by Unknown
Contents
Copyright
Introduction
Cliché by Kay Jaybee
The Corner Chair by Laila Blake
Loving the Lady by Lucy Felthouse
Hooked by Erzabet Bishop
Blurring the Boundary by Sarah Ellen
Steps by L.C. Spoering
The Dress by Vanessa de Sade
Behind Closed Doors by Kelly Lawrence
Debbie Does Dalhousie by Giselle Renarde
Vee's Notebook by Alyssa Linn Palmer
Safer Places by Ariel Graham
Alphas by Harper Bliss
About the authors
About the editor
ANYTHING SHE WANTS
A LESBIAN EROTICA ANTHOLOGY
EDITED BY HARPER BLISS
Copyright © Ladylit 2013
Cover picture © Depositphotos / olegmit
Published by LadyLit Ltd - Hong Kong
ISBN 978-988-12280-5-5
All rights reserved. Unauthorised duplication is prohibited.
The stories contained within this book are works of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
www.ladylit.com
Introduction
Where I grew up, bookstores didn’t sell lesbian erotica anthologies. It was only in my early twenties, on a trip to Paris, that I stumbled across my first one (Wet: True Lesbian Sex Stories edited by Nicole Foster) in a tiny LGBT bookshop. I haven’t stopped collecting them since. So many years ago, however, I had no idea that one day, I’d be editing my very own anthology. But… here it is.
Anything She Wants is literally all I want. It’s filled to the brim with hot lesbian tales by some of the best erotica authors out there. It makes me so proud and I’m certain it will be the first of many I edit for Ladylit.
I hope the stories in this book will thrill you as much as they have me. They will take you from the dry heat of the desert to the lush excess taking place in a university dorm room. From the intimacy of quiet living rooms to the loud surroundings of dance clubs. One story even features a Naughty Crochet class, while another results in ‘punk rock bookends’. As diverse as they are in location and characters, all twelve pieces are equally intriguing, enticing and, above all, sizzling hot.
Enjoy!
Harper Bliss,
Hong Kong
Cliché
Kay Jaybee
Lauren breathed the words in my ear, “Tell me a story.”
I couldn’t help but smile at her expression; her brown eyes were wide, clear and eager as they looked into mine. Lying together, naked, face to face, and pleasantly sticky from an afternoon of excessive fucking, our limbs were comfortably entangled in the hotel’s black satin sheets. “What sort of story?”
“Tell me what happened when you went to visit your publisher.”
I swept a stray chestnut hair from her forehead. “The fantasy version, I assume?”
“Oh yes.”
I shuffled closer to her, my red hair sinking deeper into the goose down pillows, my breasts rubbing against her feather soft chest, enjoying the brush of her nipples against my own.
Lauren loves it when I make up stories just for her, and as she has been the inspiration for most of the erotica I have written over the years, it would be churlish of me to object.
“Right then,” I stroked my free hand along the tanned arm that lay above the sheets, “are you lying comfortably? Then I’ll begin.”
My girl chuckled, pressing her curvaceous body harder against mine as I took a moment to think before launching into my tale.
“The secretary sat in the outer office. Despite the air conditioning that murmured constantly in the background, it was warm and stuffy, and she’d already discarded her grey suit jacket to the back of her swivel chair…”
Lauren interrupted me. “Can you make her blonde please?”
“That is so cliché, honey.”
“Clichés are clichés for good reason. That’s what you writers say, isn’t it?” Lauren replied, her twinkling eyes daring me to disagree.
“Well yes, but there are clichés, and then there are downright unbelievably stereotypical plot lines!”
“But I like unbelievable cliché’d stereotypical plot lines!” Lauren’s face fell into a fake pout that made me want to giggle.
“Oh, all right then.” I dug her playfully in the ribs, and carried on.
“Her long blonde hair hung loose, partially obscuring her porcelain neck, as she looked up on my arrival.
‘I’m a little early I’m afraid. I’ve come to see Miss Philips.’
‘Of course.’ The secretary pushed her glasses further up her nose as she scanned the appointment book that lay open to one side of her computer. ‘It’s Miss Cooper, isn’t it? Miss Philips is running a bit late I’m afraid. Could I get you a coffee or anything else whilst you wait?’
I accepted her offer of refreshment, and sank down on the cream sofa that ran the complete length of the wall opposite her desk. As I sat, I watched the secretary hold a chunky white cup and saucer under the coffee machine, my mind already filling with ammunition for a new story. I could easily visualise this woman naked, maybe still in her ridiculously high silver heels. My fingers itched to record my thoughts, and once she’d passed me my drink, I reached for my ever present notebook...”
Drawing breath, I looked at my companion. Lauren’s eyes were rapt as she hung on my words. “Don’t stop. What happened next?”
“I began to write, using the office as a location. I imagined myself sat astride the secretary, naked and in charge. As I sketched the outline of my latest naughty tale, a wave of unease came over me. I felt as if I were being watched. Looking up, I saw the secretary was staring at me intently. Her glasses were now folded on her desk, and the top two buttons of her blouse had miraculously come undone...”
“Now that is cliché!” Lauren was laughing, as she stroked a hand through my hair.
“True. Shall I make it more believable for you?”
“No way, carry on. I want to know what you’re going to do with her.”
“Well, shut up and let me tell you then.” I smiled, closing my eyes for a second to remember where I’d got to.
“‘Do you mind me asking,’ the secretary spoke hesitantly, but I’m sure her air of caution was fake, ‘how do you find your inspiration? I mean, we all know what sort of books you write.’
I gave her my best flirty smile. I knew what game she was playing, and that was fine with me. She was hot. ‘I find an interesting place, a room, a shed, an office like this one perhaps… then I put people there. Sometimes one, two, three, maybe four, and then I take their clothes off—or not.’
The secretary fluffed her hair around her shoulders as she listened to me, but her eyes, which were bright blue and impossibly large thanks to expertly applied make-up, never left my face.
‘So this office could feature in a story then?’
I waved my notebook towards her. ‘Already is, or will be once I’ve written it properly. And this sofa, and possibly that desk… I haven’t completely decided yet.’
The pretence was gone then. ‘Miss Philips will be at least half an hour.’
‘Good.’ I placed my notebook onto the glass coffee table. ‘You want to help inspire me in that time?’
‘I’ve read your stuff. You can be, well, extreme.’
‘So they tell me.’ The corners of my mouth twitched, and my eyes began to take on the devilment of my stories. ‘So, do you want to play?’
The secretary stood up, and moved slowly across the room. I could already see her nipples pressing through both her thin silk blouse and the lacy bra that silhouetted fashionably through the material. I li
cked my lips as I contemplated taking each hard bud between my teeth and squeezing them, biting and grazing her delicate areoles...”
There was a groan from beside me, and the hand which had been stroking my thighs, moved between my legs, cupping my wet pussy, and diverting my concentration from the story for a second, before my lover pleaded with me to carry on.
“I patted the space on the sofa next to me. ‘Will anyone else be coming in here in the next twenty minutes or so?’
‘No, I’ve already locked us in.’
‘How very foresighted of you.’ I laughed, but not unkindly, as her pale cheeks blushed.
She sat down, our legs close, our skirts touching. I could feel the heat of her legs radiate against mine.
The erotic tension, that had filled the air from the minute I’d seen her staring at me, became thicker and more intense as I lay a tentative finger on her cheek. Her powdered skin was unbelievably soft, and as I sketched the contours of her face, I felt my body tighten with the desire to move things on; after all, time was not on our side.
That was when she kissed me. She tasted of expensive lipstick, and her mouth felt far stronger and firmer against mine than I had expected it to. Perhaps I wasn’t going to dominate this woman as I’d assumed. This was going to be more a meeting of equals...”
A warm thigh rubbed against my own, and Lauren’s voice, tense with expectation, murmured into my ear. “Give her a name.”
“Such as?”
“Carol. Call her Carol.”
“I pulled away and whispered, ‘Who are you?’ into her ear, as I slid my hands down her blouse, unpopping each tiny pearl button as I did so.
‘Carol, and you?’
‘Everyone calls me Jess.’
‘But that’s not your real name, is it?’
‘No honey, it isn’t.’ I cut the conversation short by pressing the palms of my hands hard against her breasts, making Carol sigh, as she wriggled around to face me, so she could return the favour.
Probing our tongues around each other’s mouths, we began a thorough exploration of each other, our hands simultaneously squeezing breasts, stroking thighs and discovering stockings...”
“Stockings! Fantastic.”
“I sat back against the squashy backed sofa, breathing hard. My sex had turned to liquid, and I was curious to know if I’d had a similar effect on her. I asked Carol to stand and remove her skirt. My eyes traced her figure, toned and perfect. She was obviously a slave to the gym, but her efforts were so worth it. I was about to pull her down next to me, when she stopped me.
‘Your turn. Get that skirt off. I want to see you in your underwear.’
I obliged, and stood before her in my oyster bra, knickers, matching stockings and suspender belt.
Carol didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to. I could see from her face that she liked what she saw.
We fell onto the sofa together, laying side by side, quickly resuming our attack of fingers and tongues. She tasted delicious, like sweetened peach juice. As I lapped at her clit, I was gratified to hear mewls and moans escaping from her lips. That was when I had an idea…”
Lauren’s breasts pushed harder against mine, and as I spoke her hand began to snake down towards my damp pussy, a light finger rubbing it with tender perfection. “I’m loving this story, babe.”
“I stood up, leaving Carol prostrate, breathless, and close to climax. My hands on my hips, I ordered her to put all her clothes back on apart from her knickers, and sit at her desk.
‘But?’
‘Do it.’ I snapped the words, and she obeyed instantly, her gaze following my every move as I pulled my own garments back on.
I followed a confused looking Carol over to the desk, noticing that it wouldn’t be long now until Miss Philips would be free to see me. As she sat, I crouched down, squashing beneath her desk, hidden from view by its wooden frontage.
Easing Carol’s chair as far forward as I could make it go, I hooked her skirt up, shoving its folds around her waist, before widening her legs. Then, easing her butt to the edge of the seat, I took a single finger, and rubbed it over her distended nub...”
As I spoke, a hand moved down between the sheets, and my body stiffened in sympathy with Carol’s, as my lover’s index finger increased the speed of its caresses over my clit. Swallowing hard to try and retain my concentration, and struggling to keep my voice even, I continued...
“Carol mewled quietly as she sat with me hidden beneath her.
‘Work!’ I hissed the command, and beamed with silent satisfaction as I heard her fingers strike at the computer keyboard.
Manoeuvring myself within the cramped space, I poked a finger into her wet opening and licked at her pussy, inhaling the wonderful aroma of secret sex. I could hear Carol struggle not to cry out as I worked on her body.
Suddenly the telephone rang. Carol froze.
‘Answer it,’ I ordered, slowing my licks down as I heard her speak into the mouth piece. As she talked, her tone strained while she arranged some future meeting, I sped up my attention again, posting my finger in and out of her as I kissed her cunt with renewed impetus. I took a perverse pleasure in hearing Carol fight to keep her voice level as she attempted to politely end her conversation with the unknown caller...”
My body tensed as a slim finger slid between my waiting legs, and I started to talk faster...
“As Carol slammed the phone down, her climax hit her, and I had to grasp the secretary’s legs firmly as she squirmed and sighed on the leather chair, until, at last, she was still.
I rolled the chair back, and unfolded myself from the small gap, stretching my muscles after their brief confinement.
I said nothing as I observed Carol’s dishevelled state, but walked over to my abandoned coffee, drinking it quickly to disguise the smell of sex that hung around my mouth.
The intercom buzzed, and a rather over-cultured accent announced, ‘Carol, I can see Miss Cooper now.’
Carol looked at me, her eyes blazing eager heat. ‘Will I be appearing in your next book then?’
‘Most certainly.’
‘But I didn’t have the chance to make you come.’
I grinned at her, a pleasant tingle of anticipation running down my spine. ‘Oh, don’t worry about that. I’ll make sure Miss Philips gives me the servicing I need.’”
As I ended the story, Lauren held me tighter, pumping her hand against me like a woman possessed, an action I quickly copied. Almost instantly, I was rewarded with the sound of a groaning gasp, as I felt her wet pussy suckle my fingers.
“Good story?” I breathed the words into my girl’s ear, enjoying the weight of her as she rolled on top of me to deepen the penetration of her finger fuck.
“Oh honey, you could say that it was…” But Lauren never did finish her sentence because, if you’ll excuse the cliché, we became preoccupied with all the other, more interesting things we could do to each other.
The Corner Chair
Laila Blake
There was nothing extraordinary about the chair. It was simple, narrow and unpadded, light wood with a stark and rectangular back. It stood in a corner of a spacious loft—the lonely corner, as it were: with no bookshelves, cabinets, plants or curtains, pictures on the wall or a rug on the floor. Two naked walls—one exposed brick, one white wall-paper—met at a right angle and a simple, unadorned chair had been pushed into the space between them, its back towards the corner but not quite touching either of the walls.
To call it unadorned, of course, was not currently correct, although most of the time it was just that. Looking over into that corner at this point in time, even the most distracted observer couldn’t help but notice the living, breathing ornament kneeling on the chair.
Her knees pressed tightly together to fit onto the narrow surface and her loosely tied hands resting on the back, a woman perched on the chair. She was naked except for a simple leather collar, almost hidden by her long tumbling hair, and a small anklet glitteri
ng in the light that cast through the open window: a string of silver with a tiny amulet in the shape of the letter C, my initial.
Claire, nice to meet you. Don’t worry, you can shake my hand—she might get messy sometimes, but I haven’t touched her yet.
In fact, I was hardly paying attention to her at all. That was the point. She was a flighty little kitten of a woman, impatient, needy, all too desiring of attention even at the most inopportune of times. This was not punishment, no. She didn’t do anything wrong, she just needed to learn. And some lessons are harder to bring home than others. This too, is not entirely true as I am sure you guessed: it is exactly that cuddly quality, the need to be touched and admired at all times that I found quite so irresistible about her and I had no intentions of breaking it out of her. That’s not the kind of woman I am. But I enjoyed preying on her weaknesses; I still do—and so does she. Just ignore the pout, it’s always a lie, another ploy for attention from my needy little kitten.
While I was doing the dishes, read The Times on my iPad, had some breakfast and coffee and responded to a few emails that stacked up during the week, my kitten spent her slow Saturday morning on that corner chair. Silent. From time to time she uttered tiny noises of discomfort, of course, but that was to be expected. She did not once break my orders: she knew punishment would start and escalate from there. Although I should mention, that it was rarely fear of punishment and far more likely the hope of reward and the joy in making me happy that kept her motionless and quiet.
She is not a cringing, cowardly creature. She does not fear anything, I think, but she adores praise like nothing else, even just a satisfied glance can make her chest swell with pride. Which is, of course, why she was kneeling there for near three hours—her hair matted with sweat, face red and tense, the muscles of her thighs shaking with exhaustion: because she adores being given the opportunity to earn my praise.