The Mammoth Book of Lesbian Erotica

by Barbara Cardy

  The young woman gestured to the floral screen.

  “Just get back into your clothes and we’ll head into the salon for your colour and cut.”

  I limped over to the screen, having a bit of trouble regaining the use of my legs. She was potent stuff, Miss Kara. Stifling a giggle, I wondered if it would be safe to ask her for a bikini wax . . .

  Flight Risk

  Carmel Lockyer

  The bar was so elegant I could have been in Manhattan or Paris. Only the monitors showing arrivals and departures revealed the truth.

  Heads turned when I walked in. The Versace skirt – split to the thigh – was one reason. The shiny, black, stiletto-heels were another. I’d had my hair stubble cut and bleached platinum blonde, it was ultra-short with the design of a Celtic knot razored into the back above the nape. I looked dangerous and I knew it. I sat at a table, letting the skirt slide away from my hip, revealing my burgundy hold-up stockings. I smiled at a couple of men who clearly thought their airport wet dreams had come true, and something in my smile made them look away nervously.

  I lifted my spritzer so I could watch a pretty girl over the top. A very pretty girl. She was wandering around the airport, introducing herself to upscale female travellers, talking to them for a few minutes, and then presenting them with an envelope. The whole process had a vaguely oriental feel to it – from the golden, Oriental-style tunic she was wearing, with its wide pale, green sash – to the deferential bow with which she said goodbye. She wasn’t Oriental, though. She was small enough, and her long black hair could give that impression from the back, but her tiny, up-tilted nose and freckles destroyed the illusion. She had long legs, slender but well-muscled, the kind of legs that grip tenaciously.

  I let her catch me looking at her, before lowering my eyes to her small, high breasts. She blushed.

  I beckoned her over.

  “You’re selling something,” I said.

  She nodded.

  “Why don’t you try and sell it to me,” I invited.

  She went into her sales routine as if on auto-pilot. Had I heard of Venus Spas, she asked?

  No, I hadn’t.

  They were the most exclusive, the most cosseting, the most female-centered experience available to a woman, she said.

  I snorted, to let her know I doubted the accuracy of that claim. She faltered a second before recovering.

  A visit to a Venus Spa would make any woman’s holiday or business trip complete. The stress of flight delays could be eased away right here, in the mini-spa attached to the departure lounge. Alternatively, the Venus Spa at my destination or stopover point would soothe away travel weariness and send me out as fresh as a rose. She grinned at me, no doubt thinking I was the kind of rose that was mainly thorns. I grinned back. She raised an eyebrow. I shook my head.

  “I’m not the spa type,” I said, and watched her face become smooth and blank with disappointment. She was working on commission, I thought.

  “But I’ll buy you a drink in your lunch break,” I added.

  She blushed again. “I’m off for an hour at 12:30,” she muttered, before skittering off to try and sell her spa experience to somebody else. I sat back – I had seventeen minutes to wait.

  I saw her hand her envelopes to another kimono-wearing girl, so I stood, throwing back my drink and strode across the airport to gather her up. Her daffodil-yellow ballet pumps barely touched the ground, I moved so fast.

  “Where are we going?” she asked. “Aren’t we having a drink here?”

  I replied by bundling her into a taxi. The journey was swift and silent. Several times she looked up and began to speak, but fell silent. I hustled her through the lobby of a chain hotel and pushed my card key into the bedroom door.

  “Look . . .” she said, but I put my hand over her mouth and held it there while I eased her into the room.

  She gave up all pretence of resistance. Her dark eyes got darker and she licked her lips invitingly. She swayed towards me, until her hips and breasts brushed mine. I felt tiny electric shocks where our flesh touched, and those little sparks moved through me like fire, making me hot, making me wet, making me want to come.

  I put my arms round her, grabbing the ends of that stupid sash. “I’m wondering if this thing is long enough to tie you to the mattress,” I said. Immediately, she lay down on the narrow single bed.

  Decisions, decisions. Should I tie her hands and leave her legs free, or tie her legs and leave her hands free? If I tied her hands I would be able to push her legs open and tease her with my tongue – that would be great, but I’d only be able to see her up close. If I tied her legs though, I could pin her arms with one of mine while I hand-fucked her – and I would have a great full-length view as she came.

  “Bev?” she said. “I’ve got to be back in an hour.”

  It broke the mood. I glared.

  “Sorry!” she said. “Sorry, Bev. I mean – sorry.”

  I swatted at her with one end of the silk and she grabbed it, pulling me down to kiss me. I lifted her right arm above her head, tying the apple-colored material to her wrist, before reaching behind the headboard with the fabric, and knotting it round her left wrist.

  “Now I’ll teach you a lesson, Anna,” I said.

  I stepped back from the bed slowly, and turned in a circle, letting her get a good look at me.

  “Do I look good?” I asked, knowing I did.

  “You look gorgeous,” she replied. “Where did you get those amazing clothes?”

  “Dress agency – I hired the entire outfit,” I said, kneeling on the bed, pushing her feet up and to one side, so she was curled like a baby. Under the kimono she was naked, and I paused to look at my favorite view.

  Anna’s slim hips hid a surprise – she had a lush vagina, with gorgeously ripe plum-shaded lips. And she was so receptive that if I brushed my hand over her thick pubes, she would moan and thrust her hips upwards. At first I’d thought she was faking it, but no, she really was so hair-trigger, the slightest touch would get her writhing and hot. A dirty girl, a very dirty girl indeed.

  I held her ankles with one hand, and dragged the fingers of my other hand across her tight, high buttocks. She thrashed her head, her hands pulling on the silk bindings. She was going to pay dearly for breaking the spell of my carefully choreographed scenario. I glanced at my watch, letting her see me do it, before sliding one finger inside her.

  She was slick and hot. She tried to spread her thighs but I held her ankles tight, keeping her feet pinned to the bed. It was an arousing picture. Her arms were tied crucifix style, her hair flowed across the pillow like ink, and her nipples showed sharply through the tunic. Her body twisted sharply at the waist, where the yellow fabric was rucked up to reveal her legs. Her knees were bent and almost touching her left arm and her feet, still in ballet pumps, were kicking against my hand.

  “Please,” she said.

  I grinned and looked at my watch again, before taking her top ankle with my free hand. I separated her legs and pressed them to the bed. Immediately her hips lifted, just as I’d guessed they would. I ran my tongue along her slit, tasting her without opening her. She tasted sweet, an almond flavour. The first time I’d mouth-fucked her, I’d wondered if she used some kind of lube or lotion but that was simply how she was – her juices were addictively good.

  Now my tongue probed her, feeling soft flesh, dipping deep and feeling her body responding, every muscle rising, like a flower turning to the sun. I held her on the edge of orgasm, pulling my mouth away whenever she got too close, before lowering it again to her keep her simmering. Soon she began to curse me, then she moved into begging and finally she became completely incoherent, moaning and shaking her head. She was so lost in pleasure that I envied her. I lifted my hands from her ankles and she didn’t move, as though the need for orgasm had pinned her down. I took a final look at my watch, and stood up.

  “Anna?”

  She groaned. I bent and untied her hands.

  “You�
��ve got five minutes to get dressed and down to the lobby for the shuttle bus to the airport. If you miss it, you’ll be late for work – there isn’t another one for half an hour.”

  She groaned again, reaching down to bring herself off. I stopped her by grabbing her wrist.

  “Four minutes, or you’ll be very late for work,” I said. “And next time don’t spoil things, Anna. Remember to stay in character.”

  Now she realized I was serious. She grabbed the sash and tried to tie it, but her hands shook too much, so she bundled it up and carried it. I pointed to the mirror and she saw the mess her hair was in. She was still trying to rake it into shape as we ran out of the lobby. I flagged down the shuttle and waved goodbye to her.

  Did Anna truly have what it took? Okay she was a dirty-minded girl, wandering around the airport with a naked ass, and she loved to fuck, but real adventure took a wildness she hadn’t shown yet. In fact, if I hadn’t been asked to cover somebody else’s holiday shifts last month, I’d never have noticed her. Working in her part of the airport for a fortnight had gradually brought her into focus. Low key, that’s what she was, I decided.

  I took a taxi back to the airport and sat in the bar again. Anna passed and re-passed, looking crumpled, never acknowledging me, until her break. She headed for the Calvin Klein shop. I threw down my drink and followed.

  She waved at the girl behind the shop counter and went into a changing cubicle. I flashed my airport ID and followed. Anna was ready for me. As soon as I pulled the louver door shut, she pushed her hand under my skirt, grasping my pubes and tugging gently, before slipping two fingers into me. I turned her to face the mirror and pushed up the tunic, so I could watch as I hand-fucked her. It wasn’t easy, both of us competing to make the other come first, and both watching in the mirror. Remaining silent was almost impossible. Anna was on tiptoe, like she always was when we fucked standing up, her leg muscles bunched up like a ballerina’s. I was fighting to stay in control, but seeing her fingers jamming into me, while mine worked into her, was crazy. We were so different; she pushed her hips forward, her head whipped around, her free hand pushed hard on her mons, trying to feel my fingers inside her. I squeezed my thighs around her hand, my head tipped backwards as I got closer to coming, and with my free hand I tweaked my nipples, hard. When she came, she sank her teeth into my shoulder to stop yelling out. When I came, I bit my tongue for the same reason.

  We must have both failed to be silent because the girl behind the counter was wide-eyed when we exited, giggling and rosy-faced. I swatted Anna on the backside and headed out of the mall.

  Back at the hotel I laid out my toys – a CD player, a glass dildo, lubricant and some bondage tape. I used my master key-card to open the next room and stole its ice-bucket, checking the ice-machine in the hall was operational. Then I waited for Anna to finish her shift.

  Her knock at the door was tentative. She must be worried about I had planned for her.

  When she saw the dildo she gasped. It was a beautiful long, fat device, with seven ridged rings of coloured glass dividing the clear glass sections. Each ring was a different rainbow colour and with the tip and the final section, the whole device added up to nine and a half inches of elegant heaven. I stood behind her, tugging on the silk sash which by now was as crumpled as old wrapping paper. As soon as it was free, she began to unbutton the tunic. When it was open she tried to turn to face me, but I held her still and wound the silk sash around her eyes, making a blindfold, being careful to cover her ears with several layers of the cloth. I turned her gently and pushed the tunic away until she was naked. I slid my hands over her shoulders and high breasts, her slim waist and gently curving stomach before hooking my fingers into her vagina and feeling her wetness. She gasped. I pushed her onto the bed where she immediately spread her legs wide and held her labia open with both hands, inviting me to take her.

  I picked up the dildo and put it down again. Anna was wet enough but I wanted her so slick that I could get the whole thing inside her as fast as blinking. I picked up the lubricant and began to coat her dark lips and inner contours with it. Her hands began to help, sliding over her flesh in time with mine. I moved my hands away and placed the dildo in the ice-bucket of warm water that stood ready. I pushed her hands over her head.

  “If those hands move an inch, Anna, then I’m going to stop, and nothing in the world, no amount of begging and pleading, will make me start again. Understand?”

  “Yes, whatever you say, anything you want. I understand.”

  She didn’t of course, she had no idea what was coming next, but once she’d promised I knew she’d do what she’d said.

  When I slid the glass shaft into her, she moaned with pleasure. I pumped her half a dozen times, just enough to get her hips bucking against its hot surface, then took it away again, circling her clitoris with my forefinger while I pushed the dildo deep into the ice in the other bucket. This time when the glass penetrated her she gasped – the cold was a total surprise – but the shape of it was what she craved, so she was perfectly balanced between pleasure and shock. She couldn’t put her hands down to feel the dildo as it approached her, and so she was doubly agonized, the uncertainty and the need to keep to the promise she’d made. Delicious.

  I alternated again and again, never letting her guess what was coming next. Sometimes it was cold twice in a row, sometimes heat. I was careful to make sure the music on my little CD player was loud enough to cover the sound of the ice crashing around, but between the silk over her ears and the moaning and begging she was doing, she probably wouldn’t have heard anyway. Finally I let her come – this time she didn’t have to stay quiet and she screamed her pleasure out loud.

  I looked at the bondage tape, then at my watch. I was nearly out of time, but there were still just enough minutes left to drive her crazy. I lifted the blindfold to her forehead so she could see me, and kissed her briefly. Then I pulled her arms to her sides and rolled her one way and then the other, binding her wrists to her thighs and her upper arms to her shoulders. Her small breasts were pushed upwards by the tape to give her a tiny cleavage, into which I dripped lubricant. I slid the dildo into the narrow gap between her breasts, forcing them apart, and moved it gently against her as I straddled her, lowering my lips to her nipples and teasing them with my tongue and teeth. She began to whimper. I pushed her breasts closer together over the dildo, pinching and rolling her nipples between my fingers, then straightened up and pushed the dildo, heated by her skin, straight into my own cleft. I felt her head lift as she watched me begin to thrust the shaft deeper into myself, pumping it hard. Her vision was limited by the skirt, which fell across my body and hers, so what little she could see was dark – for example she couldn’t know yet that I’d bleached my pubes too, so that they were the pure white of spun sugar. That was a surprise for later.

  For now, all she knew was that she could see a little and touch nothing and that my orgasm was approaching so fast that in a few moments I would come. Just before I did, I reached out with my free hand and pulled down the blindfold again so that she couldn’t see a thing. I heard her groan of disappointment mingle with my own moans of pleasure as the hot glass brought me to a peak of pleasure that left me panting and exhausted above her. Slowly I slid the dildo out of myself, feeling my vaginal walls contract around it, trying to hold on to the sheer slippery sides, unwilling to let go of this instrument of pleasure. But they had to. I had to. It was my turn to be due at work in thirty minutes.

  I lifted the blindfold again and kissed her much more slowly, as I unpicked the bondage tape that had held her quiescent beneath me. She responded by digging her nails into my back, trying to pull me down on top of her. I was tempted, but I didn’t have the time.

  She sat up as I moved to the wardrobe. I knew she was watching, so I made a little show of taking off the designer gear and folding it into my briefcase before I pulled my work blues from the rail. I kept my back to her though, wanting those candy-floss blonde pubes to be a tr
eat she hadn’t been prepared for.

  Anna loves a woman in uniform. She likes my security kit so much, she’s managed to fuck herself with my extendable truncheon and the day I gave her a walkie-talkie tuned to the same frequency as mine, she talked so dirty to me at work, I locked myself in the custody room to masturbate.

  She was biting her lip. I put on my cap and adjusted it, watching her in the mirror.

  “I haven’t forgotten our deal, Bev,” she said. “Thank you for this amazing anniversary. I know next month it’s my turn to help you celebrate our getting together.”

  I nodded. When I’m in uniform Anna likes me stern and silent. I could tell by her taut nipples that she was turned on all over again.

  “I promise you, Bev, that when it’s my turn to come up with an adventure, I’ll do something totally outrageous.”

  I let her see doubt in my face. I really didn’t think she’d got what it took to play this kind of game. It was a pity, but there it was. Real adventure requires a certain kind of spirit, a willingness to take risks, and I still didn’t think Anna was equal to the kind of demands that would make on her.

  I took the shuttle back to work. After a while I was called to a passenger who’d locked herself in a toilet cubicle. When I got there, one of my male colleagues was outside. Apparently he’d tried to help, but she’d yelled her head off about a man being in the “ladies”. I grinned, mock-saluted and headed inside.

  There were women all over the place, with bags and cases and duty-free shopping. I located the cubicle, and pushed the door. To my surprise it opened a little before being blocked by the soft pressure of a body.

  “Hello?” I said.

  “My hand is stuck in the toilet-roll dispenser,” said a heavily accented voice. It didn’t fool me though – the accent was good, but the voice was unmistakably Anna’s.

  I squeezed through the gap. She was standing with one foot on the closed toilet seat, tunic hiked up again. As soon as she saw me, she thrust her fingers deep into her slit, and began to yell and moan at full volume. I could hear the women crowding around the door.