It started out so innocuously. Maybe that’s why it turned out so fucking hot.
I’ve had enough of bartending in my life that when Annie asked me to pour drinks at a conference she was in charge of, my immediate instinct was to think—fast—of the first best lie I could offer in order to avoid the prospect.
“I—someone has to feed my cat.”
Annie found that excuse pathetic and gave me a look that said so. “Kyle, that cat died two years ago.”
“Fuck, you remember.”
“Of course I do. I was at the funeral.”
“A little respect, please. Princess Leia was no ordinary feline.”
“Sure she wasn’t,” she said sweetly. Sarcastically. Annie wasn’t an animal lover. Curious, then, that she’d refer to her lover as a “tiger” in bed. Makes you think.
“So you’ll do it?”
“Is this the fancy-schmancy do you’ve been planning for the last two months?” Annie was head of conference planning at the Sheraton Belgravia Hotel on Chesham Street in London.
“I’m thrilled. You remembered.”
“How could I not—you’ve been yammering about it non-stop for weeks.”
“Oh fuck off, Kyle.” Then she went all sweet again. “So then you know how important this is to me, to my career.” She sidled up next to me, running a long finger along my forearm. “I need the best bartender in London, and you’re it.”
Annie and I have never slept together. We’ve come close once or twice in moments when neither of us had been thinking. She was way too driven, and I liked Guns N’ Roses. But she knew just how to play me.
“I take it the Sheraton pays well?”
“Oh, yes. And I’ll get you a uniform… Just do us a favor?”
“I thought I already was.”
There was the sweet smile again, laced with sarcasm. “I can see why you manage to fuck any girl you want. Your wit surpasses even my own. No dear, what I meant was the hair.”
“The hair?”
“Yes. Yours in particular. Just…try not to look like Ringo Starr on a bad day, okay?”
I wouldn’t argue with Annie. I’d just lose.
The night of the conference I showed up in my monkey suit at exactly 18:30 as Annie had instructed me. I’d never even asked her what kind of clientele I’d be serving overpriced cocktails and martinis to. It turned out to be some corporate thing. Loads of women in power suits. Blah, blah.
When I went in through the service entrance somewhere in the bowels of the hotel, a group of waitresses eyeballed me. A couple of aviation blondes, their black roots starting to show. I smiled favorably, and one of them brushed past me just a little too close. A spotty male looked at me like I’d stolen his wallet. Probably the usual bartender. I smirked. Annie could get away with anything. Probably because she was so fucking good at her job.
The conference started at 19:00 sharp. Between then and 21:00 I pretty much did stuff-all except verbally abuse Annie in her absence for making me show up so early. Control freak. Another reason why I would never have sex with her.
At some point, a woman sneaked out from behind the heavy conference room doors. She looked around furtively before making her way over to the bar. I was busy wiping down whisky tumblers, probably for the third time in an hour. When she saw the coast was clear she launched herself across the empty bar area, weaving through the unoccupied tables, and pulled out a bar stool.
She smiled disarmingly. “You’d be out of there, too, if you had to listen to that tosser.”
“I take it the speeches aren’t very entertaining.”
She looked right at me and smiled widely. “Fucking understatement of the year, lassie.”
“You have a great smile.” Stop flirting with the patronage.
“Thanks.” She looked as I dried off the glass. “God, you have really good forearms.”
Oh. My.
I’d rolled my sleeves up before washing the few glasses my perfectionist eye hadn’t deemed clean enough. If Annie saw me like this she’d have a continental fit. But taking in the present company, I didn’t really care.
She was a sort-of redhead. More like copper, flecked with golden brown. Her eyes were dirty emeralds and a crooked trail of freckles were scattered across the bridge of her nose. Her mouth appeared both demure and possibly foul at the same time.
“You got any Jameson back there?” she asked. “Make it quick, before the bastards notice I’m gone. Double, on the rocks.”
“So you’re Irish,” I nodded, pouring the whisky with a steady hand.
“What on earth makes you think that?”
“Trace of the accent. Mild, but there. But in all my time as a bartender, an Irishman wants whisky, he wants Jameson.”
“Then you know the Irish were the first to distill whisky.”
“That’s up for debate.”
“Okay. You have something against the Irish?” She swallowed a mouthful of whisky and looked at me. Her eyes held mine for just a moment longer than need be.
“Hardly.” An involuntary charge of arousal jolted up my thighs.
“One more. Quickly.” She moved her glass closer and watched me pour the amber liquid. “If you don’t mind me saying so, you look a little out of place here.”
“Thank god for small mercies.”
I could see the kinky smile around the edge of her glass. She swallowed the whisky in two, three quick successive tips of her wrist, then said, “Better prepare yourself. There’s a lot of bored women about to come out of that conference room in serious need of booze. Hot little thing like yourself…” She slid off the bar stool. “You’re going to have your hands full.”
“Annie! Annie!”
She didn’t see me at first, but how could she? The bar was packed. Women, everywhere. Then finally a gap as I served another Bacardi with a twist of lemon and everyone seemed to have a drink. For now.
Annie walked briskly over to the bar and tapped nonchalantly on the glass top. “Martini, doll.”
I scanned the room whilst making her drink. I can prepare martinis in my sleep by now. Then I spotted her. Irish freckles.
I placed the glass on a serviette and slid it across the counter. “Who’s that?”
“What? Where? Oh.” Annie gave me a smarmy look. “Well, I can’t say that I’m surprised; I did expect you to get your leg over. But I’m afraid you’re out of luck on that one. That’s Jamie Gallagher.”
Annie looked at me expectantly. “I get the feeling I’m supposed to know who she is.”
“Jesus Christ, Kyle; don’t you ever watch the news, read the paper? Jamie Gallagher—as in Gallagher, Sabatini, and Larue? The law firm?”
“Can’t say I’ve heard of them. Besides, isn’t she a bit young to be a partner in a law firm?”
“Jamie? She’s thirty-two. I think. Anyway, like I said, Kyle, forget about it. She’s got a girlfriend with more piercings than you do. Tattoos up the woo-ha. Bad timing on your part.” She took a lascivious sip of her drink. “She likes ’em young.”
“Fuck. Double whammy. And to think, I just turned twenty-four last week.”
Annie smiled. “Poor dear.”
“Her girlfriend’s here?”
“Yes. Probably waiting in their hotel room. She’s not the type to go round in a business suit.”
A woman came to the bar and ordered another vodka tonic. Annie watched, amused, as she blatantly tried to flirt her way into my pants. Sure, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel flattered. Problem was I couldn’t keep my eyes off Jamie. And I found it intriguing that she didn’t drink after having come out of the banquet hall for the second time. What made the whole thing even more unbearable was that I noticed the stolen glances she directed my way, too. A quick look over the shoulder of someone she greeted with a hug, or an upward turn of the head when she bent down to say something to a friend or acquaintance sitting at a table….
Now look, I might be young, but I’m not fucking stupid, you know? Sure, I get te
ased all the time by superior femmes like Annie, and I become brainless at the thought of solving riddles or thinking logically. It’s easy for me to let people think I’m a sweet butch who’d rather swing a wrench than fiddle with a pressure cooker. But if there’s one thing I know, it’s women. I’ve been learning my entire life.
So I’ll tell you this much: every time Jamie looked up and we glanced at one another I could see there was a certain purpose to her. Not just in her eyes, but in the way she brushed the copper from her forehead; the two open buttons of her crisp, starched shirt; and the way her hands touched herself, slightly self-consciously.
She wanted me for something. And I was pretty sure I knew the extent of her motives.
Jamie made the flimsy excuse of ordering a drink from the bar for a friend to come and speak to me again. At the end of the night, when the bar was almost empty, she came up to pay the tab. I told her it wasn’t a tab, it was one drink; she insisted.
She paid with a twenty pound note, which was completely over the limit of what she needed to cover. She was gone before I could give her any change. But she’d written her room number on a hotel serviette. It lay open on the counter, daring me.
Maybe Annie’d been wrong. Maybe Jamie was alone. And it’s true—I can be morally inept if I choose to be.
So, soon enough, there I was, standing in front of room 27. I lifted my hand and knocked, short and sharp, twice. I waited. Tried to listen for any kind of distinctive sound, but there was none.
The door opened and Jamie stood inside, looking me over. “Hi,” I said nonchalantly.
“Nice to see you…”
“Kyle.”
“Come in.” She closed the door. I was infinitely aware of her presence behind me. I’ll admit, I expected her to touch me, but she didn’t.
The room was a moderate temperature, comfortable and relaxed. I noticed the big king-size bed in the far corner had been turned down. With relief I realized there wasn’t any music playing in the background.
“Would you like a drink?” Jamie’s accent was more prevalent now. Her voice was laced with thick arousal. I heard her move behind me, then she stepped past and headed for the minibar.
“Actually—” I stopped when I saw the other woman step out of the bathroom. She was wearing jeans, heavy black boots, and a wifebeater that accentuated her small breasts and flat stomach.
“Hi,” she said in a gravelly voice, and smiled. “I’m Nicole.”
As if by some form of sexual voodoo, the atmosphere suddenly crisped white-hot with eroticism. I looked over to where Jamie had started undressing by the edge of the bed. She was slowly undoing the buttons of her cotton shirt. I noticed with no small amount of satisfaction that the freckles repeated themselves between the cleft of her breasts. She was wearing a white bra and panties.
Jamie said, “Kiss her,” and for a moment I wasn’t sure who she’d said it to, or even if I’d heard her correctly. Then I felt Nicole step up behind me, her masculine presence heavy, and for a moment my body tensed.
I’d never fucked another butch. Maybe because of that, the coil of lust that started in my belly and slithered due south made me groan when I felt her hands, solid and firm from behind, on my hips.
I turned around and looked at her, knowing that Jamie, already naked, was looking at us. Nicole had a silver ring through the right of her bottom lip, and her left eyebrow had been pierced several times. Black, oily tattoos crept out from beneath her vest and veined down her muscular arms. Dangerous, distracting silver decorated all but the thumbs of her two hands.
I placed my hands on Nicole’s forearms and felt the coiled tension there. I pulled her closer, just like that, and kissed her, tasting the tang of metal as the silver ring slid against my tongue.
No matter how tough and rugged she might have looked, Nicole kissed like a woman. Don’t get me wrong; she was as hungry as I was. Her tongue stroked mine slowly, probing keenly in a most exquisite way. The air in her mouth was hot. I felt her fingers waver near the waist of my black pants.
She pulled back, both of us breathing hard. All in all, the kiss had been a little demanding, but nothing too violent. As I looked into Nicole’s gray-blue eyes I knew that it wouldn’t be the two of us ending up in bed together. That wasn’t the plan.
She stepped back from me then. We both looked at Jamie, who was lying on the bed, naked, looking back at us. No one said a word. I was ready to fuck her if they asked me.
Nicole tapped a cigarette from an open box on the table and lit it. She drew in deep and expelled a column of smoke. “Don’t get undressed,” she said to me and pointed at a chair next to the side of the bed. “That’s your place. Don’t forget it.” She winked at me. Some sublime form of butch code passed between us.
As I sat down, one leg resting in a T across my knee, Nicole pulled her vest off and tossed it into a corner. Both Jamie and I watched as she unbuttoned the heavy buttons on her black cargos, the cigarette dangling from the corner of her mouth. The sound of the metallic buttons popping was followed by someone exhaling loudly—me, I realized. For an instant I felt as if it was me standing there. I realized my hands were grasping the chair. It took everything I had not to stand up and walk over to the bed.
Nicole stepped closer and held her half-smoked cigarette out to me. I took it, grateful for something to put in my mouth, and watched her strut over to the bed. I glimpsed a broad, black studded belt above the waistline of her pants. That’s a good-looking piece of leather. Her crotch bulged fetchingly as she climbed onto the bed and crawled over Jamie like a snake. The bed creaked prettily.
Nicole and Jamie kissed, hard, and when I saw Nicole’s tongue—which had moments before been in my own mouth—slip past her lover’s lips a small sound of satisfaction escaped from Jamie’s throat.
My senses began their slow but certain dip into overload. My groin was on fire. I heard the smooth shhhk as one of Jamie’s legs moved against Nicole’s clothed thigh and her heel hooked around the inside of Nicole’s knee.
They were making the stimulated sounds of lovers flushed with arousal, and there I was, not four feet away, watching them. Nicole moved her mouth down. When her tongue flicked lewdly before taking Jamie’s erect nipple into her mouth, I heard a moan. Involuntarily, I followed with one of my own, short and tight.
Nicole’s hand moved down between her legs and disappeared inside her cargos. When she brought it back out she held at least eight inches of dyke cock in her hand. I grunted at the sight of it, not because I wanted it in me, but because I wished I was Nicole.
Nicole turned her head and looked at me, smiling as Jamie reached down to take the cock in her hand. I was having a hard time taking my eyes off Jamie’s hips as they rose eagerly from the mattress. Nicole put one of her big, decorated hands on Jamie’s hip and held her down, making the muscles beneath the skin of her taut belly move.
“Fuck her,” I snarled, quite unrepentantly, only then realizing how my jaw muscles were clenching. Nicole leaned forward and in one admirably executed move thrust herself into Jamie with a harsh grunt.
I sat and watched, rapt.
At first Nicole was nice and easy. She allowed Jamie to move up to meet her as she kept a fixed tempo. Every so often Jamie would make encouraging sounds, or those of pleasure when Nicole’s cock hit the right spot. I watched the tattoos on the butch girl’s back as they moved and undulated to the syncopated rhythm of that one weak spot in the mattress. At one point they both looked over to where I was sitting, their movements never faltering, their attention fixed on me. I felt my hand move down to my crotch.
Nicole began to fuck Jamie harder then, no doubt partly due to the fact that I seemed to have found my tongue and was egging her on. She was strong and held Jamie down, fucking her into the mattress while I implored her with rude remarks, ones I realized I’d wanted to say ever since Jamie had the balls to call me “lassie.” I wanted to screw Jamie myself…but I knew the magic would end, the spell would be broken if I dared
move from that chair an inch. All I could do was grind my teeth and cross my legs while watching the two of them on the bed.
When they were done, Jamie and Nicole fell against one another, kissing like longtime lovers. I wondered at that. Nicole couldn’t have been older than myself. Maybe even younger. The idea that they had been in a relationship for some time was perversely thrilling.
I got up weakly to leave when Nicole went into the bathroom. The sound of a tap being opened brought reality back in full swing. Jamie, naked, stopped me when I was halfway to the door. “Thanks for coming,” she said and laughed, realizing her pun. She patted and squeezed my ass before disappearing inside the bathroom just as Nicole came out. She walked me to the door.
I reached out to turn the knob but Nicole stopped me. Grabbing my wrist, she shoved my hand inside her cargos. Her clit was hard. I knew what she wanted.
I stroked her, stiff and rough. It was strange but thrilling to hear the low obscenities of another butch in my ear. My coccyx tingled with newfound lust.
It didn’t take long for her to come. I didn’t know whether Jamie was aware of what we were doing. Nicole pushed me against the door, grinding her hips against mine, and came with a cry of release still stuck inside her throat. I fumbled for the doorknob and fell out into the hallway. The door banged shut loudly behind me. For a moment I just stood there, flushed and getting my bearings back. When I checked my watch I saw that it was almost two in the morning. Too late to catch the Tube. Too late for a bus. Dammit. I should have asked for cab money.
HOW IT STARTED
Mary Anne Mohanraj
When a hot new dyke moves to Berkeley, you’ve only got a tiny window of time in which to make your move. If you don’t move quickly, she’ll be snapped up by someone else, and you’ll be left alone in your bed—wet fingers for company, waxing the saddle and wishing for love.
It was late at the Calyx, past midnight, and the floor was packed with couples, hip to hip, breast to breast. But she was dancing alone, shimmying to the beat with a circle of space around her, head thrown back and sweat dripping off her body. She was so fine—skin like toasted coconut, lips dark and lush. A tight white tank over huge breasts; god, each one looked bigger than my head. Curving belly. Hips that moved in deep, wide circles, like she was fucking the air. I’d never seen her before. I didn’t know why no one was making a move on her, but I wasn’t going to wait to find out.
Best Lesbian Bondage Erotica Page 7
