The house . . . the mansion . . . was beautiful, more rooms than you could count; more bathrooms than you could count. I must have visited at least four different ones in the course of the evening, as the festivities shifted from wing to wing, while our hostess . . . Mandy, a startlingly pretty, middle-aged blonde, whose greying partner, Debbie, was a big wheel in computer programming . . . could not have been sweeter, even coming to my rescue when I took a wrong turn, and wound up in a room lined with wall-to-wall vintage erotica. Serious, no-holds-barred, vintage erotica. Some of those pictures must have been taken in the 1920s. Maybe even earlier.
For a moment, I must admit, I was shocked, both to encounter such a sight in such a palatial part of town and by the actual reality of what the pictures showed. We’re all well aware that nothing we do with each other today has never been done before, but you really don’t think about . . . I don’t know, your grandparents, your great-grandparents . . . doing it as well. And then taking pictures to prove it. I’ve seen tamer photos on the Internet, and there were a couple that truly made me catch my breath.
“Oops!” A voice at the door made me spin around. Mandy stood there smiling. “As soon as Debbie told you to take the second door, not the third, I had a horrible feeling . . .”
“No, it’s okay,” I reassured her. “Just a little surprising, that’s all.”
“Everyone needs a hobby,” she laughed, “and this is Debbie’s . . . actually, it’s both of ours’. Plus, it’s a wonderful investment . . . ’cocks, not stocks,’ as our accountant once put it.” She continued chattering as I gazed around me, long sentences filled with the names of long-dead European pornographers, legendary modern collectors, auction prices that sounded like phone numbers, and well aware that the longer she talked, the longer I could spend looking, without actually appearing to do so. After all, how would you feel if a complete stranger caught you staring at their collection of lesbian porn? I had the feeling this happened to her a lot.
It was close to midnight before the party broke up, to reconvene at nine in the morning for the promised day of fishing. Mandy showed us to a room where we could sleep until then, but Sheelagh had other ideas. “Let’s take a walk down to the beach first,” she giggled as Mandy left the room. “It’s such a lovely night.”
Five minutes later, we were seated on the grassy sand, our backs against a large mossy rock, the ocean literally a stone’s throw away, the sea breezes thick in our nostrils. Naturally it was our hosts’ private beach . . . forget their house and guests, and there wasn’t a soul, Sheelagh assured me, for miles. I scarcely cared. My pussy was still wet from my unexpected peep show, my mind racing with the notions that those photographs planted there. The moment we were settled, I threw myself at her.
We kissed, and I took her hand, placed it gently on my already-sopping slit and started to unbutton her dress, cupping her breasts through her flimsy bra, nipping the nipples with my teeth as I peeled the cups down, and then unfastened the clasp with one swift flick. My tongue swirled over one nipple, and I sucked the surrounding flesh deep into my mouth, as a long, contented “mmm” escaped the back of her throat.
Now I had my hand inside her panties, sliding my thumb against her slick slit and thrilling as her flesh sucked it deeper within. I raised myself a little, and began kissing down her body. But she halted me with an urgent whisper. “Don’t stop. Keep doing what you’re doing.”
My hand was moving faster now, my fingers pressing against her outer lips, then gently parting them. Again, I shifted my weight. I had to taste her, I needed to taste her. But she moved too quickly for me, slipping from my grasp and scrambling to her knees. “Turn around.”
Obediently, I did so, crouching on my hands and knees, my ass in the air, as she ran a hand gently down my buttocks and then slipped a long slender finger inside me. One finger, two . . . and then something else, longer, harder, firmer.
I lowered my head, tried to catch a glimpse of whatever it was that skewered me so unyieldingly. It remained just out of sight, but it felt heavenly, deeper and thicker than anything I had ever experienced, and so smooth, so gentle. Her hands clenched my sides and she began rocking me back and forth, as I closed my eyes, allowed her to control my every movement . . . sometimes fast, until my pussy felt as though it was turning inside out; sometimes so slow that I thought the dildo would never end; sometimes so deep that every thrust sent my innards lurching; and sometimes so shallow that I could feel the tip of the toy against my outer lips, and hear my hole sucking noisily at it.
Trusting one arm to hold both my weight and my balance, I reached the other behind me to caress her flesh. I touched her arm; she shifted a little and guided my hand to her pussy, warm, wet and soft. I imagined pressing my face to it, sucking at the pink before taking her lips, her clit, in my mouth. But she held me firm, merely groaning as a finger slipped inside her. “Keep doing that.” I obeyed, all the while conscious of the ever-changing sensations that she was drilling into my pussy – and drilling faster now, her own hips finally joining the party, to roll against my rocking.
I clamped both hands into the sand beneath us, slowed my own motion . . . I caught my breath, then murmured insistently, “I want to feel you come on my face.” I didn’t give her a chance to react; she slipped the dildo out of me as I whirled around, crouched, and plunged between her legs, my tongue seeking out her rhythm and riding with her. One hand on her hips, the other reached for her breast, to tweak a nipple. I lapped at her pink, thrilling to the flavour of that delicious pussy, and her hand fell on my head, holding it still for a moment, before pushing me backwards.
Now she was on top, our bodies moving so seamlessly that I never lost her tantalizing taste for a moment and only when I was flat on my back once again did she shift, flipping herself around so that her mouth was at my pussy, as hers ground into my face.
I wriggled beneath her, gazed up at the beauty that hung just inches from my face, my mind flashing back to the photos I’d been looking at. I realized how dearly I love looking at a lover from this angle, seeing her cunt spread over my face as Sheelagh lowered herself down again and with her tongue wrapped warmly around my clitty, started fucking my mouth.
I could hear myself moaning as she lapped, little cries of shock and pleasure that accompanied every movement, and matched the motion of her tongue down below. I was coming quickly this time, and I hoped she would too – I wanted to hear her cry out at the precise moment my legs wrapped around her head, to hold her hard against my blazing cunt. And I wasn’t disappointed, as a sudden twitch and a catch in her gyrations sent a telegraph ringing all the way down my spine, to explode in a flood of sensations in my pussy.
Sheelagh rose from her own juice-soaked paradise, her face streaked with the glorious glitter of my oils. But I wasn’t finished with her yet. I pulled at her legs, drew her around so that she straddled my chest, and continued sucking and licking at her.
She looked down at me. “I never knew . . . I’ve dreamed about this so often,” she breathed. “But I never realized just how beautiful you are until now . . .”
I was still sucking on her, relishing her taste and her texture. But I paused for a moment. “Well, I don’t think I’ll be going out in public like this, but I’m feeling pretty good, too,” I whispered. I shifted my weight a little, and held her face in my cleavage, my breasts parted and pressing against her cheeks. I rubbed first one, then the other, against her, alternating circular motions that thrilled me as much . . . if that moan was anything to go by . . . as they excited her.
Our pussies were touching, rubbing together, slicking one another with their free flowing juices, then slowly, she began sliding up my body, slicking a warm path of pussy up my belly, between my tits, across my face, onto my lips.
My eyes were closed, my breathing heavy, hypnotized by the weight and warmth of her steady rocking, and the rhythmic sighs that escaped her lips. And when I heard her cry out her orgasm, and felt a sudden slap of salty wet against my chee
k, I laughed before I opened my eyes – and saw that she was still riding me, her own eyes closed tight, her breath still coming in short, sharp gasps. Then who . . .
“Sorry, kids, but we couldn’t help ourselves.” Above and behind me, the voice startled me – shocked Sheelagh as well, as she halted her movements, gasped a stunned “What?”; and then relaxed, laughing. “Mandy. Debbie. Fancy seeing you here!”
“Well, it is our beach . . .”
Now I recognized Mandy’s voice and as I craned my head backwards, I could see her as well, standing totally naked on the rock above us.
I wasn’t certain how I felt – furious? Violated? Or very, very excited? “How long have you been there?”
“We were here before you were,” Debbie smiled. “For much the same reasons as well. Except, watching you guys go at it was even more exciting than what we were planning.”
I smiled; Mandy knelt down and looked into my face. “Sorry if we startled you . . . to be honest, I never knew Debbie still had it in her.” She kissed her partner. “She usually doesn’t squirt past my wrist.”
“Honey . . .” Debbie protested loudly but affectionately – I think she was actually feeling rather proud of herself. Measuring the distance with my eyes, even taking the trajectory into account, she’d sent a jet at least eight feet, and her aim could scarcely have been better. “Well, I’m impressed,” I smiled; and then, remembering what they’d interrupted, “but I think Sheelagh here might be feeling a little left out of things.”
Mandy’s eyes flickered to my lover. “Yes, we did kind of spoil things, didn’t we?” She scrambled down the rock; Debbie followed, and I saw a glance pass between them, before she settled herself in front of Sheelagh and kissed her firmly on the lips. I caught Sheelagh’s eye and nodded; then walked over to Debbie and embraced her. She shook her head. “I’m going to sit this one out, thanks,” she said quietly. “I’ve never been much more than a once-a-night gal myself. And besides, if I know Mandy, she’s going to put on quite a show.”
She was right. They lay flat on the sand, their pussies tight together and at first Mandy simply lay there, cooing encouragement to Sheelagh as she built up speed . . . whispers, at first, that I had to strain to hear; and then louder, more demanding, until she was almost screaming at her – “Fuck my . . . harder . . . faster . . . that’s it, baby . . .” Until finally Sheelagh collapsed, spent at last.
“Debbie . . . are you certain that you’re done for the night?”
“I’m sure, honey,” she laughed. “But I do need a drink. Who’s coming?”
Sheelagh groaned. “I’m not certain that I still have the use of my legs,” she murmured. “But I’ll give it a try. Who else wants a nightcap?”
Mandy shook her head. “Not me, I’m going to stay here for a while. How about you, Chrissie?”
“I’ll stay here as well,” I told her. Even though I lived so close, I rarely got out to the shore any more. And besides, I was curious about Mandy and Debbie . . . did they always do things like this?
Mandy shook her head. “To be honest, we’ve never done anything like this in our lives. I mean . . . We used to talk about it, as you do when you’re heading towards another anniversary, and you’ve already exhausted every sex manual you can find. But we never did anything, and we probably never would have, if you two hadn’t . . .” she paused. “You really didn’t know we were there?”
“Didn’t have a clue. You must have been very quiet.”
She giggled. “I think we were so surprised when we heard you coming down the path that we stopped whatever we were doing . . . and then, once you got started, we really didn’t want to say anything. But I’m not sorry that we did. I’ve often thought that, if I was free and single, I’d have snagged Sheelagh for myself years ago. I’m just glad she’s found someone who’s on the same wave-length as she is.”
“Well, I don’t know about ’found’ . . . this is pretty much our first date; well, no, we’ve been e-mailing each other for a few months, but this is the first time we’ve ever met.”
“Oh, I know that,” Mandy laughed. “You’re the story-teller. Debbie and I have read all your stuff . . . acted a few of them out, as well. In fact, it was us who first sent Sheelagh the link . . . remember the one where you said you looked a bit like the girl out of Sex And The City} Sheelagh adores her; so we had to let her know. And once you posted your photograph, I think it was love at first sight.”
“So basically, you set the two of us up?” I laughed, squeezing her hand.
“You don’t know the half of it.” She leaned forward suddenly, and kissed my lips. I was surprised, but – hey, what’s new about that, this evening? I kissed her back and she beamed at me. “We planned the whole thing. Even the wrong turn you made when you went to the bathroom. I mean, you write a good game, but you’d be surprised how many people that room has frightened off. You know Sheelagh found most of those pictures for us, don’t you?”
Ah, so that’s the kind of art dealer she is . . . I was about to say that, but Mandy’s hands were on my thighs now, parting my legs a little more, to allow her finger to slide in deeper, and begin to gently fuck me. Instead I sighed, and she carried on talking. “And all that business about a fishing trip? To be honest, a few of the others may go out in the boat tomorrow, but the only fish that Sheelagh was interested in catching was you.” She pushed me down on the sand, and her lips began grazing their way down my chest, my belly, to my thighs and beyond. “I’m just glad,” she murmured, “that there’s enough of you that we can all have a share.” Then her words faded into an indistinct mumble, and I felt my puss being sucked into her mouth.
And if I wasn’t already hooked, I certainly was now.
A Two-Way Street
Marie Gordon
Diana was known in lesbian circles as dominating, powerful, a woman who specialized in women like Sophie. “She’s the answer to your prayers. Just what you need,” said Sophie’s ex. “Expensive but worthwhile, so I’m told.”
Sophie would never allow herself to be dominated by such a woman. It was she, Sophie, who played the dominator, so, why was she driving to Diana’s establishment? Sophie had never met a woman who didn’t respond to her control-freak approach to love and sex but she didn’t want to be in control; she needed to allow herself to be taken over. That’s why she was going, well, that was one reason. That, and the photo she kept in the deepest pocket of her wallet.
She’d used a false name. To Diana, she was Sara. Not a good way to start but it had to be that way. For now.
Diana sized her up at once. “Don’t be scared; I won’t eat you, unless you want me to.” Diana was in her early forties, with a strong face, high cheekbones, luxuriant hair and the assurance of a royal. “Come on.” She took Sophie’s hand in her own fragile one, and led her to a cubicle, “Slip into something more comfortable. I’ll be with you in a moment.”
The “something more comfortable” was a white satin nightshirt, with buttonholes piped in pink. By the time Sophie had shed her clothes for the satin gear, her heart was thumping loudly. She couldn’t go through with this, not in a fit. She was—
At that moment Diana knocked on the cubicle door, blocking her escape route.
“Sara, are you ready?”
Ready? She’d never be ready. “I . . . I’m . . .” Words died in her throat.
Diana opened the door, took Sophie’s arm. “I sense that you need a little encouragement. Come.”
The guillotine awaits, thought Sophie, allowing Diana to lead her to a room large enough to hold a king-sized bed. Instead there was nothing in it but a single bed, a chair, table, wash-basin, plus lots of towels. The ceiling was completely mirrored.
“I don’t like that.” Sophie pointed upwards.
“Then you won’t have it.” Diana pressed a button on the wall and a false ceiling slid into place, covering the mirror.
“Thank you.”
Diana pulled back the cover: “Now, just take the weight off
your feet.”
Sophie stared at her, mind so numb it couldn’t take in the simplest instruction.
“Sit on the bed, then lie down.”
That was better. Simple instructions, one by one. She could do that.
“You will soon be relaxed, I promise. Easy breaths now, while I wash my hands.”
It’s not too late. Sophie’s mind was now racing. She could still go; Diana couldn’t make her stay. She should never have come. What did she hope to achieve?
“The woman is a miracle-maker. Her hands are magic; she’ll untie every single knot you have, or ever thought you had.” That was friend Brenda, once frigid, now well on the way to being nympho.
“I’m not frigid.”
“Of course you’re not, but you do have trouble letting go -your words, not mine.”
Sophie was well aware she had trouble. She couldn’t hand over her power; didn’t want to. Then what was she doing here?
Diana now stood beside her, smiling, reading her mind, no doubt, thought Sophie.
She was. “Still planning to escape?”
Sophie shrugged helplessly knowing it was already too late.
“You’ll be glad you stayed.” Diana sat on the side of the bed. “You’re very beautiful, my dear. Why are you here?”
“I’ve been asking myself that question.”
“And the answer?”
“I want to make love to women—”
“Of course.”
“I’m very good as a giver, but I can’t receive; can’t surrender my power.”
“You will receive from me. Love is a two-way street, honey.”
“What can I learn from you?”
“You will learn how to let yourself to be taken over. To cry, to whimper, to beg for release, to be teased beyond your imagination.”
“I can’t do that.” Sophie sat up, suddenly breathless. “I won’t do that.”
The Mammoth Book of Lesbian Erotica Page 39
