“Touch yourself.” I lifted myself into a kneeling position and peeled off Sara’s underwear. I was a little surprised to see she was completely shaved. It was a look I always thought I would find creepy, infantilizing, but I suddenly realized shaving could also be a gift—easy access to a wet, aromatic pussy. Sara began to rub her first two fingers over her clit, careful to poise her sharp red nails upward. I slapped at her hand.
She looked confused. “I thought you told me to…”
“I’ve also changed my mind about something,” I said as I pinned both her hands above her head. Before she could ask about what, I slid down and started eating her. This wasn’t an act I had thought I was going to do, but suddenly I just had to. I didn’t want her to come though, so I did her in a lazy way, just inhaling her—I love the way girls smell—and letting my tongue meander along her lips, into her opening, back and forth across the hard bud of her clit. Sometimes I paused for a moment to clutch Sara’s hips and push my mouth and chin into her cunt and dig my now aching clit into the bed. My efforts seemed to be appreciated by Sara—her juice kept trickling down, and she was making these sounds, like uh, uh, uh.
A higher-pitched moan broke through Sara’s noises. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw that Kirsti had both of her hands in her boxer shorts and was frantically jerking off. I lifted my mouth from Sara’s pussy (although I kept a finger in her) and glanced over at Kirsti, who stopped moving her hands (although she didn’t take them out of her underwear). I was about to admonish her when Kirsti said, “Ramona, I’m sorry, but I’m so excited, I have to come, okay?”
“Fine,” I said. “We’ll watch you.” I slid my finger out of Sara.
“No, just keep doing what you’re doing,” Kirsti moaned. “Just ignore me.”
Sara lifted herself up on her elbows. “I think you should do what Ramona says.”
“I’m embarrassed,” Kirsti muttered. But, after closing her eyes so she wouldn’t have to see us staring, she continued masturbating until she orgasmed a minute or so later. She lay back on the futon for a moment, breathing heavily, then opened her eyes. She looked a little sheepish.
I moved away from Sara and Kirsti and slowly removed my own clothes. When I finished, Kirsti approached me on her knees, then ran a finger down the line of my cleavage, over my belly to my clit. “I see you’re just as turned on as I am,” she said, stroking me.
Kirsti was angling for control, but I wasn’t quite ready to hand it over. (That would happen the minute she went down on me.) I did find myself panting a little as Kirsti knowingly, expertly fingered me. “I want you to fuck Sara.”
“All right,” Kirsti said, withdrawing her hand from my body.
“But you need to ask me first,” Sara said, although she was already lying on her back again.
“I thought you liked surprises,” Kirsti teased.
“Believe me, this has all been a surprise.” Sara giggled. “Would you believe me if I said this isn’t the sort of thing I usually do?”
“It might not be the sort of thing you do with women,” Kirsti said, crawling on top of Sara. “But,” Kirsti paused to stroke Sara’s shaved mound, “maybe it’s what you do with men.”
“It’s not,” Sara said, looking annoyed, but she angled her legs wider for Kirsti’s hand.
Kirsti began by toying with Sara’s clit, and Sara responded by reaching around and lightly running her long fingernails across Kirsti’s back. I almost found myself saying, “Kirsti likes having her hair pulled,” but then I remembered this night was about new discoveries, not just doing what already worked well. And besides, Kirsti was focused on pleasing Sara. I watched Kirsti bang her knuckles against the rim of Sara’s cunt for a few strokes before pushing her hand in and out of Sara, listened as Sara’s moans rose and fell, a continuous note that echoed and reverberated in my own cunt. My nipples were pinpoints; my pussy was soaked. I rubbed myself, trying to hold back. But when Kirsti flipped Sara over and started spanking her, I felt my cunt start to clench. I had to take my fingers away from my clit to watch the rest: Sara lying on her stomach coming, her fists punching the futon, the core of her seized by Kirsti’s hand.
There is only so much control a girl can hold on to. I barely gave them a chance to recover before asking them to please, please, make me come as well. Kirsti crawled between my legs and began flicking her tongue over my clit while Sara sucked on my nipples, her long hair draped across my belly. I felt like one of those party poppers being tugged at both ends until it explodes, and I did in a bang of bliss and wetness.
Afterward, Kirsti and Sara held hands, and for the first time since we had all met I felt a pang of jealousy. In my fantasy Kirsti and I were going to show a bi-curious girl just what it is lesbians really do; in reality we might have brought a closeted lesbian back into the fold. But that’s the way it goes. When you bait a hook, you never do know exactly what you’re going to catch.
GOLDEN GATE
Jessica Swafford
Late night, Golden Gate Park, propped back against a tree feigning boredom. I’ve heard that bois cruise here hooking up like guys.
The prospect of anonymous sex with a hot butch has me wet. I’m beginning to think that it was baseless rumor when you arrive striding through the darkened park. From a distance we cruise each other like guys: face, chest, ass, bulge.
I shove my hands in my pockets, pretending to be real interested in the toes of my boots, while you swagger over. As you come close I glance up. You mesmerize me with your hard gaze. I feel the heat from your body as you step closer. I put my hand on your crotch, hoping you’re packing. I’m not disappointed. I stroke your hot cock. I shiver.
Our eyes lock as you shove me down to my knees. I fumble with metal buttons, ready to suck you off. Moist grass dampens my pants as I kneel before you. Opening my mouth, I touch the head of your cock with the tip of my tongue.
Growling “Don’t tease me, bitch!” you shove your cock all the way into my throat. I begin sucking, mouth working up and down the shaft as I shove the base back against your clit.
As you fuck my mouth you say, “I could tell that you were a nasty little cocksucker. You wanted it from the minute you saw my big bulge, didn’t you? What a sweet little mouth to be such a scuzzy nasty hole.” You watch as I suck you ’til you cum, grasping my head as you buck wildly, head thrown back, eyes shut. Moonlight on your face, which is sweaty and twisted.
As your breathing slows and you regain composure, you grab my shirt in both fists and haul me to my feet. I fly backward, shoved against a tree.
You kiss me rough, painful, grinding your exposed cock into my crotch. I’m spun around, cheek pressed against rough bark, arm pinned behind me. Your pelvis rocks against me, cock rubbing ass through denim.
Working your hand down the front of my pants, you stroke my clit and I imagine it’s a dick, blood surging to my crotch. You plunge farther downward, drive two fingers into my gushing cunt and begin massaging me inside, touching my core. I gasp and jerk, twisting my trapped arm uncomfortably.
Suddenly as they were there your fingers are gone, leaving me vacant. You deal deftly with the snaps and buckles. Cool night air brings the nerves of my bare ass to attention. I feel you move behind me, kicking my legs apart. Then you’re in, pumping against me, thrusting hard and deep in smooth fluid strokes.
My face scrapes into the bark. The pain’s so good, jolts to my clit. You’re in my ear growling, whispering how I’m a good boi and how you really enjoy fucking me. You ask me if I like it and I stammer that I do. “Tell me,” you hiss, “tell me you love it when I fuck you.” I quietly moan, “Oh, god, I love it when you fuck me.”
“Want me to stop?” you tease coldly. I shake my head no, as you begin shortening your strokes, teasing my hole, giving me just the tip. “Fuck me! Please fuck me,” I beg. “Fuck me hard.”
You bite my neck as you shove in deeper and harder. I writhe against you as I come in a series of jerks and start riding the waves. You let go of my arm
. I grasp the tree as you reach around and begin jacking my clit, while you continue to fuck me and gnaw at my shoulder.
I close my eyes and surrender, limp and powerful all at once; impaled on your dick, putty in your hands, riding your cock to ecstasy. I feel colors, warm red and orange, as I surrender completely. I’m floating, as I lose track, fading in and out.
Still gasping for breath, you slump forward, head on my shoulder, breath in my ear. And we’re faggots and dykes and neither and both.
SPIKE
Jodi Payne
They’d been little more than a fleeting glimpse in her periphery, but Samantha felt a very familiar hitch in her breathing. She was sure of what she’d seen, picturing them in her mind so clearly that the image alone pulled her up short, stopped her where she stood, and compelled her to retrace her steps.
It didn’t happen often, but when Samantha’s desire took hold of her in this manner, it was shockingly intense and its force was as undeniable as gravity. The longing could overcome all reason, preempting everything she’d planned for the hour, the afternoon, or even the remainder of the day.
Lisa laughed at her sometimes in their more intimate moments, teasing her about what she termed a “fetish,” but for all her teasing Sam’s lover had never complained. She was a willing and eager enabler.
Sam moved back to the window and stood staring, captivated by the shine of patent leather and the allure of six inches of steel. The shoe was pure sex, cunningly crafted to fit the contours of a woman’s foot. There was a glare on the glass and Sam put her hand up to shade it, leaning in for a closer look.
The stiletto pumps were standing in a pool of pink satin that was draped artfully over a tall, clear dais. They basked in the glow of a single spotlight, the black patent leather polished to perfection and reflecting the light into Sam’s eyes. She was captivated, and she traced the line of each shoe with her finger against the glass, from the tip of the pointed toe, up its length and then down the ever-narrowing steel support to the impossibly tiny tip of the spiked heel.
Samantha longed to touch them, to put her nose to the leather. She swallowed hard, feeling an aching need rise within her, welcoming the arousal and the gentle flush to her skin. Lisa would taunt her with these, oh, yes, taunt and tease until Sam begged.
The profile of the shoe reminded Samantha of the contours of a woman’s body, of Lisa’s body, with its gentle slopes and enticing curves. The black leather vamp was lined with a smooth, white fabric that seemed soft enough to cradle a delicate foot but contrasted starkly with the commanding leather. Black leather for the public side and soft white for the private, the side that would caress Lisa’s foot like a lover, holding on tight.
Samantha had to have them.
She entered the shop. She, in her torn jeans, T-shirt, and beat-up leather jacket. She, fresh off a job site with her rough and dirty electrician’s hands. Her desires being what they were, Samantha had grown accustomed to being stared at in places like these, upscale boutiques with trendy clientele.
Women could be so judgmental.
And yet Samantha moved from the door to the window where the stilettos were on display and reached for them as if reaching for the Holy Grail itself, far too entranced to care if she looked out of place.
“Can I help you?” a voice said behind her in a sharp tone. It was nasal and impatient and Samantha fought the urge to tell the woman to go away and leave her alone.
“I’d like to buy these.” Samantha listened to her own voice. It was sultry and awed, and she barely recognized it.
The woman gave her a sour look. “They’re very expensive.”
“I’m sure they are.” Sam touched one of the stilettos, running her finger up the heel to where it joined the shoe.
“What size?”
“Six and a half.”
Samantha ignored the woman as she glanced at Sam’s feet. Sam was tall, five foot ten with a solid build, and her feet were a size nine at minimum. The last pair of running shoes she’d bought were tens.
“Six and half?”
“Go get them,” Samantha ordered. “Wrap them in something feminine and pretty.” Sam didn’t even look back over her shoulder; she just fondled the shoe in her hands and did her best not to drool. She didn’t give a damn what the woman thought of her; she only had thoughts of Lisa, of Lisa’s delicate feet in these killer heels.
The saleswoman returned with a box wrapped in pink and white polka-dot paper. That was perfect for her femme, and Sam nodded her approval. She handed over her credit card and ignored the whispers and stares from the other women around her. There was no way they were going to get laid as well as she would tonight.
The wrapped box went into a shopping bag and Sam left the store quickly, hurrying for home. It was coming up on five-thirty, and Lisa ought to be just getting back from work. She was probably sitting on their couch right now, sipping a glass of wine and flipping channels on the TV.
Sam rounded the corner and approached their building, her pulse racing. A casual observer would assume she was winded from her walk, but that was not so. One flight of stairs, then two and she was at her door, fumbling for her keys. She dropped them on the ground.
“Shit.”
As she crouched to pick them up, the door opened. “Hey, sweetie,” Lisa said, smiling down at her.
Sam shifted from crouching to kneeling and smiled back. “I have a present,” she told Lisa solemnly. It used to mean just a present, but at some point in their five-year relationship it had become code.
Lisa slipped into Sam’s game easily, her body taking on a bored posture as she leaned on the doorjamb. Her expression turned coy. “A present? For me?”
“Yes. For you.” Samantha offered up the shopping bag.
Lisa turned abruptly and headed into the apartment. “Bring it,” she ordered, and Samantha bit her lip and moaned. God, how she loved this.
In the living room Lisa sat on the couch and picked up her wine. She was still wearing a gray business suit from work and Sam watched her hike up her skirt a little more than would have been appropriate for general business encounters, showing off the decorative band of her thigh-high stockings. Sam grinned and knelt again at Lisa’s feet, pulling the wrapped shoebox out of the shopping bag.
“Oh, such pretty paper,” Lisa said, praising Sam. Lisa looked down on her. “Open it for me.”
Samantha nodded, setting the box on the floor in front of her and slowly pulling the ribbon loose.
“You’re taking too long,” Lisa chided sweetly and sipped her wine.
Sam let the ribbon fall into the shopping bag. “I’m sorry,” she said, but she didn’t move any more quickly despite the apology. Gingerly, Sam lifted the top off the box and set it aside. The shoes themselves were partially hidden from view by bright pink tissue paper, like a lover half-hidden by satin sheets. Sam bit her lip and whimpered softly as she peeled the delicate paper away.
“Show me,” Lisa ordered. Her voice wasn’t so much that of a mistress but of a dominant lover, encouraging and somewhat strained by her own arousal.
Sam nodded and lifted one shoe from its box, holding it reverently by the instep and careful not to get fingerprints on the fine, shiny leather. Her eyes were glued to it, and she took in a deep breath.
“Oh, Samantha,” Lisa said, reaching forward to run a finger up the fine, silvery, stiletto heel. “Oh, my.”
“I couldn’t resist them,” Samantha confessed, agreeing with Lisa’s sentiment. She ran her nose along the insole, inhaling the scent of shoe polish and leather. “I imagined them on you and I felt fire, Lisa. Fire.”
Lisa crossed her legs, dangling one stocking-covered foot inches from Sam’s nose. “Put it on me.”
“Yes,” Sam said breathlessly, slipping the shoe onto Lisa’s waiting foot. She tucked Lisa’s toes in first and then seated the heel, licking her lips as she let it go. She shifted where she knelt, her cunt slick and warm and wanting.
Lisa didn’t let her fanta
size for long, offering her other foot, and Sam quickly slipped the second shoe into place. Lisa rolled her ankles, admiring how the shoes clung to her feet.
“Do you like them?”
Sam nodded again. “Fuck, yes. May I…?” Her fingers reached out.
“No.” Lisa moved her foot away.
Samantha gasped. “Lisa!”
“Were they expensive?” Lisa asked coyly.
Sam nodded.
“Were they worth it?”
“Yes, yes,” Samantha whimpered. “Please. May I touch them?”
Lisa nodded, running her fingers up the stem of her wineglass before taking another sip. “You may touch.” She lifted her foot, resting the heel of the shoe on Sam’s shoulder. The heel dug in, hitting bone, and Sam imagined the bruise coming up. She turned her head and sniffed as far up the shoe as she could manage, then ran her fingers up Lisa’s calf, under the hem of her skirt to her thigh until she encountered the warm skin above Lisa’s thigh-highs. Lisa gasped lightly and Sam swallowed hard.
“What do you want, Sam?” Lisa asked in a whisper of offering.
Sam gave the front of Lisa’s panties a snap.
“Ah,” Lisa laughed softly. “And what’s your hurry?”
Sam could only whimper in answer.
“Very well. Take off your shirt and jeans,” Lisa told her. Sam tugged her shirt off over her head without a moment’s hesitation, but her jeans took a bit more effort to remove without standing. She liked where she was on her knees; she liked that Lisa liked it. So she shoved her jeans down and rocked back on her heels to push them down to her ankles. She unlaced her Timberlands, then rocked forward again to tug the boots off so the denim could slide easily over her feet.
She felt vulnerable in nothing but her bra and boxers, and Lisa smiled down at her. “Bedroom,” Lisa purred.
Sam sat back to watch as Lisa stood up in the stilettos, unzipping her skirt as she walked slowly toward their bedroom door, letting the shoes put that sway into her hips that Sam loved to watch. The extravagantly high heel made Lisa’s calves tight and made her ass flex as she walked, and Lisa took careful measured steps partly to show off the shoes, but partly, Sam suspected, to make sure she kept her balance.
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