by Radclyffe
The undoing of the next two buttons made Laura’s chest more clearly visible, and Jenny longed to be able to reach out and stroke the pink flesh. She gave an involuntary step forward, causing Laura to look triumphantly angry.
“You moved! You are obviously not to be trusted. I will have to restrain you.” Staring into her eyes, silently challenging Jenny to complain, Laura went to the drawer where she’d hidden her purchases, and produced a pair of shiny blue handcuffs. Deftly she snapped them around one of a surprised Jenny’s wrists, before pulling both her arms behind her back and fastening them together.
“No more disobedience or I shall have to punish you further, understand?”
Jenny nodded her head, her excitement growing. They’d often talked about buying restraints for each other, but until now neither had been brave enough to do it.
Keeping one eye on the clock, Laura lay on the floor and began to lick at Jenny’s toes. One by one, sensuously lingering damp caresses that made Jenny’s whole body want to shiver. She clenched her teeth; willing herself to keep her feet firmly planted against the floor and not lift them higher as her instinct was screaming at her to do. Again Jenny watched the clock, concentrating on dispelling the amazing sensations that were shooting up her legs by mentally marking every click around its face, until finally she let out a shuddering sigh and won the right to have another couple of buttons opened.
Without giving her time to inspect the contents of the now flapping dress, Laura began to work faster, concentrating on the side of Jenny’s neck.
Closing her eyes tightly, Jenny was thankful that her neck wasn’t as sensitive as Laura’s was, and again managed to count the seconds away in her mind, holding out against the nips and kisses for three whole minutes before a shiver of frustration ran up her spine and forced a mewl from her lips.
Laura congratulated Jenny’s stamina with a brief peck on the lips, before rewarding her with the sight of more underwear-free flesh, making Jenny’s stomach buzz with anticipation as her mind leapt ahead to the final reward that would surely come at the end of the game, as long as she could hold her nerve until then.
Aware of her own rising desire, Laura knelt again before her girl, and easing Jenny’s legs open wider, began to rub a single finger hard against the satin knickers that covered her sticky pussy. Laura hardly had time to get into her stride before Jenny’s legs buckled above her, and she let out a moan of lustful defeat.
Immediately drawing back, Laura stood up and pointed to the wooden chair in the corner of their bedroom, ordering Jenny to bend over its seat. Jenny hesitated, but a look at Laura’s lust-creased face forced her to move forward. Awkwardly, without the use of her hands, Jenny positioned herself across the chair and braced herself for what was to follow.
Taking a leather paddle from her recent purchases, Laura flashed it briefly in front of Jenny’s face before bringing it down hard on her left buttock. Jenny barely had time to squeal in pain from the first stroke when it landed on her right side, sending sparks of hot pain through her prone rump. Tears sparked in Jenny’s eyes as she took her punishment, biting back the cries of agony welling up in her throat.
After sixty seconds of being smacked, Jenny felt the wonderfully cooling breath of her lover blowing her inflamed ass and, uncaring as to whether she was allowed or not, let out a sigh of longing, amazed at how much the unexpected spanking had turned her on.
Laura pulled Jenny up and gave her an evilly playful smirk. “You withstood that well, my bitch. One button only though, I think, as you made a sound.”
Jenny’s damp eyes watched in angry frustration as only half of the flesh she thought she’d won appeared before her. She could almost taste how good Laura’s skin would be beneath her lips, and swallowed hard in an attempt to control herself.
Sensing Jenny’s struggle made Laura’s own arousal more urgent. She quickly repositioned her lover before the ticking clock, and bending down behind her, ran her sharp fingernails over Jenny’s fast-bruising buttocks. Trailing the outline of the paddle impressions and dancing a single digit up and down Jenny’s buttcrack, Laura listened carefully for any signs of disobedience. Yet Jenny was biting her lips and concentrating with every atom of her being on not responding, on not acknowledging how utterly delicious this situation was, on refusing to admit that the presence of Laura’s fingers against her battered behind was pure heaven.
Two and a half minutes later Jenny let out a shudder, taking a step away from Laura’s intensely stimulating attentions.
“You’re getting better at this.” Laura slapped both buttcheeks hard with the palm of her hands before moving away to undo four more buttons.
Jenny stared at the now half-open dress. She’d seen Laura’s body so many times over the past three years, but somehow this prolonged revelation of her silky flesh made it feel like the first time, and excitement pounded in her chest.
Still smarting from the assault to her buttocks, Jenny stood statuelike as Laura moved behind her, rubbing her completely exposed chest against Jenny’s smooth back. The image of what was happening behind her grew rapidly in Jenny’s mind. She tried to shake it off and glared at the digits on the clock face as she took some deep calming breaths. How could only fifteen seconds have passed? She squeezed her eyes closed, but Laura’s nipples were being pushed up and down her spine, and she badly wanted to touch them. Her hands wriggled in frustration within the constraints of the handcuffs, and with only a minute passed Jenny’s resolve cracked in an explosion of frustration. “Bloody hell! Will you just do it, please! Fuck me please!”
Laura broke off her attention immediately and forced a cross expression onto her flushed face. She’d been longing for the moment when her lover might beg her for more. Her blue eyes flashed, but Laura said nothing as she reached into the hidden bag, producing a small rubber ball gag.
Jenny’s eyes widened. This really was new territory, and for the first time since they started the game, Jenny felt a wave of uncertainty, but Laura didn’t give her the chance to voice her fears. She forced the rubber gag on top of Jenny’s tongue, fastening the elastic strap so that it trapped the ends of Jenny’s hair tight against her neck.
“You look fantastic.” Laura stood back to admire the view. Jenny stood meekly, unsure, semi-bound, gagged, and gorgeously vulnerable. Laura had longed to do this to Jenny ever since they’d been together, but had lacked the nerve. Somehow, in losing her excess weight, Laura felt surged with a new sexy confidence, and as she stared at Jenny, she knew all her sacrifices and the boring exercise regime had been more than worthwhile.
Little flecks of saliva began to gather at the corner of the gag, as Jenny failed to control the dribble forming in her mouth. Laura smiled tenderly and whispered into her ear, “Watch the clock, babe,” before holding Jenny close and licking the moisture away from around the gag. Covering her face with butterfly kisses, she licked her lover’s eyelids and nipped at her ears.
Jenny thought she’d go mad. She longed to touch Laura, to kiss her back, but both actions were now physically impossible. As Laura stood closer still, her chest rubbed slightly against Jenny’s bra, causing waves of friction that felt like little electric shocks. If it hadn’t been for the gag, Jenny knew she would have been howling with desperation. Her clit throbbed beneath her knickers, which had glued themselves to her skin with her wasted liquid. Yet somehow she managed to keep still for an entire two minutes, only stepping back with relief the moment her time was up, as fresh tears of frustration threatened to form.
Laura’s dress was almost fully open now; only the section around her hips remained secure as another two buttons were undone.
Her game almost at an end, Laura began to hurry, her own need for satisfaction beginning to parallel Jenny’s. “Only one minute for two buttons now.” Her voice became husky as she violently stripped away Jenny’s bra and pants, causing a stifled whine to escape from around the black rubber ball. Laura ignored the noise and began to nibble at Jenny’s right tit.
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br /> The sixty seconds seemed more like ten minutes as Jenny struggled not to push her breast harder into Laura’s mouth, wishing as she planted her feet hard against the floor that they had been secured as well so she physically couldn’t move them, rather than having to rely on her fast-fading willpower.
Breaking away, Laura panted deeply, proud that Jenny had withstood so much, and hastily opened two buttons from the bottom of her dress.
Jenny knew it had been coming, but as Laura’s mouth attached itself to her left nipple, she couldn’t keep still. Her body began to shake, and the desire that had been running through her began to drive her further toward an orgasm, whether she was allowed to or not.
Laura broke away, but as Jenny braced herself for further punishment, Laura shook her head, “No, honey, this time, you win.” She couldn’t wait any more. Just the thought of all Jenny had endured for her was enough to tip her over the edge, and her own neglected body was screaming to be touched. Ripping open her blue dress’s last few buttons, Laura stood victorious before Jenny.
She was wearing a thin leather belt that fit exactly over her clit. Without taking her eyes off her lover, Laura pulled the final item from her shopping bag, and screwed a strap-on dildo into its place on the belt.
Jenny’s body trembled uncontrollably as she watched Laura approach her. Pulling off the gag, Laura planted her mouth over Jenny’s while ramming the tool into her dripping pussy, pumping hard until Jenny’s body jerked against her with a moan of pent-up ecstasy.
With a low growl Laura withdrew and, undoing Jenny’s hands, steered her still quaking body toward the bed, where she deftly fingered her to a second climax.
“I love that dress,” Jenny murmured into Laura’s ear as her cuffs were finally unclipped, “and I love the handcuffs, gag, and dildo—but mostly, I love you.”
Laura’s eyes twinkled mischievously. “I love you too, babe, but I’ll love you even more in a minute, when you’ve used all our new toys on me…”
SAND CASTLE QUEEN
Rachel Kramer Bussel
I think I fell in love with Margaret the first time I saw her buried under the sand. We were neighbors on a little stretch of beach in Puerto Rico, off the beaten path of tourists with loud clothes and louder voices, an oasis from everything but sun and sea, both of us there to escape the monotony and humidity of summer in the city. I’d also come away to lick my wounds, to finally get over Jill, who’d left right before New Year’s and six months down the road still haunted my every move in the not-so-big Apple. It was like her perfume, that cheap one she bought at the drugstore whose name I could never remember but whose scent was unmistakable, was everywhere, and even though we’d made a no-contact pact, I would find myself standing in front of some random store like Banana Republic crying as I remembered that one shirt she’d bought from there, the white button-down I’d torn off of her in our kitchen, sending buttons flying and her crying out.
I’d needed a vacation from everything—my ex, my job, my life—but hadn’t been able to get away from my punishing law firm gig until now. And when I go on vacation, I go all out. I stocked up on cheesy, trashy beach books, worked out so I knew I’d fill out my brand-new bikinis in a tangle of colors, everything from tie-dye to day-glo to blinding white and juicy red, and didn’t bring my laptop or my BlackBerry. That first day, I didn’t know what to do with myself, and took many long, long walks along the hot, perfect sand, letting the warmth of the sun bake my skin like a toasty marshmallow over a flame. But like the gooey dessert, I was still raw and tender inside, pale and prickly even as my shell turned dark. I met Margaret at lunchtime, sitting around a communal table filled with salad and beans and rice, the smell of meat wafting toward us. She was a perky young thing probably fresh out of college, likely ten years my junior, sporting deep, tanned cleavage, dirty blonde ringlets, a deep smile, cheeks peppered with freckles. She was more dressed up than most of us in a low-cut, clingy white top, wrap-around flowery pink and red skirt, and red flip-flops adorned with flowers. Her hair was done in twin braids, and for the first time since Jill, I felt some of those stirrings down below.
Then I looked away, afraid my face would betray me. But she was the one who came and sat next to me. “So, come here often?” She had a soft, sensual drawl that oozed from her lips like honey, a Southern slant to her words that made my shoulders drop ever so slightly, letting one more bit of New York stiffness evaporate. Then she let out a loud laugh, followed by a snort. Score one for individuality. “I’m sorry,” she said, continuing to giggle and then holding out her hand. “I’m Margaret. Or Maggie. Or Magpie. Take your pick.” She stopped talking and looked up at me through extra-long lashes and intense hazel eyes. I’ve never really gotten hazel as an eye color; it seems wishy-washy, flecked, only halfway done. I prefer the intensity of a brilliant sky blue staring back at me, and have fallen for girls simply because their eyes bewitched me so. Or a silky coffee brown, usually with hair to match, one that made me think of the perfect cup of coffee, warm and welcoming. But hazel, until Margaret, seemed iffy, noncommittal, and just what I was trying to avoid.
“I like Margaret, actually. I’m Stacy,” I said, still thinking about those eyes. I let her chatter on while I took her in, already wondering if she could be “the one.” Then I heard the magic word. “I live in Charlotte, North Carolina, but I’m originally from Memphis. And I’m working on getting my certification so I can open up my own yoga studio/child care center for children. I love teaching kids; they’re so pure of heart, and they make me melt with their little hands and big questions. They’re much better suited to the kinds of yoga I like to do, and their bodies are so resilient. They’re always thinking, too, always so far ahead of us. I want to have my own brood of them someday.” She again stopped talking, as if invisibly clamping a hand over her mouth. “Sorry again. They just make me so excited. I’m like a big kid.” I smiled again.
“It’s okay, really, I like it.” Maybe she was what I needed, I thought. A hot woman who also liked kids. Sure, I didn’t live anywhere near her, but I wasn’t thinking beyond that moment. I was on vacation from overthinking as well. We were at a dyke-owned resort, so I figured she had to be into women, or at least, open to the idea. Not everyone there was queer; some were straight (or mostly straight) women who just wanted to relax and not worry about being hit on, to feel free to sunbathe topless and walk around wearing just skimpy bikini bottoms or, for the more daring, nothing at all on the resort’s grounds. Most of the women around us were with families, cherubic little faces running up to pairs of mommies, or older, retired women with white hair holding hands, the occasional nuclear family interspersed. Margaret seemed to be alone, but as much as she talked, wouldn’t divulge anything personal. I followed suit, simply saying I’d come to get away from the pressures of city life. But as the days passed, I became smitten, picturing us here celebrating our anniversary, taking our kids. That’s always been my downfall, getting too ahead of myself, yet I can’t help where my mind goes when I’m not looking. Most of the women around us were couples, and I didn’t want it to seem like I was just hitting on her ’cause we were both single, the way straight people try to set me up all the time with their lone lesbian friend.
Every day for a week we shared meals, and it was the first time a woman had made me wait that long, not even so much as tipping her hand. Margaret was driving me mad, and after lunch, I’d race back to my room, lock my door, slide between the crisp white sheets, and plunge my hand between my legs. I’d think of her curls tickling my face as she leaned down to kiss me, think of her teasing me with her body, slithering up and down mine, naked, her pussy near yet out of reach, her hovering over my lips, letting her scent waft into my nose but not taste her. I wanted more from her than just sex, I knew that from the start, but it began with her body, with being naked next to her, with seeing and feeling and tasting her inside and out. My fantasies got so intense I almost couldn’t look at her when we shared meals and took to wearing sunglasses,
hoping I wasn’t blushing as she regaled me with tales of her life in Charlotte. New York and North Carolina don’t seem to have much in common, but I didn’t care. Sometimes love, and even lust, are utterly irrational.
To stave off the thoughts that were becoming increasingly hard to handle, I took to long walks on the beach, walking so far I almost got lost, seeking oblivion as the waves crashed in my ear, kids splashing, Spanish and English and languages I couldn’t identify swirling in the air. I found an outdoor bar and sat, a chilly banana dacquiri blasting onto my tongue. I knew I was getting burned, my marshmallow skin going from tender brown to crispy burned black, darker than it should be, but I didn’t mind. I went for a run even though my lone blue one-piece wasn’t really made for that.
Then I waded into the water, out just enough so I could raise myself on my toes. I shut my eyes, raised my face to the sun, and offered it what I can only call a prayer. My fingers wound their way between my legs, between my lips, stroking fast and furious, pinching my clit, and then plunging deep inside, the water cool against my hot flesh. I thought of Margaret, pictured her pretty face poised in climax, pictured her opening to me, giving herself to me fully, completely, and I in turn doing the same. Since the first time in longer than I cared to admit, I was ready to let another woman all the way inside.
I walked back just as the sun was starting to descend, and for a moment, all the hotels started to look alike. I wondered what I’d do were I to get lost, with only a handful of crumpled bills, my room key, and my broken Spanish to guide me. And then I saw that crazy spill of dirty-blonde curls, heard that miraculous laugh, as if calling to me. I jogged toward her, my chest heaving in the ill-armed suit. “Hey,” I called, as if I hadn’t just been conjuring her.