsty for more.

  After that day, trying to live in the “normal” became even harder. The hospital procedure came and went and all was well.

  It was probably my imagination, but from then on Jen seemed to be round much more.

  Jen – short-haired blonde, taller than anyone I’d ever known and with a smouldering threat of violence in her eyes.

  On the rare occasions I found myself alone with Alicia, usually in the kitchen, we exchanged glances. I knew enough to know they referred to that day but had no idea how to respond.

  One day random chance brought all three of us together in the kitchen. I was eating a sandwich I’d just made when Alicia joined me at the table. I was determined something would happen when the door opened and Jen joined us.

  She wore tight jeans with high-heeled boots - as if she wasn’t tall enough already - and a combat vest which managed to reveal her aggressive bra from front, sides and back. Of course, she couldn’t just pull up a chair and sit down; she had to turn it round and straddle it.

  As I small-talked about uni, I could sense Jen’s growing boredom until she butted in, “Are we watching that film, or what?”

  Alicia nodded. Jen glared at me in triumph and, beyond the contempt she clearly felt for me, I caught a flash of pure love for Alicia.

  The blare of the telly brought Alicia closer. “Take no notice. She’s just in a mood.” With mischief in her eyes, she asked, “Any more hospital appointments coming up?”

  “No, thank goodness,” I replied, realising late that she’d offered me a way in. I quickly added, “Pity, in a way. It was nice not having any hair there – bit prickly when it was growing back, though.”

  “You should have told me. I love the way you blush, by the way . . . and kiss. Next time, I’ll try something a little different – so be warned. Perhaps your orgasm needs a little work?” She got up and went off into the blare.

  My mouth was too dry for the sandwich.

  Days came and went. I found myself thinking about Alicia at night before sleep, pondering on what the “something a little different” might be and remembering the wonderful orgasm present she’d given me. In the following days, childlike, I waited as if for Christmas.

  Good or bad, nothing can stop “Christmas” arriving. When “it” came, I had my laptop and notes spread over the kitchen table. Alicia came in with a routine, “Hi”, but headed for me instead of the fridge, tilted my chin up and kissed my lips with longed-for Alicia tenderness. The jasmine scent of shower gel teased me.

  “Just back from the gym. I’ll grab some food now but was wondering if, later . . . ?”

  “Yes, great . . .” My reply was a too-eager blurt, I knew.

  “Thing is, Debbie, if you like, tonight it might be good if I’m not just your hairdresser . . . I could be your sex doctor too – and I’ve found a great outfit for the role, too.” She kissed me again with firm control.

  “Yes, great . . .” My blurt, stuck on repeat, was breathless now.

  She took a slice of melon from the fridge and after an appreciative suck on its cool curve, she rolled her eyes beautifully and went off to her room.

  I cleared everything away and, unsure where my sex doctor “consultation” was going to happen, automatically started to tidy my room, then went and had a shower to calm myself down

  In the shower, the jet stream relaxed me. I imagined being swept along by a warm, sensual river heading inevitably for the roar of the sea. In my room, though still relaxed, I stood in front of my mirror and was about to mentally criticize every aspect of my body when Alicia’s smile appeared in the reflection.

  I turned. Her “sex doctor” outfit consisted of two items – a nurse’s cap and tight white knickers pinching her at waist and crotch. She had a coil of black cord in her hand. “This innocent cord, my dear, has the power to absolve you from any feeling of guilt.” She took hold of my wrists and began to bind them together.

  My heart thundered “yes!” even as my mind and a memory from my past screamed “no!”

  But Alicia’s touch was gentle and the pull of the cord was firm, not brutally tight as Ricky’s had been when he tied me to the bed “for fun” and looted our entire future together in one afternoon.

  The “yes!” won.

  Concentrating on the knot, she murmured, “You will be able to say, ‘It was all Alicia’s fault. I was tied up’. This simple cord symbolizes trust.”

  She took the cord and led me to the bedside where we kissed.

  My hands, trapped in front of me, touched her knickers, shyly.

  She sketched my body with her fingertips, roaming free, caressing my breasts, defining them, cruelly avoiding my nipples.

  Her wonderful touch made them feel sensationally beautiful for the first time in my life. My knees weakened as pleasure raked through me. It was almost a relief when her hands moved down my back and over my bottom. With sudden violence she pressed my hands hard against her and kept them there. I will always, always remember the urgency of her kiss and the quiet moan of pleasure she made.

  To me, this was an impossible equation. How could her lips plus my captive fingers equal/produce that wonderful pleasure sound!? Impossible! I’d managed to get all the way through school without ever solving an equation in algebra. This was my first success.

  She broke the kiss and stepped away. The pant of her breathing and the swirl of sensuality in her eyes made me shiver. “I think we’d better get you tied up,” she said, the words jagging with the rhythm of her breath. “Get on the bed . . .” And then she noticed the bed was all neat and tidy – a rarity achieved in her honour – and she stripped it, the flying duvet dragging the tyrannical bedside alarm clock away with it. “Best” pillows and cushions t
ook flight like startled birds. “Now!”

  Made even more awkward than usual by the cord, but unashamedly eager, I clambered naked onto my own bed and lay on my back with my head on the last remaining pillow.

  Alicia in her urgency went to the foot of the bed, gripped my ankles and pulled me all the way down. I’m heavy and her strength surprised me, but more than anything else, I so wanted this urgency. She encouraged my bound hands above my head and secured them to the bed rail. Now I really felt tied up and vulnerable yet still I wanted her lips and her eyes and her fingertips and her strong hands . . . wanted her love.

  She checked the tightness of the wrist cord, saying, “Still quite comfortable. It will only tighten if you struggle.” Alicia sat on the edge of the bed and looked at me. She said quietly, “I can’t trust my hands to shave you now . . .” Her fingers stroked over my belly, causing my back to arch involuntarily and releasing pleasure all through me.

  “In the meantime, my little prisoner, I’m going to torture you.”

  The thrill of being called “little” slid me past the word torture.

  Even in my own fantasies, when the hero saw me as shapely and voluptuous, but I still thought of myself as hefty, never little.

  Alicia went to the foot of the bed and took off her knickers with all the grace of a water nymph about to bathe in private. Then she took hold of my ankles again, but this time began to massage the soles of my feet with her thumbs, gently at first but growing harder.

  The stronger her touch, the more I collapsed into my feelings, a completely new sensation – and it made me want to kiss her as much as I wanted to be kissed by her.

  My lips were sensitized. I had the strangest feeling across the roof of my mouth and it was as if every sensual button had been slammed open on full power all at once. I remember thinking over and over – I’m going to explode, I’m going to explode.

  But then the strength in her thumbs relented and as her touch softened I realized she had parted my legs – enough for her to get on the bed and kneel between them. She sat back on her haunches and contemplated me.

  My vulnerability sharpened in one blink and my yearning in the next.

  And then she said something which changed my life, though I’d no idea of it at the time. She said, “Now it’s your turn. Please kiss me – I want your kiss to be the same as the massage I’ve just given you. I want you to re-interpret it, understand?”

  I nodded and watched, fascinated, as she placed her hands either side of me for support and positioned herself very carefully. Just the very touch of her against me created a firework display in my mind. She kissed me. The gentle weight of her body against mine in just the right place caused my legs to close. Holding her between them, with her lips on mine, invoked savoury memories.

  I kissed her, repeating the incredible foot massage all over again but now with my lips, recalling the hard, the soft, the long and the short motions. Being tied was a frustration and a pleasure. It made me concentrate solely on her lips and mine. I wanted to hold her in my arms . . . yet didn’t want the perfect pressure of her intimate weight on me ever to end. She responded with teasing relish until she broke the kiss and sat up.

  I was blushing unashamedly, panting, when she said, “What next?”

  I was tempted to blurt, “’Let me come.” But I didn’t, saying instead, quiet and shakily, “I want to kiss your nipples . . .”

  She rolled her eyes in approval and offered her breasts to my lips. I closed my eyes, waiting for the first touch, which sent me off on a lovely, slow, drifting river of need. I felt ripe, wanting her to take me but also wanting to take her to the top. This conflict was short-lived, as she responded so delightfully to the touch of my tongue. I have no idea why I started to suck on her but once I started I knew it was right from her responding shiver. It wasn’t a suck-suck-suck but a long, slow, continuous suck, drawing her nipple deep into my mouth, and it wasn’t going to stop until . . .

  When the pleasure groan came I held her there a moment longer before releasing her. She pulled away, sitting up on her haunches again, her nipple bright red – her turn to be searching for breath and for her eyes to be unguarded.

  I had almost more pepper between my legs than I could handle but needed just a twist more salt. I asked quietly, “What next?”

  “Please do the other one, harder, stronger, longer . . .” And she offered the other breast with a look on her face I’ll never forget . . . not least because one moment later it changed to a look of shock as my bedroom door burst open.

  Suddenly Jen was shouting, “What’s going on?”

  I tried to free my hands but passion had tightened the cord. I whispered, “Untie me,” as Alicia got off the bed to face her. She might not have heard me so I said it louder, “Untie me!”

  I discovered I wasn’t afraid of Jen, quite the reverse: I wanted to confront her first and slap her. I did have reasons for this - that constantly challenging look in her eyes and a chain of territorial irritations regarding the sofa, the TV, the remote control, the fridge, the loo. . . She didn’t even live with us! “Alicia, untie me, now!”

  “I thought you went to see your dad.”

  “I did. I’m back.”

  Jen tore the nurse’s cap from Alicia’s head and threw it on the floor, brushing past her. I roared, “Get the hell out of my bedroom,” but she ignored me and eyed me from clenched toes to bound hands. “Get out of my bedroom!”

  She stomped off into the lounge. Alicia made to follow but I said, “Alicia, untie me now!”

  She saw sense, hurriedly released the knots without catching my eye and then stormed after Jen. I was left to get free, but heard the words “thieving fat bitch” as I got off the bed, scrambling for clothes. I pulled on a pair of jeans and a vest and went into the lounge.

  “I keep telling you, we’re finished,” Alicia was shouting. “I’ve been telling you that for weeks. Why won’t you listen? Why d’you keep turning up here?”

  I’d reached the doorway and saw those words whip pain across Jen’s eyes. I stopped.

  Jen was on the couch, Alicia standing to one side, hands on naked hips and looking down at her. Jen saw me and her eyes hardened. She stood up.

  I took a step forwards, afraid she was going to hit Alicia, but she just brushed her to one side with such force Alicia tumbled onto the sofa. She turned on me. I made a move to shove her aside, trying to get myself between her and Alicia, but she caught hold of my vest, yanked me to her and said, “Enjoy her while you’ve got her.”

  She threw me onto the sofa – a tearing sound leaving most of the vest in her hands. I landed half on top of Alicia. “You deserve each other.”

  The door slammed and then the street door banged shut and we were left cuddling desperately on the sofa in the quiet.

  For several moments it felt as if we’d won and Jen had lost, but I sensed I could easily mess it all up. The words, “What next?” hung unspoken in the air.

  Instinct told me cuddling and falling asleep together on the sofa wasn’t an option but that was my first choice.

  Waiting for Alicia to take the lead wasn’t an option and nor was talking.

  All of the above would fail.

  Her words drifted back: “now it’s your turn”.

  Taking the lead was an option.

  Not being me was an option.

  So I let my yearning hand find her breast. With a tender gasp, she tilted her face up, out of the cuddle, and offered her lips for kissing. I kissed with a fierceness I barely recognized as my own but which poured out of me and found tidal responses from her lips. And then she broke away and said, “We have unfinished business in your bedroom.”

  She took my hand and led me to my room. But when we got there she got on the bed and held out her hands to be tied, a cold glint of urgency in her eyes. This was make or break. I retrieved the cord and tried to copy the firmness she had granted me.

  “Tighter,” she said.

  I tugged hard and secured
the cord to the bed rail, but she repeated, “tighter,” and it was clear she meant it.

  I wondered about the role of the cord and it taking away responsibility or blame or guilt. I was also unsure that, with Alicia helpless, I would actually be able to take the lead. But I needn’t have worried.

  She said, “Now tie my legs apart. Go to my room, you’ll find lots of cord in the bottom drawer of the dresser. Bring back two reds. Do it!”

  I rushed off, entering her room for the first time. My first impression was of ethereal, sensual, pale colours and textures blending together, all achieved via lighting and scarves carefully draped and art nouveau prints and mirrors on the walls.

  I opened the drawer and an array of colours greeted me, sleeping snakes of rope in neat coils. But I grabbed two “reds” without hesitation and hurried back, but stopped in the doorway.

  She was free, sitting on the edge of the bed, waiting. The delicious smile on her lips and in her eyes coursed through my veins faster than a sugar rush. The cold urgency had gone from her now. “You’re going to need a few tying-up lessons - but not now. Come here.”

  I stood in front of her. She took the cords from me and dropped them on the floor.

  “Don’t look so scared, my dear.” With a delicious slowness she unhooked my jeans and eased down the zip. The look of anticipation and appreciation on her face made me feel beautiful. It was the difference between being stripped and undressed.

  “Turn around,” she said quietly.

  She coaxed the jeans over my hips, down over my bottom and on to the floor.

  I stepped out and had no idea what she was going to do next – tie my hands behind me, spank me because she’d gotten free, reach between my legs and touch me? I was so swollen and ready I felt I’d collapse if she did. This uncertainty thrilled me. I was shaking secretly.

  She kissed each cheek of my bottom, turned me round to face her and then kissed between my legs with gentle eagerness, finding “me” without any difficulty.