by Jean Roberta
He hesitated.
“Well, it’s a bit, er, racy.”
Susie laughed loudly.
“And I’m a virgin? Come on, let’s have a look.”
She walked around, reading as she went, putting books back on shelves and straightening magazines in the racks. Gradually she slowed until she was standing still, just reading, then looked across at him and grinned.
“Well, well,” she murmured, “ain’t you a surprise?”
She handed back the folder and looked quizzically at Alan.
“Fancy a drink tonight, mister author?” she asked and without waiting for a reply took him by the hand and led him outside, switching off the lights and locking the door behind her.
“Where are we going?” Alan asked as Susie pulled him across the car park in the opposite direction to the bar, stopping when they arrived at an old, dilapidated Chevy.
“Tell me, Alan,” she said as she unlocked the car. “Are you any good at undoing buttons and unhooking bras, or do you just write about it?”
He gaped at her
“Front seat or back, honey?” she whispered seductively and laughed out loud at the bewildered look on his face.
“Come on, Alan, get in the front. We’re going over to my place for a drink. You can find out if all those things you’ve written about really happen or not!”
Twenty minutes later he was sitting in her apartment, a glass of wine in his hand, listening to jazz on the stereo. Susie had vanished into the bedroom after pouring drinks. She had insisted on taking the folder with her.
When she emerged she was wearing a long silk robe. She’d let her dark hair down around her shoulders and looked very different to the librarian he was used to. She poured them a second glass of wine and dropped the folder in his lap.
“You know,” she murmured, “I imagined you were writing boring stuff about fishing, or how to play bridge, or house painting. And all this time it was this sexy stuff.”
She sat down beside him and he smelled her perfume as she clinked her glass against his.
“And guess what, honey?” she whispered. “It really turns me on.”
She moved closer, took the wine glasses away and put her lips against his ear.
“I’ve made it easy for you,” she murmured. “No buttons, no hooks. Just a belt to undo.”
Her tongue tickled his ear and he shivered.
His hands seemed to move themselves and as the robe fell away he cupped her full breasts, fondling and sucking her nipples until she groaned with pleasure and fell back into the cushions, pulling him down with her.
“Have you got a long, hard cock like the kid in your story, Alan?” she whispered as she took his hand down between her legs and guided his fingers inside her panties.
He began to explore the hot wetness between her thighs and he felt her cool fingers freeing his cock from the confines of his pants. Their mouths came together, tongues duelling and her body writhed as his fingertips flickered over her swollen clitoris. Her hand squeezed his cock and began to move up and down, faster and faster…
Part Three
The Author.
…“ faster and faster …”
I stopped reading, removed my spectacles and dropped the manuscript, no longer able to ignore what was happening.
“Godammit, woman,” I growled in mock anger. “You’re supposed to be listening to the stories and offering critique, not playing with my cock.”
Joanne chuckled, her hand working skilfully beneath the sheet.
“Listen, mister author.” she said. “This stuff is supposed to turn people on, yeah?”
“Yep.”
“Well believe me it does. I’ve been playing with myself since the red-headed girl got young Steve’s dick out. Feel.”
She took my hand and guided it down. She was soaking wet and she groaned as my fingers touched her.
“So what do you think of the stories?”
“Fuck the stories! I want the real thing, not the stories.”
I began to stroke her very slowly.
“But I do hope you let Alan fuck the librarian.”
I took my hand away and picked up the manuscript again, pretending to study it closely.
She gave a yelp of frustration.
“Don’t stop!”
“But baby, you’ve just made such a good point. Do you think Alan should fuck the librarian?”
“Yes! No! I don’t care! I want you to fuck me!”
I dropped the papers on the floor and ran my fingers over her stomach and down between her legs. She wriggled and groaned as my fingers teased the soft flesh.
“I think Alan should suck the librarian’s nipples.”
She made little mewing sounds in her throat as I lowered my lips to her breasts, while my fingertips flickered over her clitoris.
After a couple of minutes I raised my head again, fingers still working.
“Do you think Alan can make her come if he just plays with her clit?”
“Christ yes!” Her face was screwed up as she strained to reach her orgasm. “Don’t let him stop!”
I increased the pace and she came, arching her body in the bed and moaning with pleasure.
Gradually her breathing slowed and she kissed me, licking my face as her hand worked its way back to my still rigid cock.
I put my arm around her, squeezing her breasts hard against my chest.
“I think she’d reward Alan by sucking his cock, don’t you?”
She chuckled.
“She might.”
“Shall I write that in?”
“Okay!”
She pulled the sheet away and slithered down the bed. I lay back and closed my eyes as her tongue travelled up and down my cock and then groaned with pleasure as she took it in her mouth and began to suck. I was beginning to lose myself in the sensation when she stopped and as I opened my mouth to protest her lips clamped on mine. She forced her tongue into my mouth and kissed me hard, then rolled on to her back and pulled me on top of her.
“I’m still so horny, sweetheart,” she whispered. “Fuck me, please!”
Her long fingernails ran up and down my back, making me shiver with pleasure as I slid my cock into the hot, velvety flesh. Her muscles gripped me, her legs wrapped around my waist and I thrust hard into her as she pulled my face down to her breasts.
“Suck my tits, baby, please!” She was bucking so wildly it was hard to stay with her and the bedsprings screeched in protest.
Her nails tore my skin. “Harder, harder!”
I slammed into her, sucked her nipples then ground my lips on hers and sucked her tongue into my mouth.
Her nails clawed my back as she came, her muscles gripping my cock and she urged me on, her body arching up to meet my thrusts as she came again and then again. I could no longer hold back and spurted frantically inside her as she came yet again and we collapsed together on the sweat-soaked sheets.
After what seemed a very long time I looked down into her dark brown eyes.
“Christ,” I gasped, “that’s one of the best fucks I’ve ever had! What brought that on?”
She grinned wickedly. “I thought you might write me out of the plot,” she said. “I wanted us both to come at least once more before that happened.”
She bounced out of bed and went across to the bathroom door, then looked back.
“But as I’m still here, as a critic, I think Alan would enjoy licking the good old librarian’s pussy until she comes, don’t you? Why don’t you write that in?”
“Okay.”
The bathroom door closed behind her.
“And I think the librarian would enjoy being tied to the bed with velvet cord and tickled until she begged for mercy,” I murmured to myself. “I might write that in …”
Beautiful Sin
by Penelope Friday
It was the ultimate sin.
‘The wrong path of love’. ‘A wicked perversion’. Catherine knew it had been called both of those thi
ngs; knew, too, that in a country where King George himself was in a mental institution, it would be easy enough for two ordinary girls to be sent to a hospital for the insane because of their forbidden love affair. And yet – and yet – it was acceptable, even expected, for letters between friends to hold passionate declarations of faithfulness and adoration. Catherine had seen lines from an epistle of her sister Maria to her latest ‘best friend’: effusive and overblown, they had read, “Every hour seems a day without you, dearest Isobel. I miss my beloved friend with all my heart.” Catherine could write no such flowing lines. Her letters were plain yet heartfelt; the most expansive comment her final adieu to Elizabeth – “I miss you greatly.” Elizabeth knew all the emotion that was contained in that simple sentence.
But Maria had positively scolded Catherine for her cold reception of Elizabeth that morning. The two girls’ eyes had met, they had exchanged smiles. For a couple of precious seconds they had clasped each other’s hands.
“Catherine!” Lizzie had exclaimed, the word a caress.
Catherine had felt her throat contract with love as she heard the beloved voice again.
“It is good to have you here,” was all that she could trust herself to say.
How Maria had been indignant! She had taken over the welcome herself, feeling that Catherine had not done justice to the situation.
“Elizabeth, how lovely it is to see you again. How was the journey? Was your carriage comfortable? We are so pleased you were able to visit!”
Later, when Elizabeth was upstairs, unpacking her band boxes, Maria had turned upon Catherine.
“Honestly, Catherine! You have been parted from your oldest friend for more than a month, and yet all you can say is that it is good to have her to stay? How cold you are! I should be ashamed to have nothing warmer to say to the least of my friends!”
Catherine had bowed her head and agreed that she was indeed a sad case; but if Maria had seen her that night, she would not have called her cold – although she would, no doubt, have been scandalised further…
The household was all in bed as Catherine slipped down the corridor to Elizabeth’s room and knocked softly on her door. Elizabeth had let her in, and with the door closed and locked behind them, Elizabeth had opened her arms and Catherine had nestled into them, tears in her eyes.
“Lizzie. My darling.”
The kisses were clumsy and fumbling at first: too urgent to be gentle or well placed. Catherine kissed Elizabeth’s mouth; her cheek; her neck; her ear. Anywhere that she could place her lips she did.
“Kate, oh Kate!” And Lizzie – the only person in the world to call Catherine by that name – was half-laughing at her lover’s urgency as she touched Catherine’s hair and face as if ascertaining that she was indeed real. “Tears, darling? I thought Catherine never cried.”
“Catherine doesn’t,” Catherine responded, her head resting on Elizabeth’s shoulder. “Kate does. Oh, Lizzie, it’s been so long.”
“I know.”
And the two girls looked at each other with tragic eyes, for they knew these partings were likely to get longer as they aged. At twenty, their families were already beginning to show anxiety that neither had married.
“Forget I said it,” urged Catherine, kissing Elizabeth again. “We have tonight. Don’t let’s look any further ahead. Tonight…” She drew a deep trembling breath… “Tonight is ours alone.”
She leaned back from Elizabeth, her hands on Lizzie’s arms, and looked fully at her beloved for the first time. She had not dared do so in public for fear her love would show too plainly. Her love and her desire.
The long dress suited Elizabeth, with the puffed sleeves that were all the rage at the moment. The figured muslin was a simple enough material, but Catherine’s breath caught once more when she saw what it hinted of Lizzie’s figure. Her heart beat faster at the thought of watching – of, perhaps, helping – her to undress. All the underclothes she despised so much on herself became layers of promise and temptation when she stripped them from Elizabeth. Lizzie wore clothes with an unconsciously sensual air: Catherine had seen men notice it appreciatively before; had seen, indeed, her brother’s admiring glances that very evening. “She’s mine,” she had wanted to hiss, a raging tiger in protection of her own. But now… now was the moment to claim her love.
“You look fierce,” murmured Elizabeth, reaching out and pulling the pins from Catherine’s hair so that the soft brown locks hung in loose waves around her face. “Do you feel fierce?”
“Only if you want me to be,” and Catherine softened immediately as she held Lizzie tight against her, Lizzie’s round, lush breasts pressing into her own. “Oh, Lizzie!
And they were kissing once more, the first desperate need quenched and leaving room for variety; a couple of quick teasing pecks followed by a long, deep embrace that left both girls trembling with the force of their mutual desire.
“Maria was shocked by your cool welcome,” Lizzie said laughingly as she led Catherine to the bed and sat beside her.
“She raged at me whilst you unpacked,” Catherine admitted. Her arm was around Lizzie as if she could not bear to stop touching her, even for a second. “I dared not say anything then, sweetheart, but, you know… don’t you?” Catherine sounded unusually anxious, fearful that the month’s absence might have brought deeper rifts than the simple agony of being parted.
Elizabeth pressed her beloved down onto the bed, one hand either side of her face as she lay on top of her.
“Silly Kate, to doubt me a second,” she chided, kissing Catherine’s forehead and then her lips. “Let me show you how I’ve missed you.”
And Lizzie’s kisses had a tenderness and warmth that spread through Catherine’s body as she responded. It was as if part of Catherine had been buried, needing Elizabeth’s touch to reawaken it; and as Catherine returned the kisses, her hands reacquainted themselves with Elizabeth’s body, roaming over her back and through the blonde curls of the girl she loved.
“Yes, Kate – yes!” Lizzie whispered, her breath hot on Catherine’s cheek.
Catherine was fumbling with the fastenings at the back of Elizabeth’s dress, fingers all thumbs as she struggled. Lizzie giggled at her impatience and pulled away, standing up and leaving Catherine lying alone on the bed.
“Shall I show you how?” she teased, quick neat fingers undoing the clasps and allowing her dress to fall to the floor at her feet.
The look in Catherine’s eyes showed her feelings; the faint pink flush on her cheeks her arousal.
“You’re beautiful, Lizzie,” she said, as she had said so many times before, pushing herself up on one elbow at the edge of the bed.
“Only to you;” and Lizzie was kneeling by her side, pressing kisses up her arm.
The petticoat and chemise still hid more than they showed; and Catherine, her senses aroused, wanted more.
“May I help?”
“I told the maid that she need not help me undress,” Elizabeth said encouragingly.
“I told mine not to wait up,” Catherine replied. “Elizabeth…”
She sat up as Lizzie discarded the petticoat on the floor. Elizabeth stood in front of her dressed only in stays, a short shift and stockings. Elizabeth bent to untie her garters, and the stockings puddled around her feet, where she kicked them off deliberately as she straightened. Catherine’s hands trembled towards the lacings on Lizzie’s corset. She worked slowly, fingers caressing each inch of Elizabeth as she exposed the thin chemise that was all that was left as a barrier between her hands and Lizzie’s skin; her eyes fixed always on Elizabeth’s face, enjoying her lover’s pleasure as much as her own. The corset fell away, and then, in one leisurely motion, the chemise was pushed over Lizzie’s head; and Catherine caught her breath at the perfection facing her, eyes searching for the beauty spot that only she knew – yes, there, beneath her lover’s breast. Then she moved her head to take a rosy-peaked nipple into her mouth. Her tongue flicked and teased across the sensitive tip
, her teeth grazing with the utmost gentleness. Elizabeth gasped, and moaned, and gasped again; one hand on the back of Catherine’s head, the other slipping over her lover’s shoulder and down inside her dress, fingertips playing on her back.
The smell of Elizabeth was so familiar, and yet so potent; Catherine felt almost dizzy at their closeness. She wanted to bury her head in Lizzie’s bosom, breathing her in with every breath. The curves, the soft, warm curves of Elizabeth’s figure. Female, like her own; and yet so very different to her own body. Lizzie was rounded where Catherine was angular; abundant where Catherine was sparse; plump and alluring, not thin and lanky as Catherine knew herself to be. And yet…
“You undress,” urged Elizabeth. “I want to see you.”
And Lizzie’s hands were unfastening Catherine’s dress with a compulsion equal to Catherine’s own: to Lizzie, Catherine’s sallow skin was the most exquisite in the world. Catherine gave a little whine of frustration as the hated layers of undergarments were exposed.
“Too many clothes,” she plainted fretfully.
And Elizabeth dragged off her petticoat, which rustled sulkily as it dropped from her body. Lizzie’s fingers were already fighting the stay laces. The time for slowness had passed; they were both too impatient, too frustrated, too needy. Skin against skin against skin; the chemise was ruthlessly tugged away and Lizzie collapsed onto the bed with Catherine, legs tangling suggestively; hands pulling in Catherine’s hair; mouth warm and wet on her neck. Catherine arched her back, pushing her small, high breasts against Elizabeth, moaning at the delicious friction.
“Kate – Kate!”
Lizzie was humming a continuous note of pleasure against Catherine’s neck, the sound sending shivers through her. Catherine ran desperate, longing hands down Elizabeth’s back, cupping her bottom and pulling her closer, always closer.
“I want all of you – all of you,” she murmured huskily, rubbing up against Lizzie in every possible place.
There was a thin sheen of sweat covering both girls, and their bodies slid against each other. Catherine dug her nails into Lizzie, marking her in places no one else would ever see; and Lizzie bucked against her as the pleasure-pain hit. Then Catherine’s hand moved round between them, slipping between Elizabeth’s thighs and shifting back and forth, feeling the dampness within and knowing without words what Lizzie liked. Her fingers teased and twisted, finding the spots that pleased Elizabeth most; and Elizabeth squirmed in pleasure, her breathing accelerating, her hands still twisted through Catherine’s hair.
