“Gerri, my clit…oh, please,” I sobbed.
“You begging me?”
“Yes, I…please.”
“Stop saying please. Just tell me what you want.” She appeared to be enjoying her dominant butch status, but I saw right through her feigned irritation.
“All of you…in me.” I needed her so bad I thought the world would crumble if she didn’t take me completely right then.
She thumbed my clit once more, sending shock waves through my pelvis and tightening every muscle in the lower half of my body all the way down to my toes. Then, just as quickly, she removed her thumb. I groaned long and loud as she gave me an evil lopsided grin. She was so damn cute!
“You are such a fucking tease,” I said and pulled her mouth once more to mine. I bit her lip then licked and kissed it.
Gerri put my right thigh over her shoulder and leaned into me, pressing her jeans—or was that her belt buckle?—into my clit. I was more open and desperate than before, especially when she went in for a firmer grasp on my tits.
“God, Ger. You trying to kill me here?”
“You wanted rough…”
“Yeah, rough. Fuck me hard. Plea—” I stopped myself from finishing, hoping I’d get what I wanted. I was so wet, so turned on, so in love, I surrendered to her, and she could have whatever she wanted from me at that moment.
Before I knew it, her whole fist was inside me, and I was crying out in ecstasy. “Yes,” was all I could manage as my muscles gripped her hand with each forceful thrust.
“Harder.”
She smiled. I could tell she was loving this. I adored that smile. “You’re so beautiful when you beg,” she said.
Never in my life had I felt anything like this. It was like being stretched—very full, very taken. I wanted to surrender to Gerri so bad, and getting my wish was a dream come true. The more she fucked me the wetter and closer to climaxing I got. The sensation was incredible.
She sucked on my neck while she continued fucking me with her fist. When I didn’t think I could take one more excruciating but delicious second, wanting to come so bad it hurt, she placed her mouth on my clit, sucking and licking until my body gave way to the sweet release it longed for. I grasped her baby-fine blonde hair while I came. I thought I heard her gasp when I nearly ripped her hair out of her scalp, so I eased up on the tension and let her silky tresses slip from my fingers. I felt my strength drain from my body in orgasmic bliss.
Gerri rewarded me by releasing her fist slowly from my sated center and gingerly licking my clit some more. Her tongue barely touched me at first while I recovered from the first orgasm, but her ministrations were just enough to get the blood to pool in my clit once more. Expertly she worked my clit and the surrounding swollen areas until I felt the explosion begin again. If I were rating orgasms on a scale from one to ten, this one was a twenty-five. The climax felt like it lasted for hours. I lost all track of time and place until she collapsed on top of me and I kissed her sweaty brow.
“You can fish with me anytime,” Gerri said.
“How about tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow is perfect.” She flashed me another one of her incredible smiles.
“But next time it’s my turn to cast the line,” I told her.
“Deal.”
I managed to get dressed with a big-ass grin on my face as I looked forward to future fisting—er, I mean fishing.
LONDON, 1988
Maggie Kinsella
Lesbians aren’t necessarily the best nurses, but in my opinion nurses are the best lesbians!
In my early twenties, I was working at a busy London hospital and living in the nurses’ home. There were about twenty nurses in our residential block, and whether it was a random circumstance, or the manager wanted to keep us happy, about three quarters of us were lesbians. It wasn’t one long orgy so much as a small, cozy dating pool. We circulated through each other’s rooms like one long game of spin the bottle, kissing, fighting, and making up with equal intensity.
Like many of the other nurses, I made the rounds, seldom staying with the same woman for long. But when I met Marie, things changed. Marie was older than I, in her early thirties, a curvy woman, with a smart wisecracking attitude and a bold manner. She came from Trinidad but had done her nursing training in London as a teenager and had been here ever since. She had the coveted corner room in the nurses’ home, a large room with two windows instead of one.
Marie and I got together one night after we’d both been working the late shift in the operating theater. We were both operating-theater nurses, but she was a senior nurse in urology and normally worked in the older theater block on the other side of the hospital. I had just obtained my first staff-nurse position in the main theater complex.
That night, Marie had been called over to the general surgery area to assist with some emergencies. She and I had the final cleanup, and we were both hurrying. Me, because I was meeting some friends in a nearby pub afterward, and her, I later learned, because she was hoping to waylay another nurse on her way home after her shift.
We chatted as we cleaned to make the time go faster, both of us flirting in an automatic, casual way. She was teasing me about breaking up with Orla, the other Irish nurse in our block. I was retaliating that—knowing Marie’s reputation for loving women and moving on—Orla had wanted to settle down with me and raise fine Irish lesbian babies. We were sorting the unused sutures, and our hands flew over the pile in time with our banter. Our hands both reached for the final catgut suture and our fingertips brushed each other.
I remember that first moment of connection, that first fine thrill that tingled along my fingers. My movement stopped, and my breath caught in my throat. Marie’s fingers stilled too.
“Well, well, well,” she said, softly. “Fancy that.” And then she picked up the suture, put it in the correct box, and moved over to the door of the anaesthetic room. “That bloody technician’s left the place a mess again.” Her voice sounded amazingly normal.
I struggled to make mine as steady. “I think she got called to ICU,” I offered. “She’ll be back.”
Marie moved into the anaesthetic room and started placing equipment in the sink. I followed her lead and cleared the bench, dumping the glass ampoules and used syringes into the sharps container. I stole a sideways glance at Marie—at her straight back and ripe, round buttocks. She had a wide-legged stance, sturdy legs bracing her full hips. I saw the outline of her thighs through the white dress she wore, and the tantalizing gap between them. Her dress pulled tight over her buttocks, and I saw her panty line.
“So who are you with now that you’ve escaped Orla’s clutches?” she asked.
“No one. My life is barren of a hot woman right now,” I sighed in a theatrical manner, and hoped she’d take the hint.
She snorted. “You won’t get my sympathy that way.”
“Oh? What will it take then?”
She turned from the sink and studied me. “You want a sympathy fuck?”
Now this was better! “Not a sympathy fuck, no.”
The instruments in the sink claimed her attention again, but not before I saw her sudden grin.
“I heard you were easy. Quite the slut.”
I pretended affront. “Look who’s talking. Remember I’ve slept with Kate, who slept with Tash, who slept with Bibi—your ex-girlfriend. News travels.”
“In both directions.” She finally gave up all pretence of washing instruments, and turned again, this time to study me blatantly. “Fancy a drink when we finally get out of here?”
I didn’t hesitate. “As long as we don’t go to the Pig and Tater. I was supposed to meet friends there.”
We finished our shift, changed back into street clothes, and without actually discussing it, walked the mile to the Black Horse, a pub that attracted few people from the hospital. I slid into a snug at the back while Marie brought pints over from the bar.
The pub was busy enough that there was a steady hum of conversat
ion, which for me was a good thing. Suddenly I couldn’t think of a thing to say.
Marie regarded me with an amused expression. “Oh, fuck this,” she said suddenly as the rings reached halfway down my pint. She moved around the snug to sit next to me. Her solid thighs pushed against mine. One of her hands grasped her pint; the other reached down and rested on my own thigh, where her fingers made circular forays around its inner surface. Lightly they tickled, moving slowly in ever-widening spirals, down to my knee and up along my inner thigh.
She started talking: a long rambling story about a friend of hers who was mugged on holiday in Dublin. The words floated over me as I concentrated on those fingers, long skillful fingers, tracing patterns on my jeans.
I stayed silent, willing her to continue, hoping her fingers would drift higher. When her thumb brushed the seam of my jeans, over my cunt, I let out an involuntary gasp. She didn’t let up with her story, but I heard the smile in her voice as she continued her tale while her thumb moved slowly to and fro.
I widened my legs slightly and her gentle frottage continued. My jeans were loose enough that she was able to move the seam back and forth and make the thick material press the side of my clit. Each press left and the ripples grew, each press right and my orgasm swelled. My hand clenched on my drink, and I focused on breathing slowly and evenly. I was going to come, and I didn’t want the whole pub to hear me screaming, see my head jerking from side to side as my face flushed as dark as the blackcurrant cordial in Marie’s pint of lager.
Just as my breath was hitching and I was gulping air, just before the final big swell when the world would turn crimson, Marie stopped. She withdrew her thumb, moved farther away on the bench, and took a deep draught of her pint. My heart thundered, and I wanted nothing more than for her to continue. I wanted to beg her to push me over the edge, and if I screamed, well, so what? I was beyond being careful. When she didn’t move back to finish me off, I dropped my own hand between my thighs.
Her hand snaked out, and grasping my wrist she forced it back to the table. “No,” she said, in a voice of steel, one that had made many a junior houseman quail. “Not until I say you can.” Her hand moved and clasped mine. “Now it’s your round, I believe.”
Her grin told me she knew exactly what she was doing. I took a few deep breaths, trying to slide back down from the edge of orgasm. I was afraid to move, afraid that if I walked to the bar, the friction of my jeans between my legs and vibration of my footfalls would be enough to set me off. When the urgency had eased, I stood up and headed for the bar. I thought about going into the ladies’ room to bring myself off with my fingers, but the promise in Marie’s eyes made me think again. I’d wait.
But I needed to pee, so I did go into the toilet. Dipping a finger into my cunt, I made sure it was fragrant and wet.
I collected the drinks from the bar. When I returned, I ran a casual finger around the rim of Marie’s glass.
She noticed immediately, and her eyebrow lifted. “Trying to entice me, Maggie?”
“You don’t slide off the hook that easily.”
“Oh, you don’t need to worry about that.” Deliberately she set her lips to the rim and took a long sip. “Delicious!”
After that, our conversation flowed easier. By the time closing time rolled around, I was more than ready to leave. It was a mild night, and we linked arms and started back to the nurses’ home. London traffic rolled by, at one point coming perilously close to skimming my hip. As we neared the hospital, Marie pulled me off to one side, down one of the alleys that led into the back of the hospital. Away from the lights, and enclosed in the narrow lane, it was suddenly much darker, much quieter.
We didn’t say a word, but our walk became an amble, and then our feet slowed and stopped. Her arm, which had been linked through mine, withdrew before wrapping around my waist. Our faces moved together, and then we were kissing. Long, slow kisses, wet and passionate, grew more intense as our passion rose. Her tongue slipped slowly in and out of my mouth, mine dueled with hers, and our hands made slow forays over each other.
My hands reached her buttocks, those same ripe buttocks that had tempted me all evening, and I cupped them, grinding her into my thigh. She seemed as eager as I, and our movements grew increasingly frantic. Marie’s hands fumbled and grasped my wrists. She pulled my hands away from her body and pinned them over my head. She pushed me against the wall, her solid body trapping me. In the dim light her eyes glittered, and her voice held a stern air of command.
“Now, you do as you’re told!” she said. “You junior nurses think you know it all. Time you took some lessons from your seniors.”
Exactly what “lessons” she intended teaching was very clear.
She captured my lips once more, kissing me deeply and forcing my head back sharply so that it hit the brick behind me. Her thigh forced my legs apart, and her hips ground rhythmically into mine. For a moment I struggled against her restraining hold. Not because I wanted to break free, but for the excitement of feeling her strong hands effortlessly holding me in place. I thought of those same hands holding me down on a bed later.
“Now,” she said when she came up for air, “I’m going to let you go. But if you don’t bring me off with your tongue in the next few minutes, you’ll regret it.”
I mentally gulped. Here? I thought. She really means here?
After freeing my hands, Marie moved to the waist of her jeans. She undid the snaps, then she pushed down her pants. I caught a glimpse of black cotton bikini panties barely visible against her bitter-chocolate skin, and then they were gone, pushed down with her jeans. I forgot about her panties as I saw her dark wiry bush, tight curls hiding the plump cunt mound. She pushed her jeans to her knees and spread her legs as best she could.
My fingers itched to slide into her wetness, but she’d said “tongue.” I dropped to my knees on the tarmac, and ignoring the hard surface, I slid my hands up her thighs. Her scent reached me: hot, female, and very, very aroused. My thumbs brushed her pussy lips and she jerked.
“I said tongue,” she growled, and she reached down and pulled my hands above my head again. Jerking hard, I toppled against her, my nose in that beautiful black bush. Nuzzling my way down, I parted her lips with my tongue, seeking out her clit. She was slippery-shiny and wet, and her moisture coated my cheeks and chin. I ate her as best I could in my position. My neck and shoulders ached, and her grasp on my wrists increased to near pain. But her taste was intoxicating, as were her own murmurs of satisfaction as her orgasm approached.
Just when I thought my neck would break from the strain, I heard footsteps down the laneway. I tried to rise, move away, but Marie held me effortlessly in place.
“Don’t stop!” she whispered.
From the movements of her hips, I sensed she was close to coming. The footsteps came closer. And then—thank God—Marie came, pushing her cunt into my face. Her orgasm rushed hot and salty over my tongue. As her shivers died away, she released my wrists and pulled me to my feet, wrapping her arms around my waist. We kissed hungrily again, my body shielding her disarrayed clothing from view as the unknown footsteps went past.
She put her clothing to rights, and we continued on, into the hospital grounds and up to the nurses’ home. By unspoken agreement, we went to her room. It was the first time I’d been there, and I saw she had put the bed in the corner, underneath both sets of windows. Her room was on the fifth floor, so it was high enough to see out over the nearby lights.
Marie went to a cupboard in the corner and poured us each a glass of ruby port. Drawing me over to her bed, she sat against the wall, cradling me in her spread thighs, my back to her breasts. I sipped the sweet liquid and shivered as her hands came up to caress my breasts. In contrast to her earlier force-fulness, she was gentle, and she opened my jacket and rubbed light, teasing circles around my nipples. I arched into her caressing hands, enjoying the sensation and soft stimuli. When she unbuttoned my shirt and pushed up my bra, her hands on my bare breasts
felt amazing. Nurses’ hands are often rough from vigorous washing, but hers were supple. I looked down at the erotic contrast of her dark hands against my white skin. I have large breasts—too large, I often think—but in her hands I felt they were just right.
When Marie turned me in her arms and kissed me again, I was putty. She slipped off my clothing, unzipping my jeans and impatiently pushing them down. Swiftly she removed her clothing, throwing it haphazardly on the floor. Naked, she drew me down to lie on the bed. The city lights of London washed over us through the uncurtained windows, painting our skin with a kaleidoscope of reds, golds, and yellows.
Time moved slowly. We’d had the teasing, had the power play. Now, strangely, our loving moved along the scale to tenderness. Marie kissed my breasts, her dark head moving from one to the other. I ran my hands along the curve of her waist, out to her flaring hips, before dipping between. She opened her legs, and my finger insinuated its way into her hot, clasping cunt. For a few minutes, we stayed like that—me with my fingers moving slowly in her cream, her with my nipple between her lips.
Then Marie took charge once more, settling me firmly on my back and coaxing my legs apart. She crouched between them, her face dropping between my thighs, and finally I felt her tongue slide between my pussy lips. I was so horny from before—from the pub, from the laneway, from her hands and mouth on my breasts—that it only took a few flicks of her tongue before I came explosively.
Then, as my cunt relaxed, I felt her fingers probing. Three, maybe four fingers slid inside me, stretching me open, filling me with that delicious weighty fullness, a beautiful ache. Her thumb rubbed slowly to and fro on my nub, and the rolling waves built again to a shivering crescendo.
After Midnight Page 14
