“You really like what you see?” she innocently asked.
“Very much,” I said and did.
Margaret’s body was as I had guessed, and hoped, it to be. Her breasts were plump and quite a bit bigger than I had first guessed, bigger then my own. Her belly was tight without being unnaturally muscled and her long legs were flared evenly to present the trim triangle of pubic hair that faced me.
I must have sat staring for a good three minutes when Margaret looked over her shoulder and spoke to Michele. The younger girl came around, squatted to kiss me on the cheek, smiled and then struggled to whisper in my ear: “You make her very ’appy,” she managed in one quick breath, then stood up and left my shop.
I stood as Margaret turned back to me. A flash of understanding flared in my dim brain; Michele had been her friend’s “beard”.
“You didn’t need to do that,” I explained. “I wanted you so much as it was.”
“As did I you,” she said. “But how could I be sure? Michele is my best friend, but to have a woman like you . . .”
“Are you sure now?” I asked.
“Yes,” she agreed.
I could have thanked her for the brief, yet enchanting time with Michele. I could have thanked her for her flattering me so much she was so cautious approaching me. I could have thanked Margaret for so many things, but as she began kissing my neck, I felt her long nail (a nail I had worked on only this week) trace its way down my body between us to my aching white-hot pussy.
ELEVATOR ECSTASY
Julia Jones
Our eyes met across a crowded elevator; it was so romantic.
That might make a good opening for a slushy sentimental novel but real life it isn’t. It’s not true at all. For a start the elevator was perfectly empty when I stepped into it. Not surprising as it was quite late, about 11.30 p.m. I had developed a sudden craving for something sweet; the nearby all-night Korean minimart sold candy bars and I needed one – hell, I needed two or three – now! My apartment is on the twenty-second floor so it’s rare to get an uninterrupted ride down or up. I wasn’t too surprised when the car creaked to a halt after a few seconds and the doors opened. And in stepped this dame.
Now, listen. Excuse the sub-Raymond Chandler dialog but this dame was a capital “D” Dame. She was the busty beauty bursting out of any Philip Marlowe or Mike Hammer fantasy that you ever read. Her hair was red, wild red, fiery red, like someone just poured a half-ton of molten passion from a blast furnace of lust. Her lips were carmine, a bloodsucker’s aftertaste. Her breasts were large, perfectly rounded and swung gently side to side. I could see the suspension straps of an expensive brassiere under the thin matter of her white blouse. Her skirt was black, black as the sinful minds of those who desired to mount her Venus outlined by the tight material or knead her pneumatic buttocks revealed in all their tantalizing glory as she turned to press the elevator “close doors” button.
And her legs; long, long legs embraced by sexy synthetic (yes, I know it’s corny but that summed it up) stockings or pantyhose, I knew not. But sheer perfection in sheer nylon, that was for sure.
Her shoes were needle-point stilettos, artfully designed to jack up her rear end like those hot rods the ’Ricans build: big, bold and brassy, ready to salsa, sway and jive the sidewalks giving every horny soul a bad case of confession the next Sunday.
She turned back from the control panel to see who she was going to share the next fifteen seconds of her life with and saw . . . me. Me, with my eyes wide open, my mouth agape and the sweat starting from my forehead. A tremble in my hands and a shake starting in my knees – or, anyway, that’s what I felt like.
She smiled. Her eyes met mine and I was transfixed. I couldn’t even smile back!
She said, “Have we met before?”
I shook my head, dumbly. Her voice was cool and soft, very feminine but not all breathy like Marilyn Monroe, more adult, more assured. It sounded like a musical instrument to me.
“You live here?” Oh, I heard a symphony in that!
I nodded, gulped, “Twenty-second floor.” Then, with a burst of common sense, “You?”
“No, just visiting.” She smiled and a wicked tongue slipped out and licked those red lips. I wondered – you know how thoughts cross the mind unbidden – what her other lips were like and if they had been licked by a lover or two.
I blushed.
Just then there was a shudder, the car jolted and stopped and the lights went out. After a second or two, an emergency bulb came on and I could hear the faint ringing of an alarm bell hundreds of feet away, straight down on the ground floor.
The jolt threw us both off balance and the dame fell against me. By instinct, I held her tight; by desire, I didn’t let her go again. I felt her tremble.
“Oh, I’m so nervous in these things. I just hate it when they go wrong. Are you OK?”
I nodded. Truth is, I’m not a bit scared of elevators so that gave me some sort of advantage. Her hair came to just under my nose and I inhaled its perfume, her face was pressed against my mouth and chin and my hands met round her back. I could feel the clasp on that naughty brassiere she wore; I fought the urge to undo it. Her thighs pressed against mine; I could feel her shake and that started a tingle in my groin that surged up to my belly.
I held her tighter; she didn’t seem to mind. She began to moan slightly under her breath like a hot wind foretelling a tropical storm coming soon. If it was fear or passion or a bit of both, I didn’t know.
There was another sudden lurch, she cried out, but the elevator lights came back on full and the car moved down a few feet and stopped. The doors opened and there was the lobby area of a strange floor with its discreet lighting and a couch or two to give an air of casual luxury. She pulled me after her as she almost jumped out of the doors.
“Oh, that’s better. Where are we?”
A small sign showed we were on the fifteenth floor, still a long way from our destination but she didn’t care. After her elevator fright, I guessed she would be taking the stairs down from here.
There was no one around and it was very quiet, even for late at night. I wondered if these apartments had yet to be let; money’s tight these days and they weren’t cheap.
“Sit and relax a minute,” I said. “Get your breath back.”
She nodded and slid onto a faux-leather couch.
I slid down next to her and put my arm around her. “Feeling OK now?”
“Yes, thank you so much. I would have freaked out alone in there.”
She leaned toward me and kissed me full on the lips. My heart rate went up to about a hundred sixty. Was this a dream or what! I pulled her in tighter and kissed her back, my tongue sliding into her mouth. It was as sinful as I had imagined.
Next thing, her hands were on me and her lips were all over my face, kissing my eyes, my cheeks, my chin and neck. She was as hot as a trash can lid in an Alabama summer. She pulled back for some air.
“I just felt this connection, you know, before this happened. Do you think there really is love at first sight?”
I nodded. “I thought you were just beautiful but I didn’t know how to say it.”
She laughed. She said, “Let’s explore!”
We kissed again then, slower and deeper. Her hand crept to my shirtfront and undid my buttons. Encountering my bare chest, she gave a little mew of surprise and began to caress me there. My own hands slid seemingly of their own volition under that sinful black skirt and along her smooth thigh, confirming that her choice was stockings, not pantyhose, and they were of the gartered variety. The bare flesh after led to her mound, surprisingly curly haired and untrimmed in a seventies way.
Her fingers moved meanwhile to my legs; I was wearing jeans and she had no problem in undoing the belt buckle and the zip one-handed. There was no doubt she could feel how wet I was even through my underwear. Her other hand was back around my neck pulling my lips tightly against hers. She was a fast lady!
I began to squee
ze and stroke her slit through her cotton briefs. As she got wetter, she became more urgent, her back arching as she pressed her mound against my hand, bearing down to push my fingers deeper within her. Her briefs became an obstacle that could no longer be allowed to get in the way; a firm tug at their crotch and there was a satisfyingly erotic ripping sound and her slit was clear for as much lovemaking as she could take.
We pleasured one another, thrust and stroke matching until we were both panting hard. Her lipstick was mussed from our passionate kisses, her fiery red hair as tumbled as she was, and we writhed and thrust on the slippery leather couch, just fractions of an inch from sliding ignominiously to the floor.
She gasped again, louder, and then cried out. I felt her pelvic muscles spasm and contract hard around my impertinent fingers and then she lay back, spent for now. I was still as randy as hell and, being polite, laid off my attentions to her quim and turned to her blouse, not bothering with the task of undoing all the little buttons but just tugging it open from neck to waistline. She gave out a sigh then lay back, quite still.
Underneath the tattered material was the white bra, which quickly unclipped. Her breasts, which not surprisingly with her fiery red hair were a creamy white, fell into my hands, their brown nipples already erect and needful of a lover’s tongue. Her breasts were as full as I had imagined, ripe and fleshy like tropical fruit, soul food for a lover starved for too long of passion.
I began to suckle her, my own excitement still rising. As I licked and tongue-caressed her beautiful glands, my fingers were busy with rubbing her ear lobes and smooching inside that luscious mouth. She moaned and writhed, as I tenderly adored her gums and small pearly teeth with gentle strokes. Not all oral sex needs a penis for pleasure!
“You’re a lover’s delight,” I managed to gasp. “So, so sexy.”
And then I came – all the more explosively for waiting. I felt that volcanic surge of hot lava in the depths of my sex, sensed it building and building, until the passion got too much and it erupted up and into my belly and from there to my chest, inflaming my heartbeat and oxygenating my lungs. I cried out, felt fluids gush from my secret place and finally sagged back down by my own wonderful sexy vixen.
We lay there clasped together for I don’t know how long. Maybe galaxies were born and died in the far reaches of the universe but our solar system contained just two conjoined planets and a star of burning passion.
As she eased herself gently away from me and stood, I reached up to peel away the tatters of her ripped blouse. She laughed and crossed her arms teasingly across her chest. That sexy black skirt was still there but a quick flick of the waistband catch and an easing down of the zip and it fell to the floor. She stepped out of it and bent over me, kissing me hard on the lips.
“Easy, lover, how’s a girl to get home naked?”
“Oh, you can’t want to go yet, surely?”
I reached up and pulled her down onto her belly and across my lap, those pneumatic buttocks uppermost: they were cute, full-figured and curvaceous. I gave them both a few loving swats and kissed those cheeks which now glowed a warm pink. She gave a little moan of pleasure at that and snuggled down close against me. As I gave her the comfort she needed, my hands again within her slit, I felt her hands gently push herself up. As I suddenly became conscious of the air-conditioned cool of the lobby flowing around my overheated skin, I found my thighs being gently parted and smooth lipsticked flesh pressed inside them. What could I do but wriggle round on the squeaky protesting seat and give her the same treatment: a soixante-neuf of pure erotica. My breathing grew faster again and I could feel that fantastic tension begin to rise inside me from the pit of my belly that I could no longer hold back, and I erupted again as I had seldom done before with any lover.
I felt my vixen’s curvy, sensuous body twist and buck beside me as similar emotions raced through her – or, at least, so I hoped! She gave a moan and then a shrill scream, arched up and fell back, spent. We both lay panting until I felt her fingers caress my face and I saw her beautiful, tear-stained eyes staring lovingly into mine. We stretched and eased off the couch, now slick with our juices and sweat. The air conditioning suddenly felt shiveringly cold so late at night.
“We need somewhere more comfortable,” I said, “but you won’t want to get in the elevator to go back to my place, I guess?”
We wandered round the corner of the lobby and there was our answer, a door proudly marked SALES OFFICE – SHOW APARTMENT and, better still, the door was unlocked! Not believing our luck, we entered cautiously and found a furnished apartment complete with fully made-up bed and the desk, chair and filing cabinet of a typical sales set-up. There was even a minibar, stocked with juices and sodas only but, still, very welcome.
My beautiful redhead shucked off the remaining clothes she was just wearing and so did I. We turned down the bedclothes and dove in together then huddled up in starched white luxury – after that couch! I think we had both gotten a second wind and needed some more loving. We kissed gently, lips to lips, tongue to tongue, our fingers entwined, then slowly letting go and softly stroking each other’s skin from neck to derrière. Pressed together, pubic hair entangled, our enquiring fingers completed our commitment to one another, that, and the oral sex that followed as we slid up and down one another’s body exploring anew.
My lips once again worshiping my lover’s labia, I marveled that the red of her bush could be even more fiery than that of her head. I felt intoxicated by her scent there, that most erotic of smells, too sensually musky by far ever to be marketed whatever the perfume people claim.
She was busy, too, rediscovering what we had found earlier that night. The sky through the window seemed to be getting lighter and there was an added haste to our love-making: tasting, sampling, taking, giving, holding, stroking and downright fucking all took on a poignant urgency. I think we simultaneously felt that surge of power which electrifies the senses as a tidal rip climax swept through us. We were left cast up on the sands of time, abandoned now by the sea of love that had left us here.
My lover raised her head from the pillow, her eyes puffy with requited passion. “Thank you,” was all she said and all she needed to say. She gathered her clothes, such as they were by then and dressed as best she could. “I must go,” she said with a giggle. “No—” as I put out a hand to stop her “—I really must.”
“Well, at least tell me your name.”
“Amanda, but my friends call me Randy!” Then she walked away. When she got to the door, she turned. “What’s your name?”
“Julia.”
“Goodnight, Julia. Sleep tight.”
And then she was gone.
POMEGRANTS
Olivia london
Kitty and Doris had been together too long. At least that’s the way Doris felt when she noticed her lover’s leather-bound diary left spread out on the coffee table one rainy morning when she was sorely tempted to call in sick at work. She loved staying home on rainy days, kicking back with a good novel, padding back and forth from living room to kitchen.
Doris had a bad feeling churning in her gut when she saw the article in question. Her lover had always sequestered meticulous hiding places for her journal. Had it been left out intentionally? Doris snuck a peek at the familiar packed-to-the margins handwriting.
What am I doing in this relationship! De has no ambition whatsoever! She calls in sick so she can stay home and read mysteries and soggy romances – where did that ever get anyone? I want OUT!!!!
Doris collapsed on the sofa. Always one to extract a positive from a situation, she thought, Well, at least Kit referred to me as De. Only Doris’s mother, boss and co-workers referred to her as Doris. De sat motionless for a while, watching the spring rain pelt the apartment’s only bay window. She forced herself to pack a lunch and head to her admin job at Kale and Malloy, a downtown law firm on Market Street.
She sighed in disgust when she saw the pile of work left in her in-box, half of it shunted t
o her by a goldbricking office manager with a drinking problem. De had frequently smelled booze on Vera’s breath but the manager had been a fixture in the firm for at least half a century so De had no choice but to capitulate.
De’s only solace was a new girl in the building named Lina. Lina was a graphic designer working down the hall from K & M. She began flirting with De on the elevator until she realized the two of them shared the same floor plan.
“We have to stop meeting like this,” Lina cooed to her new acquaintance.
“Why?” De asked. “Meeting you is the best part of my day.” That made Lina burst into giggles.
De was what Kit teasingly called a “femme”, partly because she enjoyed the more passive role in their lovemaking, proffering her derrière like a peace pipe; a sound spanking more often than not eased the tension in their relationship.
De had no relatives within a 2,000-mile radius. She relied heavily on friends and lovers for understanding the impact of choosing a “lifestyle” and developing stratagems to dodge inimical powers in the workforce. And she thoroughly resented the term “co-dependant”. Sure, she depended on Kit for love, companionship and great sex. What was wrong with needing someone to love?
And there was no denying De would have loved to have had Kit’s enchanted upbringing. Kitty’s parents were very wealthy and believed their daughter deserved the best of everything, including ponies and horses. De’s mother worked like a mule to put food on the table while her husband kept bartenders happily employed. Kitty swore the differences in their backgrounds didn’t matter but of course they did.
The lexicon of the rich doesn’t easily juxtapose over a poor girl’s argot. Kitty and De had a favorite restaurant they frequented on Friday nights. After one such repast, with fingers interlocked and arms swinging, enjoying a stroll down Castro Street, Kit told De how much she appreciated having a lover who actually enjoyed sex.
“After all, sex should last longer than a chukker,” Kit mused.
The Mammoth Book of Lesbian Erotic Stories Page 6
