Lovehoney Erotic Fiction: Take Your Partner and Other Tales of Seduction

by Neneh Gordon

  Lovehoney Erotic Romance

  Take Your Partner

  and other tales of seduction

  ~ Take Your Partner by Blacksilk

  ~ Delice de Chocolat by Viva Jones

  ~ I Promise to… Please by Lily Harlem

  ~ In Control by Hope Willowbrook

  ~ I Don’t Do This by G C Carmine

  ~ Paris by Moonlight by Justine Elyot

  ~ I Promise to… Surrender by Lily Harlem

  ~ The Princess and the G-Spot

  by Neneh Gordon

  ~ I Promise to… Perform by Lily Harlem

  ~ Robot with Green Eyes by L A Meadows

  Take Your Partner

  by Blacksilk

  The thing about girl-on-girl tango, I thought, feeling flustered, is working out where to fit your breasts. There was just no avoiding it; when the music called for passion, my breasts pressed into hers and my heart raced.

  Since this was Latin dance, the music always called for passion.

  I could feel the warmth of her skin, even through my dress and her shirt. I could feel the press of her pelvis and her scent teasing me. She was slim and boyish and oozed a sensuality that made me jittery. I couldn’t bear to make eye contact, so I fixed my eyes just above her chin, but seeing the curve of her smooth lips didn’t help.

  As her body moved with each beat, the sensation of breast against breast nagged at my mind like the drip of a loose tap. While I was used to contact at these lessons, I wasn’t used to this.

  I mentally slapped myself and refocused on the rhythm, planning out my moves. But my footwork was shaky and I was out of step. Suddenly, her foot stamped down mere millimetres from mine, shocking me from my daze. I made eye contact for the first time since we’d touched and saw a grin dance in her brown eyes.

  “Didn’t mean to wake you,” she teased and I wondered if she knew why I’d been so distracted. I felt heat rise in my cheeks and just wanted to die. Excusing myself, I took a quick breather.

  Goddamn you, Sean, I thought as I sat and tried to hide my embarrassment, why did you do this to me? You were supposed to be here.

  Ordinarily, there’s no way I’d come to Latin fusion class by myself. Like most others out there, my weekly class suffered from a dearth of men. This wasn’t all that surprising. The only people I knew who ever really talked about dance classes were my female friends. If you didn’t turn up with a man yourself, you either had to wait for a rare single man to get to you or dance with a woman instead.

  I brought my boyfriend Sean along every week, so I usually felt sorry for those who had to practice this intimate style with a complete stranger. Bodies touching, nowhere to look. Awkward, especially if you found yourself rubbing breasts with a warm, attractive…

  But Sean had cancelled last minute. Apparently some urgent job or other had come up and he’d need to stay in the office and work on a deadline. So there I’d been, sheltered inside the studio as a summer storm broke overhead, with no partner. I’d never gone alone and sheer nervousness nearly made me head for home. But damn it, I’d picked out this dress specially and I’d walked all the way here, it just wouldn’t have been worth it.

  Now I was stuck with this girl – pixie hair and boyfriend jeans – who beckoned me back to the floor with a sly smile. I could still feel her body pressed against me, fingers firm on my hips. I was surprised to feel a slight but persistent tingle in my pussy. Damn it, perhaps it wasn’t just embarrassment that made me blush after all.

  I’d come here to dance, though, so it’d do me no good to sit out just because of some girlish crush. I let her take me by the waist as a Cuban cha-cha-cha filled the room. I shivered. This time avoiding her gaze was impossible and I found myself imagining those eyes roaming over my body as she slowly stripped the silly dress from my skin. I couldn’t help but feel kisses stamped out on my skin like her fiery footwork. My own steps were still mismatched, but I didn’t let it bother me.

  “Seems you’re having trouble with your rhythm,” she said. “You don’t normally seem this off-step.”

  “Oh? Have you been paying that much attention to my footwork before?”

  “Footwork and other things. What’s the matter?”

  I wished I could avoid the question. “Probably nervousness, or something.”

  “Nervousness?”

  “Or something.” I smiled, letting our bodies press closer than necessary.

  ***

  Sean still wasn’t back when I got home, but I wasn’t worried. It wasn’t unlike him to pull an all-nighter and I’d had a surprisingly enjoyable evening without him. The boyish girl turned out to have a boyish name: Georgie. She ran a small business in town and she had a way of making me wriggle when she talked.

  I lay back in my bed naked, as I often do in summer, and sighed. Sean’s absence wasn’t worrying, but it was frustrating. I’d attempted to drift off several times, but sleep wasn’t playing fair. All the fire and frenzy of my mistimed rhythm had made me tense and the night’s heat soaked into my skin.

  There was a spark of desire in my pussy that threatened to burn me up if I didn’t quench it. I was taut and troubled by my evening with the dashing Georgie. The cha-cha-cha raced through my head as I imagined her lips hard against mine, her tongue seeking out mine, the stiff fabric of her shirt the only barrier between my naked flesh and her pert breasts.

  I closed my eyes and let the fantasy fill me up as I ran one hand down the smoothness of my body, teasing myself with my own touch. My fingertips grazed the peak of a nipple before rounding the subtle curve of my belly and making their way between my legs.

  My clitoris ached as I began to strum, my other hand pinching and plucking at my nipples until I sighed. My own slickness made my fingers dance and slide over my skin, but now my timing was flawless, each move designed to kick my tension higher, to whirl that ball of want inside me tighter and deeper until I was near ecstasy and release.

  I worked furiously at my clit as my mind turned sinful, secret thoughts of Georgie into conjured-up kisses and licks and a fucking I could almost feel. The hand that had been massaging my breasts moved to grip the sheets in white-knuckle expectation, as if at the peak of a log flume waiting for the splashdown.

  I tumbled breathlessly into my orgasm, a moan escaping my mouth and my body shuddering rapturously. I ran my damp fingers over my belly and breasts and sighed the last tense breath from my body. In my post-orgasmic haze I idly realised I’d feel guilty later about thinking of my new friend that way. For now, later seemed so far away.

  ***

  The strains of La Cumparsita filled the room as I took Georgie’s shoulders too firmly in my grasp and daringly rolled my shoulders forward. She’d seemed surprised when I’d turned up alone again this following week, but hadn’t mentioned it yet.

  Her gorgeous eyes widened as I pressed my chest firmly into hers. I wasn’t the same girl she’d danced with last week. A little voice told me to behave myself, but screw it.

  “Found your feet, sugar?” she asked.

  Last week I’d been uncertain of myself, surprised by my quick attraction to Georgie, by the effect the closeness of her body and the easiness of her smile had had on my desire. But I’d had time to think it over, to think her over. I knew what I wanted, because now my own poor luck had given me the chance to get it.

  “Do you enjoy dancing with me?” I asked as we moved together in sync.

  “You must know I do. The tango n
eeds chemistry and I think you and I have that.”

  “I’m glad. Sean won’t be coming with me here any more. Or anywhere, for that matter. It seems the deadline he had to work so hard on last week was Vanessa from accounts.” I smirked.

  Georgie was quiet a moment before asking, “Are you OK?”

  “Never better. They probably deserve each other. And besides, now I’m free to be your partner.”

  Georgie looked almost wolfish. “My dance partner?”

  Her hands moved lower and gripped my hips more tightly as we danced, an almost possessive motion that stoked the embers in my pussy. I could almost feel new pathways opening in my brain, lighting up areas I’d never considered before. New wants, new lusts streaming into my body as if her mere touch was uploading them terabytes at a time.

  “Dance partner and other things.” I grinned, teasing slightly.

  My hand shifted so that I could sneak a fingertip over her loose tie and onto the soft base of her neck. We whirled our steps out onto the floor without a care.

  My fingers massaged her shoulder and neck. I felt the crinkle of her shirt in my grasp, and saw lust spin in her eyes. Whether the other dancers in the class noticed the sudden carnality of our holds and sways, I barely cared. Whether they saw Georgie’s hand slip to squeeze my ass, I couldn’t tell.

  I locked my leg around hers and she cradled me in preparation for the dip. She pulled her head in close to mine and spoke in a honeyed, hushed growl: “I’m so looking forward to fucking you.”

  I blinked in sheer shock just as the beat signalled my cue to dip. Stretching out my body, I arched my spine and threw myself backwards…

  ***

  I hit the sheets with a soft whoomph as Georgie’s bed received my weight. Georgie still stood where she’d been when she propelled me on to them, a shady smile on her otherwise honest face. The room was still.

  “You’re a good, straight girl usually, aren’t you?” She said, voice dipped in sugar and sweat.

  “I wouldn’t exactly pick either of those words,” I said, sitting up and determined to hold my own.

  “But you wouldn’t run a mile at a little cock. Say if I had a little something in my drawer to put on for you? We could take it slow if you liked. I like to wear it, but you wouldn’t—”

  “No, no, I’d like to. I want to. I want you to be you. What I want is you, cocks and all.” I giggled, then felt childish.

  “Wait here. A few straps, then my cock and I will be back.”

  When Georgie returned, I couldn’t help but look immediately at her crotch. Whatever she had on was carefully hidden inside her trousers and the bulge, while noticeable, was hardly obscene.

  She took me gently by the chin, tipping my eyes from her crotch to meet hers, mock disapproval on her face. She stood with her feet slightly apart, a hand on the waistband of her black trousers, a tie loosely hanging over a white shirt that didn’t quite conceal the covered peaks of her nipples.

  She crouched to kiss me and I locked my fingers behind her neck, gently dipping backwards to pull her onto the bed with me. One hand slid up my skirt to stroke my thigh while her other pushed my dress from my shoulders.

  Georgie’s mouth moved on my chest in a rhythm I couldn’t fail to recognise: nip, nip, lick-lick-lick, nip, nip, lick-lick-lick… I gasped and rolled my torso in pleasure, stroking her back as her mouth skipped over my skin.

  My fingers worked their way to her waistband and searched out the edges of her shirt, exposing her back to my touch. She fixed her mouth on my neck, firmly biting as her other hand explored my body. I arched my back in delight at the pinch of her teeth and dug my nails into her back, causing her to hiss with unconcealed pleasure.

  I scratched slowly, gently, at her back. Finding my zip, she agonisingly stripped the dress from my torso, leaving it pooled around my hips. Anxious for the sight of her, I undid the buttons of her shirt, leaving the crucial one until last. I paused and then unfastened it, exposing her delicate, caramel breasts.

  Now I let her come towards me and felt the press of her chest against mine, feeling the rub of breast on breast, this time without pesky barriers and awkward footwork. Her mouth was hot on mine and her kiss surprisingly hard, but all the better for being so. Her fingers curled greedily into my hair, tugging gently. Soon there was no patience left in me for foreplay. I wanted her to fuck me, taste me, feel me, take me.

  My mouth found her ear and nipped at the lobe before whispering, “No more games.”

  Georgie almost leapt upwards, lightning in her eyes, and yanked the dress from my legs, leaving me naked and oddly fearless.

  “Close your eyes,” she said. I felt her move from the bed. The room was silent except for rustling fabric and my own pulse pounding in my ears. It felt like years had passed before the bed took her weight again.

  I kept my eyes closed; my nerves were vibrant with anticipation, my pussy tense and my skin aching for touch. I felt her legs, bare now, straddle my waist. I could feel what were presumably the straps of the cock she had mentioned as they lightly pressed in to me.

  “You can open them now,” she said.

  Strapped to her hips was a black leather harness that seemed to encircle her like a jockstrap. The straps of the harness met over her crotch, from which a dildo the colour of tanned skin protruded. It was surprisingly neat and slim and, actually, quite beautiful. I could see why she called it “my cock”.

  I’d never seen a strap-on in the flesh, as it were, and I was fascinated. My fingers ran over Georgie’s skin at the hips, then the leather straps and finally the cock itself. It was smooth and silkily matte and it seemed almost a part of her body.

  “Does it go inside you?” I asked, looking up at Georgie’s satisfied face.

  “No,” she replied. “But I don’t need that to have fun.”

  I opened my legs, letting her kneel between them. She began to rub my pussy, making sure I was ready for her. Her gaze met mine and she started to rub her strap-on over my folds, coating it in my excitement, making me sigh with desire. I wanted that thing inside me. I wanted her inside me. And from her finesse with it, there was no doubting it was part of her.

  Georgie pushed the tip of the dildo against my entrance and I gasped in pleasure. Her cock slid in inch by inch and I pushed forward to meet it. My body craved her weight on top of me, her skin slick on mine, her breath in my ear. My pussy contracted around the slim, stiff strap-on, enjoying the feeling of being filled.

  She dropped to press herself against me, slowly sliding in and out of my sodden pussy, caressing my breasts and plucking at my hard nipples. I moaned and slipped my hand between us to stroke my clit, feeling her leather straps brush against me.

  “Does it feel good?” Georgie breathed, her hands a rush of dancing pleasures over my skin.

  “Oh, fuck yes,” I gasped. While I could feel it wasn’t an ordinary cock inside me, this didn’t matter. It felt fantastic and it was her cock.

  She pulled herself more upright and took me by the waist, her fingers as firm against my skin as they were when we danced. I felt the early stirring storm clouds of a tempest that would wrack my body.

  I lifted my head and took her nipple between my lips, making Georgie’s mouth form an “O” of ecstasy. Rhapsody was written on her face, but she still retained enough control of her senses to wink knowingly at me.

  The long, relentless strokes changed tempo and soon I was dancing on her cock to the familiar rhythm her mouth had played out on my chest before. I had loved to dance with her, but to be fucked by her was even better and I was sure that this was the sweetest cha-cha-cha I’d ever know.

  My body moved in time with hers as the climax building became higher and bigger and I prepared for the crescendo. Our rhythm was perfect, more perfect than it had ever been on the dance floor. There was no chance I’d fall out of step now.

  Georgie must have seen that I was close and worked harder with each stroke. I shivered and shook as my orgasm elbowed its way through my
body, making me cry out and pull my gorgeous dance partner towards me. I held on, gasping as my climax slowly dissipated.

  Georgie collapsed on top of me, her skin glistening, and peppered my overheated body with kisses before gazing directly into my eyes. Dazedly, I focused on her, pulling myself back together piece by piece.

  “Well,” she said breathlessly, “it looks like we’ve worked out how to solve your little rhythm problem.”

  “Certainly seems that way.” I murmured.

  She tucked my hair carefully behind my ear as I stroked her back and then she planted a kiss on my lips. “Good. I’m looking forward to practising with you… partner.”

  Delice de Chocolat

  by Viva Jones

  Shelley had not been looking forward to her thirty-fifth birthday. By her mid-thirties, she’d always imagined, she’d be married with two kids, happily doing the school run, baking cakes and organising outings and parties. She and Andrew would have settled into the sort of comfortable routine some women pretend to resent, and would amuse each other with stories of their days and the latest funny thing one of the kids had said. But life doesn’t always work out how you want it to. A year ago, Andrew took her on a dream holiday to the Maldives. Every evening, she expected him to propose, waiting for that special something he’d have laid on, and the diamond ring sparkling in a flute of champagne. Instead, nothing out of the ordinary happened, and when they got home, he broke up with her. The holiday, it appeared, had been a consolation prize, a nice thing to remember him by.

  Some men just didn’t get it.

  She’d let herself go, he told her. Those voluptuous curves he’d once found so satisfying had morphed into layers of flab, and now her ass resembled well-risen dough and her thighs under-cooked doner kebabs. He’d had it with having a plump girlfriend, he continued, and even if he did still have feelings for her, it was time to move on.

  A broken Shelley reluctantly had to admit he was right. She’d put on well over a stone since they’d been together. She’d always enjoyed cooking, everything from paellas and pastas to rich puddings and sauces—but it was true that domesticity had taken its toll.