Sometimes it isn’t so bad to be wrong.
MAID FOR YOU
Deborah Castellano
After yet another long day at the office, I didn’t get home until eight o’clock. I dropped my keys and mail on the table, kicked off my shoes and padded upstairs to get changed for an exciting night of lying on the couch in my Juicy sweats while seeing how much Chubby Hubby I could eat while watching TiVo-ed reality television until I passed out. I was only halfway up the stairs when I heard my doorbell. I wasn’t expecting anyone.
“Ding-dong! Avon calling!” I heard my friend Alexa call cheerfully. I went back downstairs and opened the door.
“Alexa, I was just gonna…” I trailed off before I got to describing my exciting evening plans once I saw the woman, eyes downcast, standing behind her. I vaguely recognized her from somewhere, but I couldn’t remember exactly where.
“What’s all this?”
“Darling, you remember Leah from the Chateau, don’t you?”
“Oh. Oh! Yes, she was the one you did an amazing Shibari suspension… Hold it!” I eyed Alexa suspiciously. “Hey, Leah? Could you, um, give us a minute? Why don’t you go to the kitchen and get yourself a glass of wine or water or something?” Nodding silently, the woman moved to the kitchen, quieter than a cat. I waited until I heard the water running. “What is she doing?” I hissed.
“Your dishes, I would imagine,” Alexa replied calmly.
“No! Make her stop!”
“You make her stop,” she said, with a wide grin.
“Alexa…”
“Julie, you’re overworked, your cuticles look like shit and the bags under your eyes are too big for carry-on. All work and no play makes Julie a dull girl. So I brought you a gift.”
“A person is not a gift.”
She waved her hand. “Whatever. Look, just because you’ve never done anything super formal doesn’t mean you can’t.” She lowered her voice. “She likes you, Jules, but she’s been too shy to say anything. And she loves this kind of stuff. Right now you’re her favorite kind of hot mess. You’re the kind her little hands itch to help. Let her! Even if she just cleans up your house, she’ll be happy as a clam. And you haven’t even seen her cute little uniform! Besides, I know she’s your type. So just think of this as…a first-date delivery service. It’s better for you than pizza.” Before I could even open my mouth, Alexa kissed me on the cheek, grabbed her keys and purse and dashed toward the door. “Leah, Julie’s super excited and grateful that you came here!” she called to the woman in the kitchen. “Go put on your uniform! Ciao, bellas!”
Dumbfounded, I stood in my hall long enough for Leah to put on her uniform and come find me. I opened my mouth to say something, anything. I couldn’t find the words because my brain was short-circuited by the sight of her. Her black uniform was modestly cut in the front, showing no cleavage at all. She was demurely covered by the black fabric of her dress, over which she wore a ruffled, crisp white linen apron and a small white bow tie. But what a short dress! My goddess, her black stockings, held up by black garters were visible, showing off her delightfully plump thighs. If she bent over in the slightest for anything…
“I don’t know what you like to be called,” she said shyly.
I swallowed hard and tried to find my tongue. “You can call me Miss,” I said, putting on my professional voice.
“Yes, Miss. Would you like me to draw you a bath?”
“I’ve never had anyone do that for me; I would like that.”
“All right, I’ll get it ready for you. Why don’t you relax in the living room? I’ll pour you a glass of wine and fetch you when it’s ready.”
Obediently, I sat on my couch and nervously sipped my wine, trying to flip through a magazine. This certainly wasn’t the evening I was expecting! But how could I complain, with a dish-free sink and a bath being drawn for me? My heart was racing. Secretly, I’d always wanted to have a service submissive to play with, though I could never find the words to express it. And I had a bit of a crush on Leah as well. Somehow, tricky Alexa knew.
Leah appeared in the doorway, her hands clasped behind her back. “Miss, your bath is ready.”
“Thank you, Leah.”
“Would you like another glass of wine?”
“Yes, please.”
She smiled, not looking up from the floor. “Your voice goes up when you use your Mistress voice. It’s really cute.”
“I never realized,” I said, flustered. Then I laughed, thinking about my handful of experiences. “It’s true, I suppose! It does.” I headed to my bathroom, Leah trailing a few steps behind. Once there, I tried not to gasp out loud. The room was bathed in light cast by dozens of tiny tea lights and there was the scent of rose in the air, my favorite fragrance. The bath was steaming and covered in a mountain of pillowy bubbles. Next to the bath was a small tray with a few dark chocolates, a tall glass of iced cucumber water along with Clinique eye mask pads. My favorite Victoria’s Secret pink silk robe was hanging on the door. Perfect.
“Shall I undress you, Miss?”
“Yes, please, Leah, but I want you to look at me while you do.” In the dim light I could see her smile and blush.
Meeting my gaze, she slowly unbuttoned my top and folded it neatly. She then took off my bra, lightly brushing her hands across my back, and slid my skirt and panties off. Her hands skimmed my hips as she got down on her knees, all the while looking up at me.
“Would you like your hair pinned, Miss?”
“Yes, please, Leah. The pins are in the bin over there.”
I could hear her take a deep breath as she bent over to look for the pins. It was as I suspected; I could see her deliciously fleshy upper thighs, uncovered by the stockings, and her rhumba-ruffled white tanga panties that left little to the imagination.
“When you find the pins, I want you to put them in your mouth and crawl back over to me, Leah.”
“Yes, Miss.” She dropped gracefully to her knees and crawled to where I was standing, nude. Gathering my courage, I put my hands in her hair at the nape of her neck and pulled hard, forcing her back up. I gently took the pins out of her mouth and put them on the sink. Pushing her gently but firmly against the bathroom wall, I thoroughly explored her mouth, eliciting luscious little gasps from her as I pulled her tiny skirt up and teased her through her wet panties, circling my fingers around her mound until her knees started to tremble. Abruptly, I stopped my kisses and caresses. Trying not to pant, I turned and stepped into my bath.
“Would you like me to put the eye pads on you, Miss?”
“Yes please, Leah.” The eye pads felt cool against my eyelids, a delicious contrast to the heat of the bath.
“Alexa told me that you have been having a long week, Miss. I would like to do everything I can to relax you, with your permission.”
I was now certain that she could hear my heart as she knelt next to the tub. Silently, I nodded and waited with my eyes covered. She started by massaging my scalp with a firm pressure and then rinsed my hair in rosewater. The water swished as she used rose-scented oil on a washcloth, running the slightly rough fabric across my shoulders, my back and my arms. The sensation raised gooseflesh all over me, so that when the cloth ran delicately across my breasts, I could feel my nipples tighten in response. She skimmed the washcloth down my stomach, then over my thighs, getting teasingly close to my pussy. The cloth splashed against the water and she wrung it out and put it on the side of the tub.
“Poor Miss,” she whispered softly. “To be so tense isn’t good for you.” Her hands brushed across my wet breasts and she delicately plucked at my nipples, the pressing sensation shooting straight to my pussy. Even in the water, I could feel how wet I was for her. She flicked her tongue against my nipples and I couldn’t help but let a moan slip out, breathing hard. She continued caressing and kneading my neck, till I felt limp under her ministrations.
“Let me take care of all that nasty stress for you,” she told me. Her hands slid down my tummy, slowly but
surely, until I was arching up toward her. My legs parted as her hands found my nub and slid into my pussy, quickly establishing the perfect rhythm that made me pant and moan for her. Her fingers circled my clit, slowly at first and then gaining speed as she thrust her fingers inside me, gaining momentum. The warm bathwater and the cold air on my nipples only increased the sensations building inside me, making my thighs tighten until the waves of my orgasm consumed me. I screamed wordlessly as the world went white and my pleasure overtook me, making me shake and buck against her until my orgasm subsided into small tremors. I took the eye pads off and was still breathing hard as she solicitously handed me a glass of cucumber ice water.
Finally, I could speak again. “Next Friday. I want to take you out to dinner. Are you free?”
She beamed. “Yes, Miss!”
“Awesome,” I grinned at her. “Now it’s your turn…”
THE LAST TIME
Dani M
We haven’t spoken in hours. We’re both too afraid to say anything else. Everything that needed to be said was pretty much said. And then some. I’m packing my bags and politely moving out of your way to let you by—watching you to-ing and fro-ing around our bedroom, picking up your belongings as you go.
We are exhausted. Too exhausted to fight anymore. Now come the logistics of leaving the home that we’ve built together.
We’re oddly meek with each other now and both of us are wounded. Your fierce, athletic body moves and shuffles slowly around me…tired and labored. I know you’re more than a little bit frightened. I want so much to tell you that I’m sorry. I’m sorry it’s all broken down so badly. I’m sorry that it’s come to this.
That we’re not in love anymore.
What if I wrap you in my arms, where it’s safe, and tell you that it’s okay? That this can all be sorted out. That we’ll be okay.
But I can’t. It’s not okay. And we won’t be okay.
“Do you want this?” I ask, pathetically holding out a DVD I bought for you about six months ago.
“No, you keep it; you always liked that movie more than I did.” There’s a jibe at my taste in foreign movies. It’s a good time to take one, since you probably won’t ever have to watch questionable French comedy again.
The subtitles always annoyed you.
Sometimes you laughed, though.
Your comment, piss take or not, is said sweetly, and I see the kindness in your eyes that I recognize so well.
“You liked it, if I remember right? Funny how you told me to leave it on when I offered to put on something else.”
Now you really do laugh. Your face momentarily sheds the awful darkness around it and falls into a knackered, but genuine chuckle.
“Yeah, point taken. Well, can I have it then?” You give me your hand.
That little laugh. That breaks me a little bit. I smile at you now, weakly. An overwhelming ache makes itself at home in my chest. My usually powerful frame feels like hollow stone. One more gentle little laugh like that from you, and it may crumble in on itself.
Fighting is the easy part. We’ve put up a stellar effort, raging and battling into the early hours; watching the bond we created with such love and compassion strain to snapping point.
We don’t know where we’ll be tomorrow.
“Is she picking you up?” The words rattle out of my jaw, which I find is shaking as I speak, and the air goes against me, catching in my throat.
“No, no of course not. I’m getting the train. Alone.” Your eyes roll down and rest on the floor, and I see that they’re brimming with tears. Your face is fraught with worry and confusion, and your jaw quivers, uncertain.
Acid rises in my chest. There’s a falling feeling that keeps happening. Something’s knocking me down and dragging me under. Something’s pulling the blanket out from under me. And I keep faltering, every second, in time with my breathing. Drop. Drop. Drop.
I hold myself up. There’s a growing panic in my stomach that threatens to pull me into the floor.
You see it and move toward me as if to hush me. And I want you to. I need you to. In your usual, big-eyed and seductive way, you press yourself to me and wrap your muscular arms around my shoulders. You know just how to calm me, and your body is my best medicine right now.
This is my ground. Your high, heavy breasts and soft belly press into me, your face finds its way into my neck and the smell of you calms and soothes me in an instant. The smell of you hits me like some powerful drug, and I start to forget why I hate you.
And then I remember again.
My pride puts up a pointless fight against my body’s need for you. I let you come close to me, and you lock yourself to me, breathing me into you. I put my face in your neck, and my mouth finds its way to the beads that you’ve been wearing since we went surfing last summer. I used to bite on them.
Over my shoulder, hot splashes land on my back, trickling down my tank top. They leave a warm, damp line dribbling down my skin.
How did it get to this?
“Please don’t cry, baby.” The urge to protect you is a strong one, and it’s there now, more than ever.
Your hands run up and down my back, grabbing at my body. You’re shaking. I need to calm you now,and get you to relax. It’s gonna be okay. I put my hands to your face, the way I always used to when you fretted, and you impulsively kiss me. Your wet, tear-soaked mouth presses against mine, and despite myself, my tongue finds its way inside your lips. You moan and lick and lap at me, opening still wider to invite me deeper inside. I just can’t stop entering your pretty mouth. It always got me. And it’s getting me now. I drink you in and feel the effects of you all over me, and with a measure of desperation that I’ve never felt before, I taste you like it’s the very last time.
It is the last time.
You press and strain against your clothes to feel me, make contact with me. The hardness of your nipples against mine starts to make me feel giddy and sick. It’s too much. We have to stop this. It’s really not a good idea.
But I couldn’t stop now if I tried.
You pull back from me abruptly; your eyes look menacing. They’re pleading, and they’re violent—and I can’t look away.
“Fuck me.” Your eyes are black. I’ve never seen them like this.
I stare at you. Saying nothing. A different feeling is taking hold. And it’s between my legs.
Your face grows angrier, and you’re scared I’ll say no.
“Fuck me…please.”
I pull back still farther for a moment and watch you. My hands travel from your neck down the front of your body, moving over your agitated, heaving stomach faster than my mind can process what’s happening. Pressing my fingers into your abs, I hesitate for a moment, and then let my hand rest at the button on your jeans. Your breath is hot and damp in my face, and the shaking that you’re trying to suppress is taking you over.
“Turn around. And do exactly what I tell you.”
The words come out of my mouth before I can think better of them. There’s no argument from you, just an escaping moan that signals you’re already soaking, and you obediently turn around and bend over the bed.
“Down.” I push down hard on your back.
You know what’s expected of you, and you don’t argue. My big, strong butch needs to be topped one last time. Your back quivers as you become more and more unsure of yourself. Feeling vulnerable goes against your every instinct. I know this. I also know how much you need to. Hesitating for a moment, you try and compose yourself. Then, whimpering softly, you reach down to pull open your own belt.
“Good choice, baby.” I notice my own breathing is heavy.
You turn to see over your shoulder and catch my eye with a frantic and longing look. I’ve seen that before. This time though, it’s different. Flashes of anger and rage meet my gaze now. And this time, I’m not going to give you exactly what you want right away.
Freeing your jeans, I pull them down as far as your knees and kick your legs apart. You can�
�t move because of the way I have my legs between yours, so you resign yourself to what’s going to happen and press your palms into the mattress.
Sliding my hand into the front of your boxers, I find what I suspected. You’re soaking wet. Slowly stroking the hot, sticky juice over your clit, I enjoy the feeling of your desperately hard organ straining against my fingers. I know you could easily come now. But I’m making my rubbing maddeningly light, my languishing strokes toying with your hard-on. I feel the blood rushing to my own clit as I’m pressing and buffing your distressed nub, just enough to really torment you. You buck and grind on my hand, angrily attempting to get yourself off against it. That’s not happening this time either.
“You’ll come when I’m ready for you to come.” I withdraw my slick fingers from your swollen folds.
“Fuck you.” You spit at me through clenched teeth.
“Ah, there’s my girl. That’s not very nice, now is it? You’re not fucking me, baby. I’m fucking you.”
I smile at you darkly when your eyes meet mine.
“You bitch. Give it to me.”
You’re not happy. I can’t say I’m not. My own clit is throbbing with the need to be inside you, though. I’m holding it together, painfully conscious of the ache that’s building up in my belly. You’re vulnerable and pissed off, and watching you offer your ass up to me could throw me over the edge and make me come in my jeans.
I bear down on the cramp that’s building and feel a throbbing in the deepest part of myself. I have had about as much as I can take of making you wait, and I need to fuck you now.
The room fills with the sound of you gasping as I push three fingers inside your sopping hole. Twisting and grinding them into you, I use the full force of my arm to bury myself in you. Your greedy pussy meets me hungrily, sucking and lapping at my hand. I’ve always loved how sweet and tight you are. And I love it now, as your small pussy opens over my knuckles, slurping and spilling your juices over me. With my free hand, I push you facedown into the bed, and you obey, taking solace in the softness of the pillow while you thrust back up against my arm.
Best Lesbian Erotica 2012 Page 7