The Mammoth Book of Lesbian Erotic Confessions

by Barbara Cardy

  I pulled on her hand and bent her over my lap. Her flannel skit was quickly pulled high over her waist, her panties rolled down her thighs. I massaged her pert little arse cheeks with my hand and then slapped them. She yelped girlishly as the cheeks rippled. Her skin was pink and delicate. I slapped her again. This time, her were groans were deeper, more passionate.

  “Little slut,” I repeated.

  “Oh God, lick out my slutty little pussy,” she begged.

  I didn’t need to be asked twice. Only, I wanted to choose where we did it. I lifted her from her feet and held her in my arms. She was so slender that she was light as a feather. I dropped her down on her own desk. She rested her buttocks flush against the edge of the table. I knelt down on my knees and planted my lips between her legs. Her face shook from side to side. Papers fluttered all over the floor. My tongue darted inside her sizzling pussy, and I pushed it back and forth in a fucking motion. Hot juices covered my chin. Sweat trickled down her thighs and over my cheeks. It was only a matter of time. She was at the point of no return. She wailed loudly as her knees trembled and another orgasm overtook her body.

  Two sex addicts together was an irresistible cocktail, full of sparks and explosions. We swapped positions and roles and continued fucking all afternoon until eventually we collapsed in a hot, sweaty heap on the reclinable leather chair where it had all begun.

  When the book was published six months later, my confessions played a starring role. I received a signed copy from her. Inside the front cover, she had written a personal message.

  To Laura, please continue with your very individual research! If there is a sequel, we will make sure that we work on it together. Regards, The Sex Doctor

  THE SHREW TAMED ME

  Carla, Aberdeen

  Believe me, I was frightened. I had only done six school plays, and two others at smaller theatre companies. Mary’s Court, the company I was trying out for now, was one of the most important in the area. Rumour was that several of its actors went on to the professional stage, and many who played there had occasional bit parts on TV and in commercials. Jenny Paragon, who had been on daytime TV until she quit for the theatre, was the director of The Taming of the Shrew. She was tough at the auditions, and I never expected to hear from her again.

  When I got a callback from Ms Paragon, I heard the usual, “Carla, you were very good but . . .”

  That was the way it started out, and my heart dropped, as it usually did when I was turned down for a part. I almost blocked out the rest of Ms Paragon’s sentence, but the meaning finally came to me.

  “. . . You’re not quite right for Kate, but I would consider you for Bianca, if you’d come in for another reading.”

  I was ready to express my thanks for the audition and my hope that I would do better next time before the meaning of what she said sunk in and I realized that this was not a call to let me down lightly but an actual callback.

  I said nothing and she continued, “Do you know the opening scene of Act Two?”

  I knew the scene, of course. It was where Kate, who is Katherina to everyone in the beginning of the play, ties Bianca to a chair and demands information. I told her that I would be happy to come in to read again for Bianca. She asked if I could come to the stage door of the theatre at eleven the next evening.

  “If you don’t have a ride, I’ll make certain you get home,” she said.

  I thanked her profusely and then dove for my volume of Shakespeare’s comedies.

  I suppose I should have told you more about myself in the beginning, especially considering what happened after that call. I’m nineteen and not terribly brilliant, but I think I’m a good actor. I have an excellent memory for lines – not a photographic memory, but a good memory.

  While I read and then studied the lines, I found myself thinking about Ms Paragon, with her auburn hair, her very nice breasts, larger and better shaped than mine but not enormous. Thinking about her created a strange tingle in places I usually didn’t tingle unless I was pleasuring myself.

  I never thought to ask who would get the role of Kate, but it didn’t make any difference. I had a callback for a decent part, and I would do my very best.

  A callback, oh, my God, a callback!

  I studied the lines until very late. I awoke in the morning to dreams of the gorgeous Ms Paragon and I running naked through a field with Tudor type houses all around us in Padua. Of course, Padua is in Italy, but dreams don’t always make sense.

  At work the next day, I found myself repeating lines, and wondering what woman would be walking around me and demanding answers as Kate. The whole time I thought about that, I thought of Ms Paragon in the part.

  Usually at an audition, I wear a sweater and jeans, but you never know what kind of costuming a director and producer will use when they do Shakespeare these days. I figured a skirt and blouse at least. Bianca was supposed to be the feisty younger sister, more attractive than Kate, so I gave myself the whole treatment when I came home from work. I took a soak in the bath while I recited Kate’s and Bianca’s lines. I worked for almost an hour to get the right look without wearing obvious stage make-up.

  I applied bright red lipstick. My tits are hard and somewhat flat, so I wore a tight bra that pushed up hard on my breasts so that the nipples popped over the top. It set up a pretty picture that would be appreciated by most guys, and maybe by Ms Paragon, too. The truth was that I didn’t date men much and most of my sex was with other girls my age.

  “You look good enough to eat,” Ms Paragon said, holding the stage door open for me.

  I blushed at her choice of words, but I had obviously been successful with the image I wanted to project.

  I asked her about the casting, and she pretty well shut me down about that and said I would be the only one auditioning tonight.

  She explained the scene, saying that I was to be tied in a chair even in this audition.

  She had me sit in a chair that was already set up, and quickly tied me to it. She walked around me and tested the tightness of the thick red ribbon. She had commented on how good I looked, but I said nothing to her about how she looked. I noted the way her tits, naked under her black sweater, jutted out against the wool. I got those tingles in my special places. My pussy was dripping, wetness soaking into my panties as we did the short, opening scene of the second act.

  “. . . I pray thee, Sister Kate, untie my hands.”

  It was the last line she let me say before she demanded we do it over.

  “Carla, it doesn’t sound like you want to be untied,” she said, with a sly turn at the corner of her lips.

  “I do, I really want to be untied,” I insisted as the character, not as me, Carla. The problem was that I wanted Ms Paragon to do something to me as much as I wanted the part.

  “That’s better, take that attitude.”

  I liked being tied up with her threatening me, but never putting me in danger. It was an odd kind of sensation. I wanted her to hurt me in some way, not necessarily with violence, but with . . .

  “What’s going on in your head?” she demanded.

  “I . . . let’s do the scene again.”

  We did it again, and a third time, and by that time she was satisfied with my delivery of the line, but she did not untie me.

  She gave a wicked smile, and she squatted in front of the chair to look up at me. At the same time, she had drawn her long skirt all the way over her thighs. She wore no panties and the folds of her sex were open. The moisture was pouring from my pussy now, and soaking back to the crack of my ass.

  “What would you do for the role of Bianca?” she asked as if making a demand rather than an offer.

  As exciting as it was, it was also scary. I had never made love to a fully adult woman before. Ms Paragon had asked the question again, and I said, weakly, “What would you want me to do?”

  She told me I had a great attitude, and she stood straight up in front of me. I lost the hot angle at her pussy but her nipples still jabbe
d out like fingers beneath her sweater, and she suggested that we reverse roles. I would tie her up and read Kate. She had a sly look the whole time she spoke and I was both afraid and excited, not about reading Kate but, well, my pussy was telling the story.

  I felt her hot, sweet and sexy breath on the back of my neck as she untied my hands, and I found myself wondering if she had brought me in for this private audition because she wanted me for a part, or she wanted something else. But I didn’t dare think about that, because I wanted what she wanted. I wanted her to touch the nipples of my breasts, but she didn’t. Instead, she just took the ribbon with which she had tied me, stepped in front of the chair and looked down at me with those hot, green eyes.

  “Do I really have a chance for this part?” I asked her.

  “My dear, you have several parts. Which part I want from you, I’m not quite sure. Which parts do you want from me?”

  My pussy was drenched, my clit was throbbing. I wanted to say “Pussy”, “Lips”, “Tits”, any of those but I settled on, “Everything, every part.”

  She grinned and nodded, and I knew we were playing from the same mental script.

  She drew her skirt over her thighs again, and spread them just as she had done when she squatted in front of me.

  “Is this something you like?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I said.

  I wanted to kiss her first, but I was the ingénue, and she was the director. She had all the power, but it was power that I willingly chose to give up. No more words were said for a while, and I went to my knees and parted hers, and then I parted her thighs. I parted her pussy even further with my thumbs. Like my clit, hers was throbbing. I did not tie her to the chair because we were no longer reading words, but merely reacting to each other’s desires. I ran my thumbs closer and closer to the throbbing clit.

  “Kate would never do that,” Ms Paragon said.

  “I’m not Kate, I’m Bianca,” I said, falling into the role. “I do what Kate leads me to do.”

  My heart was pounding, my pussy throbbing. I thought of that night when I was drunk with my best girlfriend. I wanted to do those things again. I wanted to eat and be eaten, but there was never the right occasion; this time it was perfect.

  “You look good enough to eat,” I said, repeating her line from earlier in the evening. I had no idea what time it was or how late I would get home, but I didn’t care and I asked her to take off her sweater.

  Without a word, she reached down and peeled the black sweater all the way over her head, letting me see those lovely tits with their hard, jabbing nipples.

  My own tits were swelling like they had never swollen before, but I liked the way my bra acted as a harness now and was pushing them up and over. The wire hurt the undersides. I knew from Ms Paragon’s stare that she liked them, so I didn’t mind the pain.

  I put my right index and middle fingers on her clit and pressed it with a little circular motion. First, her eyes rolled back, and then her head went back. Her staring at the ceiling was less intimidating but it was also less exciting. I told her to look at me and watch, and she did. I smiled and she gave a grimace of pleasure as I slid two fingers into her pussy and brought my face closer. I hesitated only a moment, looked up, and then brought the tip of my tongue to her clit.

  She neither spoke nor moaned, but I knew from the almost imperceptible rotation of her ass on the chair that she was enjoying everything that I did. I was enjoying it too, but at the same time, I needed pleasure. As I licked Ms Paragon’s pussy and sucked clit, I slipped my left hand between my own thighs, urging the saturated wetness of my panties against my pussy.

  I licked and I moaned, I captured her with my lips, and my heart continued to pound. Her hand moved behind my head and she pulled my face harder against her well-angled pussy. I pushed my tongue inside her as far as it would go.

  I took my hand from my own pussy and pushed both of my hands up the front of her body. I massaged her tits while I tongued her pussy. When I pinched her nipples, she let out not a, “eek” sound as my friend had done, but deep, low sigh of, “Oh, yeah.”

  Now, I only vaguely cared if I got the part. I was making her moan and giving her pleasure as her plays had always given me pleasure.

  “Oh, oh, oh,” she said.

  They were tiny repetitions and not the moaned-out sighs of a woman pretending to come. She was coming for real and because of that and the work of my left hand, I was coming too, and I embarrassed myself with my own moans, my own loud but legitimate sounds of pleasure.

  I kept working at her even as I worked my own pussy and then, finally, her whole body went stiff. She shuddered, and then she shuddered again, and then she relaxed. When she finally calmed down, she looked at me, reached out for my face, and brought her lips to mine.

  “You are such dear girl, you will definitely play Bianca.”

  It was the absolute best I could hope for in terms of the play, but it was the end of our pleasure for the evening, and I was disappointed that on the way to my flat, all she talked about was the play and the rehearsal schedule. She gave me a copy of the edited and annotated script and dropped me off at my flat.

  Even as we went through rehearsals, Ms Paragon, who was now known as Jenny to everyone in the cast, gave no indication that we had ever spent those hours together alone on stage at what was supposed to be a simple callback. But it did not keep me from pleasuring myself to thoughts that I might be with her again sometime.

  “Shrew” got excellent reviews in the local media, and one reviewer noted the “true sisterly relationship between Kate (Jenny Paragon) and Bianca (Carla Hayes). Each seemed to bring out the best in the other.”

  I was on a cloud at the review, which singled me out as a “. . . promising newcomer to the Aberdeen stage”, but I was sad that Jenny Paragon and I only related sexually that one time at the callback.

  At the wrap party, two months later at a nearby pub, I sat with the rest of the cast members at a large table in a small, private room. I had too much to drink and an older actor who was once on television started to hit on me hard, as he did lightly on every female in the cast.

  Jenny told him to leave me alone. I said it was OK, and I thought that was the end of it, but a few minutes later, Jenny said, “I’ll give you a ride.”

  “I was planning to give her a ride,” the old TV actor said.

  “I’m sure you were,” Jenny said.

  She did not ask what I wanted, she just told me what she was going to do, but she did help me to my feet before she lead me to her car.

  I was wasted and she was treating me like she was my mother. During the rehearsal period, she was super critical of my performance, and on the way home, I expected more criticism, so I leaned my head against passenger side window. She complimented me not only on my performance, but on taking everything that she dished out.

  I didn’t tell her how often she turned me wet during the performances, especially in the scene where I was tied to the chair, but I think she knew.

  “Do you want to go to my place?” she asked.

  It took so long for the words to register through my stupor that she had to ask the question again. I finally gave a weak yes. She never responded, but she stopped driving towards my place. I didn’t know exactly where she lived, except that it was a better section of town than mine was.

  When we were in her flat, I thought she was going to be all over me with fingers, tongue and pussy, or that she would want me to do the same things we did at the private callback, but she just helped me to the sofa. I flopped, pretending to pass out. I waited and waited, and then I must have fallen asleep. I awoke in the middle of the night, disappointed because Jenny did not try to undress me, nor, if memory served me correctly, had she tried to do anything else. She just woke me a bit later and forced some aspirin on me.

  That was the extent of our intimacy, and I was frustrated. I had no close friends that I could confide in about my obvious lesbian tendencies, and I was not experienced enou
gh to even know the right places to go to make contact. I figured that Jenny had her fill of me that one evening at the callback, but I still hoped she would cast me in the next play where she also had a part.

  Just after dawn, I went in to take a pee, and while I was still on the seat, Jenny stood in the doorway. She was wearing a pink nightgown and her tits jabbed out as they had nearly two months before.

  She said nothing and neither did I, but I stood from the seat. Instead of pulling up my panties, I let them slide to my ankles and I pushed them aside with the toes of one foot. Slowly, I unbuttoned my blouse. I unhooked my skirt and let it all fall to the floor. I stood in my bra, not the sexy one I wore that night, but the sensible one I wore for the performance on stage.

  “You look lovely,” she said.

  “Can I come to bed with you?” It was the most forward thing I ever said to a woman or man at any time in my life.

  She told me that I could and she turned away. I removed my bra and washed thoroughly. I tried to be casual, but I am certain I rushed. I had only a mild headache thanks to the middle-of-the-night aspirin.

  “You get on the bed,” she said, now naked. “I owe you.”

  Yes, she did owe me, I had thought that since that first night, but I never breathed a complaint. I climbed onto the bed and she slithered her entire body between my legs, dragging her tits over my belly and bringing her mouth to mine.

  Her kisses, her touch, everything pleased and overwhelmed me. Slowly and steadily, she kissed every bit of my body: eyes, ears, cheeks, neck. Her lips, her tongue, her fingers explored me, sending sensations that no man was ever able to trigger.

  Yes, this time she was doing me as I did not know how to do her. She was teaching me love as she had taught me to perform the very important part in the play. She seemed to love me as a sister would love me, but she treated me like the most experience lover that has ever been.

  Oh, yes. Her tongue dragged the places I had explored with her. She nibbled and licked in ways I did not know how. She taught me that night and in the nights to follow, during and after other plays she had directed. When she was ready to let me go, she turned me over to a director of a professional stage and thus began my career as an actress, as well as a woman.