Lesbian Erotica, Volume 2

by Carla Blake

“Or what?” She says, crossing her arms and gazing down at the blade as if it is nothing more than my irate finger jabbing into her.

  She makes me seethe! I hate her cockiness, her surety that I will not hurt her. That I cannot hurt her!

  Well here comes the surprise!

  I slice the blade through her top. It doesn’t move easily, being a serrated steak knife, but it does make a jagged cut and the look on her face is priceless.

  “My sweater!” She exclaims as if the mutilation of my dress never happened. “What the fuck have you done!”

  “I’ll do a damn sight more if you don’t fuck me.” I shoot back at her. “Now, take it off! Take all your clothes off. Right now.”

  It’s amazing what a steak knife can do. Teresa undresses in less than a minute. I’m merely seconds behind her, not that I have a lot to take off.

  Both naked, I take her hand and lead her towards the door. I want her to think I am taking her up to the bedroom. That I am going to lay her on the soft bed and whisper sweet words into her ears and make love to her the same as we have done countless times before.

  But she is wrong. Just before we reach the door, I turn her savagely and forcing her back against the wall, I kiss her hard, my hands pressing her into the wallpaper, her breath squeezed from her lungs as I snog her furiously, one hand now buried in her hair as I rake the fingernails of the other down her side and leave a pink trail in her flesh. She shudders but she doesn’t pull away and I kiss her again, reasserting my presence in this relationship, desperate to convey to her she is most definitely not getting everything her own way!

  “I thought you wanted me to fuck you!” She says when I finally allow her up for air. “Not the other way round!”

  “I do and you will.” I say.

  “Oh yeah? What makes you think I still want to?”

  In answer I roughly shove a hand between her legs and locate the soft, silky wetness nestling between her thighs. It is just as I thought. Teresa is as turned on as me. “That makes me think you still want to.” I say. “Want to argue with that?”

  She shakes her head but I can see she is furious at her own body’s betrayal. Well, too bad. She started this.

  “Take me from behind.” I say, removing my fingers and licking them clean in front of her. “And I want more than just one finger inside me. Fill me up. Fuck me properly.”

  And I turn and face the wall, waiting only the briefest of moments before Teresa presses herself against me and I feel the warmth of her breasts against my back, the soft tickle of her fluff against my bum and her hands coming round to squeeze my nipples whilst her lips drop kisses onto my shoulders.

  “Fuck me.” I demand and her right hand drops down to cup my pussy mound. Gently she squeezes me, making me tingle all over until I tell her I want more and she lets go to part my pussy lips. I am very wet down there and I can feel my plumpness take hold of her as she edges towards the entrance of my cunt and inserts a single finger.

  She fucks me carefully, gently spreading the opening to my vagina until I am ready to take another finger. It goes in easily, smooth as silk, my cunt now wide open, sopping wet and demanding more.

  “Another.” I command and Teresa pushes another finger inside me, working it in until I am nice and creamy and she can fuck me with more force. It is amazing and I arch my back towards her, giving her all the room she needs to really take me.

  “More.” I cry and her other hand joins in, slipping neatly between my pussy lips to find the throbbing nub of my clit. It makes me shudder as she begins to rub me in tiny circles and my breath leaves me in gasps as she increases the pleasure, driving her fingers in and out of my cunt, churning my cream and coating her hand with it.

  I can think of nothing now, except what she is doing to me and I brace my forehead against the coolness of the wall, losing myself to the waves of complete lust that are washing through my cunt.

  Another finger joins the first two and I can hardly believe she has got that many in! I feel totally full now, my cunt stretched to capacity, yet still Teresa finds the room to fuck me, her fingers so covered in my lube that they are sliding in and out with no problem as she thrusts them in and out.

  It is almost more than I can stand and feeling myself starting to come I urge her to rub my clit and fuck me even harder.

  She does both, working hard now, her breath hot in my ear as she drives my body to the brink and tells me to come and cover her hands with my juices.

  It shouldn’t be a problem. I am so fucking close now I couldn’t stop if the devil had me and locking my knees, fearful they will give way just as I rattle over the edge, I brace myself against the way and wait for the inevitable.

  Teresa pounds me. Or at least, that’s what it feels like. Her fingers are driving themselves in and out of me with such force I am swaying back and forth with every stroke and my clit feels huge and swollen and I am so fucking wet I imagine I must be dripping on the floor.

  I am close, so very close.

  She stops. Suddenly. There is no warning, no explanation and I heave in a breath, devastated that she should cease fucking me right at the point of my orgasm. Turning my head, I stare at her, my mouth asking only why? Why?

  She smiles. A weird kind of smile and I fear the worst. Truly believing that this is Teresa enacting some weird kind of revenge for me cutting her sweater and that far from bringing me off she will now withdraw her fingers and leave me wanting and frustrated.

  “Ready?” She whispers.

  “Ready for..”

  That’s all I manage, before she drives her fingers deep into me and fucks me with everything she has.

  It is almost as much of a surprise as when she stopped and gasping, I feel myself gush liquid as she pounds into my cunt and the tip of her finger winds itself into my clit until I come so hard I can barely breathe.

  My orgasm is tremendous and I come so hard tears spring to my eyes, yet that is not the end because just when I think I am done and can’t come any more, Teresa’s fingers find a bit more pleasure and I tip over the edge all over again, trembling and throbbing and feeling the lust smothering my pussy and her fingers.

  Eventually though I really have had enough and I beg her to stop. My cunt feels numb now and my clit so sensitive that having it touched is almost painful and I am grateful when she finally pulls away and I can sink, in a spent, liquid heap to the floor.

  I feel rather that see Teresa join me and we sit with our backs against the wall, both of us breathing heavily. Her fingers are crinkled from my juices and she lets them air dry, examining the creamy white powder that has gathered in the creases of her knuckles and around her nails.

  “So,” she says once conversation is possible again, “how was that for you? Was it what you imagined or did I go too far?”

  “The slap was painful.” I tell her.

  She laughs. “So was yours. You have a hell of a right hook there girl.”

  “And that dress really did cost me a fortune, but aside from that I think you played your part really well.”

  She smiles, a lovely smile this time and reaches across to kiss me on the cheek. “I’m sorry. About the dress I mean. I didn’t realise. You told me you would wear something old, something that wouldn’t matter.”

  “True, but I didn’t think it was going to be tonight did I?”

  “No you didn’t. I really am sorry love. I’ll buy you a replacement and shoes to go with it.”

  “And a handbag.”

  She shoves my side. “Don’t push it girl. It wasn’t that expensive! I liked the steak knife by the way, that was a lovely touch.”

  I laugh. “Now you’re just being sarcastic.”

  She laughs back. “You think? You don’t know how long I’ve dreamt of having a blade shoved into my chest.”

  “I was being spon
taneous.”

  “Or just plain dangerous. I don’t think I want to do it again though.”

  “Which?” I ask. “The steak knife or the role play? I thought you liked it? You seemed to the other night.”

  “Oh, I do, just not that one. It was hard being mean to you, especially as you’ve gone to all this trouble. I feel guilty now.”

  “Yeah, well I’m not sure I would have picked this evening.”

  “I know, but I didn’t know you were planning all this, it’s lovely by the way, and you did say you wanted me to surprise you.”

  I nod. “True, serves me right for not warning you I suppose, but I wanted it to be a surprise. Dinners probably ruined.”

  “I know and I’m sorry. Tell you what, I’ll take you out, my treat. We could go to that new restaurant that just does puddings and pig out on ice cream!”

  “Sounds nice, but I think I have a much better idea.”

  “Oh? What’s that then?”

  Moving away from the wall, I lie on my back on the carpet and invite Teresa to straddle me again. She does as I ask and as I look up at her lovely face and her gorgeous tits I feel love and desire bubble up inside me until I could burst with it. This woman really is the love of my life and I feel so grateful that we can do the things we do.

  Placing my hands on her waist, I pull her to me, smiling as I feel the warmth from her pussy travel up the length of my body until she is level with my chin. I kiss her fluff and raising her to her knees I shuffle her forwards until her pussy is directly over my mouth.

  Then, as I breathe in the warm scent of her musk, I pull her cunt towards me and drive my tongue deep into the liquid heart of her.

  Nothing to Wear

  Lindsey Cole lay down the invitation on the kitchen table and ran weary hands down the side of her face.

  Just what she needed, she sighed, staring at the pristine square of white paper with perfect silver writing on it. Another wedding invite. It wasn’t as if this one was the first of the year because so far, she’d had three and it was only May! When was it going to stop?

  Not that she didn’t like weddings, everyone liked a good excuse for a party, nor did she feel anything less than total delight for the those of her friends who had decided to tie the knot and spend the rest of their lives in wedded bliss, it was just..

  Having to find something to wear.

  She hated shopping for ‘posh frocks’ as her mother liked to call them, because her mother clearly didn’t share her point of view. She thought it was the best thing ever, and Lindsey just know that the moment she told her she’d been invited to Paul and Sally’s nuptials, her mother would declare the need to ‘find something suitable’ and start dragging her through the high street, waving her shopping bag and telling all and sundry to ‘get out of the way, they had a wedding to buy for!’ It was going to be hell.

  But not if she didn’t tell her.

  Now there was a thought and Lindsey smiled to herself, pleased she had found the solution so quickly. By simply saying nothing, she could spare herself the horror of trying on pink things with hideous frills and the usual pointed looks at her own, very empty, engagement finger and go by herself, completely ruling out all possibility of her mother asking when it was going to be her turn.

  Like she was ever going to get married! Well, she might, but certainly not to a man. Her mother knew she was gay, had even accepted it in her own, slightly confused, way, yet it never stopped her from asking if Lindsey had met anyone ‘special’, meaning a man, and hinting that she, too, might like to be the mother shopping for that ‘once in a lifetime’ hat.

  Well, she still might, one day, but she definitely wouldn’t be wearing it standing behind the conventional bride and groom.

  Maybe it would have been easier if she hadn’t dated men in the past but she had always believed everyone should try everything at least once so she’d given it a go. But she’d found spending time with men boring, finding most of them totally absorbed with some kind of ball related sport or other and after that focusing on the one thing she definitely had no interest in.

  Whereas women, they were much more her style. Soft, warm and with something to say other than how their team was ‘robbed,’ she much preferred their company.

  Karen had been her first, Karen from Stockport. They had met in a disco - that dated her - and after a few rum and cokes and a clumsy attempt to emulate the great Travolta, had stumbled on from there, both of them embarking on their first, shaky female relationship and in truth, neither of them really having a clue what they were doing. They had even denied how they felt at first, pretending to themselves and to each other that they were just friends, capable of sharing a laugh and a drink without any strings attached at all, until they had accidentally brushed hands or caught the scent of each other’s perfume and inside, melted.

  It had, Lindsey reflected, been pathetically naïve but eventually they had moved on and over a bottle of wine finally admitted their true feelings and a mutual desire to fall into bed.

  But even that hadn’t gone according to plan and convinced they would be fucked and flushed and out of bed again before the Sunday roast lamb had done roasting in the oven, had failed to take into consideration their still dominant shyness, wasting most of the time they should have been screwing, actually getting each other’s clothes off.

  Needless to say, dinner had been ruined, the meat like cardboard, the vegetables roasting alongside nothing more than charcoal lumps of indistinguishable origin. But the sex had been great and the Chinese take away they ended up with, perfect.

  Six months later though the fire of passion burned out and they had gone their separate ways, Karen ending up in America to live with some high flying business woman on a ranch in Kansas. They still exchanged Christmas cards, even if Karen was sending her something akin to the Sermon on the Mount now she had rediscovered religion, but at least she hadn’t totally forgotten her. She wondered if she were happy?

  Kettle boiled, Lindsey made herself a cup of tea and picked up the invitation again. It was scented with something light and floral. It required a RSVP. It required a new outfit.

  She sighed. It wasn’t as if she didn’t have the time to go shopping, busy as she was, the weekends were still hers to do with as she liked. It was just all the faff involved. For some reason, sales assistants went a little mental when you told them you were shopping for a wedding outfit and instead of showing her dresses she could happily wear in public, they usually guided her towards abominable creations that shouldn’t be seen in the dark. She didn’t think she could face it.

  She needed to get out of it.

  She needed to think!

  Her face broke into a smile. God, it was so simple when she thought about it! Internet shopping!

  Firing up her laptop, Lindsey went straight to the site of her favourite clothes shops and started to trawl though the options, finding to her dismay, that a lot of them were totally unsuitable. Ok, so it was going to be a June wedding and God willing, a nice, warm day, but some of these dresses hardly existed! And what did exist in sufficient quantity to cover all her essential bits were put together in such garish colours she would resemble a test for colour blindness. She was going to look a sight!

  Disappointed, Lindsey clicked on another retail site and despondently scrolled through the designs, but it wasn’t much better. Too much, too little, too God awful for words. She was getting nowhere.

  Sighing again and taking a swig of her tea, Lindsey took her eyes off a particularly awful dress in lime green and allowed them instead to float around the screen before settling on a pop up on the right hand side. ‘Having trouble finding your ideal outfit?’ It read, ‘then let us help you. Join our personal shopper service and have the risk taken out of retail.’

  Salvation! Reading it all through a second time, Lindsey filled in the appli
cation form and pressed ‘send’. In minutes, an e-mail came back. She was in! A fully paid up member of Hilliers personal shopping experience.

  She wondered then if she hadn’t been a bit rash? She’d only been in Hilliers twice in her life and from what she could remember it was a huge department store from the Liberties era of golden shopping. Built from a light brown brick, its façade was Grade 2 protected and the inside still held the original sweeping staircases with dodgy looking cherubs mounted on plinths. There was even a bloke to open the door for you and another actually in the lift so you didn’t even have to push the button yourself. It was very posh and very old. The kind of shop you dressed up for just to go in.

  With old in mind, she hurriedly clicked on Hillier’s fashion pages and flipped through until she reached the dress section, fearfully that she would see nothing but dresses her mother would think were ‘absolutely divine’, but which she herself, would probably think were fit for nothing more than cutting up and ritualistically burning.

  Fortunately, she was wrong. The dresses seemed okay and although some of them were a little old fashioned, most of them looked fairly normal and certainly good enough for a June wedding.

  Thank God.

  Lindsey booked her personal shopping ‘experience’ for a Thursday afternoon. She usually left work early on a Thursday and did her food shopping, but this was more important, in as much as she wanted to get there, buy the dress, hang it in her wardrobe and not think about it again until the big day, and so she substituted her weekly trip round the supermarket for something a little more glam.

  Although the idea of looking at dresses didn’t exactly fill her with excitement and she put that down to growing up with three brothers and a house full of action men and toy cars and cries of ‘aim for his bloody head’ every time her brothers decided to play ‘war.’ Not exactly the type of environment conducive to worrying about what dress to wear. Especially when she was usually required to go in goal or climb a tree or pretend to be the enemy lying dead in a ditch so her brothers could all crow over her bloody demise.