The Mammoth Book of Lesbian Erotic Confessions

by Barbara Cardy

  I lapped as fast as I could, as I heard Francesca moaning, her legs lifted and tensed around me, the chain being tugged closer. I used my tongue to push deeper inside her, exploring as much as I could, knowing how much she loved it.

  In between her moans she managed to pant out.

  “Happy Anniversary my pet, let yourself go. This is all for you.”

  My heart swelled and I slammed myself back onto the dildo as hard as I could, causing moans to erupt from behind me. I wriggled as much as I could, too, pushing back whilst straining to keep lapping at Francesca’s pussy. My nipples were being sucked and nibbled and I could feel the person moaning into them. I couldn’t look down, but I guessed she was playing with herself, coaxed on by the moans of everybody else and the writhing of all the bodies.

  I remember thinking about how strange I must look but all that did was turn me on more, driving me forwards. I flicked my tongue rapidly over Francesca, before running my teeth delicately over her clit and sucking it. This caused her moans to turn into cries of pleasure. She slid down the chair and ground against me, so I responded, lapping and licking as much as possible, wanting to take her over the edge and beyond.

  A hand snaked down my body from somewhere and, without stopping, began to rub against my clit. My body shuddered, the butterflies in my stomach going mad. I knew it wouldn’t be long until I climaxed but I desperately wanted to take my lover over the edge first so I lapped faster, pressing against her with the flat of my tongue. It didn’t take long before her cries of pleasure became pants, her legs became rigid and she lifted them up, resting them on my shoulders. Then I felt her coming. Her clit throbbed and her cries filled the air.

  The one that was taking me also started to cry out in pleasure, as did the one sucking my nipples and playing with my clit. Finally, it was only me that hadn’t climaxed and for a moment I worried I would be left unfulfilled on purpose, but that worry left me as soon as I realized the fingers were once more rubbing against my clit, and so my body began to tense. I moaned into Francesca as my body finally got the release I had needed for so long. My whole body shook and I cried out from the pleasure crashing through me.

  I stayed still for so long, not really aware of what was going on around me, and I didn’t take much notice of the others leaving. Francesca came in and covered me in blankets, letting me sleep where I lay, happy and fulfilled.

  Since that day, we all get together on occasion. Sometimes I’m their pet and other times I’m the one who orders them around. I’m glad that Francesca suggested it and our relationship has never been stronger than it is when she’s crying out with pleasure from us all kissing and sucking her. I just wish it could happen far more regularly. Until then, when my collar goes on, I’m Francesca’s and I’ll do anything she wants.

  SPLASHBACK

  Gina, Worcester

  I had hit the puddle at about 25 miles an hour and the girl was instantly soaked. I really didn’t expect the puddle to be that deep, didn’t think when I went through it the water would splash up so much. I never even saw the young woman standing at the kerbside, but she took the full force of the splash. More like a deluge, really.

  It was raining and she had an umbrella up. Sensible girl. But an umbrella isn’t designed to stop the arrival of cold, dirty water at a 90-degree angle. Not in that volume, anyway. As fate would have it, the weather had been warm enough, before the downpour, to send the young woman out of her home in a light, summer skirt with a white blouse. Nothing that was suitable to deflect the horizontal impact of the water.

  I glanced with horror at what I had done, but then I was able to hear her muffled scream of protest over the sound of the engine. I stopped my car, looked round and saw this bedraggled young woman standing by the kerb with water dripping off every part of her. It made, even though I say it myself, an impressive view. The water had not only soaked her but also turned both her blouse and her bra into a transparent sheen. I could see every curve of her breasts and waist, right down to the sopping waistband of her pale blue skirt. That, at least, stopped me or anyone else seeing her legs and hips through the wet fabric.

  She simply stood, looking down in shock at herself, and I galloped from the car, blubbering I was sorry and I never saw the puddle, never saw her and I really, really didn’t mean it. “What can I do?” I said, and said it again and again. I had pulled out my small square of handkerchief and made as if to mop up the worst of it.

  In response the girl just stood and laughed. Laughed at my small, pathetic hankie and me staring at her as if I had never seen a woman in wet clothes before. Well, I had, but not one as lovely as this, not as heart-bumping radiant as she was. This woman had a slim, delightful figure but enough shape to make her interesting, as they say.

  At first I might have thought this young woman was merely being hysterical, but she wasn’t. She was shaking with laughter, and to her credit she was still holding up the brolly. “You’ll get wet, standing there staring like that,” she said and held the umbrella out a little to invite me under it. “Anyway,” she added, looking at my hankie, “which part are you going to mop first?”

  Now, as a woman who fantasizes about other women (yes, we exist, but don’t tell my husband), I have admired young women before. One of the delights of modern living is seeing young women showing their bodies in a range of outfits which can make every shopping trip acceptable. I could dream I would get to bed some of them, though with far less hope than I used to nurture now that I am approaching my forties. I mean, I try to keep my weight down and watch what I eat but, despite the exercise things, just go south. I have largely given up the fantasy that I would run into the kind of exciting situation I was now in, with the young woman who was standing before me.

  But here was the sort of slim female I had dreamed of, and she was utterly adorable. If very wet. She smiled at me and shook her head as I moved under the shelter of her umbrella. I said I was sorry again and she sighed.

  “You said that already,” she said.

  I took my suit jacket off and tried to drape it round her shoulders. I could, despite the bath I had given her, smell her perfume and I was aroused, which was ludicrous at that moment. I could, I am sure, have been sued for what I had done. I had no right to be thinking the way I was, because it wasn’t beyond the scope of the law for me to be charged with careless driving.

  “I’ll make it up to you,” I said. I was standing a little outside the umbrella’s reach and my own blouse – a far more mundane pale pink affair – was slowly getting soaked down one arm.

  The young woman noticed and said if we were there any longer, I’d look like her. I nearly replied that it would be worth it, but thought better of it.

  “We need to get you inside,” I said instead. “Get you out of those wet things.” The words had slipped out without me thinking and I blushed, which she noticed.

  “You know, for a wild driver you are funny,” she said.

  “I don’t do this normally,” I mumbled.

  “Really? So how do you normally meet people?” She asked.

  My face was bright red now and I was stumbling over my words. I tried to say I wasn’t trying to meet her, but the words came out strangely. I think my heart was going to burst out of my chest. I couldn’t even look into her eyes for fear of falling in. I said something about her house.

  “Oh, that’s a long way from here. You could, however, give me a lift there. But no driving through rivers,” she giggled, clearly enjoying my discomfort.

  I helped the young woman – her name, she told me, was Lauren – into my car. She even said she was sorry but she would be making a mess of my seats.

  Oh fuck that, I thought. Lauren could pee on them if it made her feel better. I gulped a little loudly as I got in the driver’s seat and she slipped my jacket off her shoulders.

  “I don’t need your jacket,” she said lightly. Then she smirked. “It might hide the view.”

  I gulped again. Was I dreaming? I had got a lovely young
woman in my car, she was as good as naked from the waist up and she wasn’t mad at me. I really tried not to glance at the shape of her breasts as I drove but a little sideways glance was permissible, I told myself. Then I asked, which was potentially stupid, why she wasn’t angry at me for what I’d done.

  Lauren sighed and gave a small shrug. “Because,” she insisted, “I am so wet it’s funny. If you had splashed my new tights I might have been angry. But you couldn’t have done this better if you’d tried,” she smiled. I wondered briefly why she was wearing tights under that outfit on what had been a typical summer day.

  Yes, I saw her smile and almost didn’t look at her boobs, but I did. I gulped again.

  “Look, Gina,” she said –I had told her my name, but had offered my full name and address to make the process of suing me easier. “I can tell a frustrated lesbian when I see one. Trust me, I’ve had worst chat-up lines.”

  I feigned shock. I protested feebly that I was married, that she must be wrong. I even tried to show her the wedding ring on my left hand.

  “Maybe you have a husband, but you are gay,” she said, sweetly. “Either you don’t know it yet or you are playing with me.”

  Playing with her? God, I wish! I found it hard to look at the girl sat next to me, who sadly was beginning to dry off. At least her blouse and bra weren’t quite so see-through. But I couldn’t help wondering if she had really seen through my defences. Am I what frustrated lesbians look like? Is this how they behave? I said it was silly, all this talk. It was an accident. That was all it was. But, she responded, saying she had met women like me before. Older women who would do anything to get a younger female into bed.

  “I’m not like everyone,” I said. I felt sweat break out on my brow. Not very ladylike, but I was heating up.

  “I didn’t think you were like ‘everyone’. I thought it was only women who wanted sex with other women.” Lauren was being so blunt, so straightforward, I was having difficulty focusing on driving. In fact, I almost went past her house.

  When she said I needed to keep my mind on the road and not on her, I tried to protest that I didn’t plan to seduce her, but she laughed in her usual way. “I haven’t had sex for ages,” she told me, “so with you staring at my tits and wanting to wipe me down, I figured you were up for it, too.”

  I was in a state of shock. I was being offered sex and the stupid part of me kicked in. I couldn’t stay, I said. I was on my way to a regional sales meeting. Didn’t want to be late. I had pulled up outside her house and she looked at me and shook her head slowly. “And this meeting is more important than cleaning me up?” she asked.

  I wanted to cry. Sometimes the thing you most want has a habit of driving you away. I wanted sex with this girl more than anything, but I was scared of the consequences. Irate boss, anxious salesman, disappointed husband. There would probably be more, but I couldn’t think straight. I think Lauren recognized my despair because she put her hand on me. On my damp arm, as it happened.

  “Come in with me. You are all damp and you need to get out of those wet things.” Her eyes sparkled as she said it and the last bit of resistance in me dissolved, washed away on a tide of desire. I did what she said. I got out and I followed her into her house, a neat, semi-detached place behind high hedges. Private, where sex could happen and no one would know. We got into the hallway and she closed the door behind me. “Now, undress me,” she said with a smile. “You have been aching to do that since you soaked me.”

  My hands were shaking, but I began unbuttoning her blouse. Carefully, in case I somehow made this dream disappear by being too hasty. I peeled back the two sides of her wet blouse and I could see her soaking-wet bra, the way the white lace cups clung to the curves of her perfect breasts, the tiny rivulet of water running into the smooth, deep valley of her cleavage. I did something I never thought I’d do; I leaned forwards and licked that tiny drop of water from her skin. I even said I didn’t want it soaking that lovely little white satin bow between her breasts.

  Actually, the word I used was boobs and she chuckled, saying they were tits and they would look so much nicer out of the bra. Then I could dry them off.

  I took Lauren’s blouse back off her shoulders, pulled it off her arms and let it fall to the floor behind her. Then I ran my fingers from the top of her shoulders along her bra straps, down to her bra. I traced the merest hint of her hard nipples through the wet lace, making small circles with the lightest touch, making those pink nubbins swell more. I was in heaven, and so was she, because she moaned gently. I reached behind her and deftly opened her bra clasp and slowly, gently, drew her bra off her shoulders and exposed her pert, high and delicious breasts.

  Of course, I had seen them before, almost as if the blouse and bra weren’t there. A good soaking will do that. But seeing her tits, as she wanted me to call them, in front of me, naked and proud with just the merest gleam of moisture on them, well, if I had died then, I wouldn’t have cared. No, that’s not right. I put my hands on those two perfect orbs and gently squeezed, feeling Lauren’s hard nipples in the palm of my hand. It was then I knew that if I died, it would be fine. I had finally done what I had always wanted.

  And my own body? My nipples felt as if they would burst out of my bra, my clit ached and my hot cunt buzzed. There was a fire in my belly like I’d never known before. My heart felt like it was pounding a message of lust.

  “My skirt,” said Lauren, just standing there and accepting me feeling her tits. I fell to unfastening it, sliding it down her slender hips and letting it fall round her feet, seeing what I had hoped for: her white lace panties and the thin sheen of her tights. I gulped loudly in appreciation and both wanted to rip them from her and, equally, admire the view. “They need to come off too,” she whispered. “And I don’t want to get cold, so you better warm me up quick, Gina.”

  Somehow I peeled the young woman’s tights and panties off her and slid them down her legs, got them and her blue cork-soled sandals off her feet. She put her hand on my shoulder to steady herself as I eased her legs and feet free. She had a small scar, probably from childhood, on her left knee and I might have wanted to kiss it, once I’d torn my eyes away from her beautifully shaved mound. Her clit was just peeking out, so she was ready, and I was too. I pressed my nose to her slit and I could smell that unique dampness, that aroma of the sex I always wanted. I was holding her delightful backside, cupping her cheeks in my still-shaking hands.

  Now, at this point you will be thinking what I was thinking. Lonely, ageing, bisexual woman finally gets to enjoy what she always wanted. Lust rewarded, desire gratified, happiness ensued. Except that I learnt there is payback. Splashback, as Lauren called it. She took hold of my hair, wound it in her fingers and pulled my head back away from her slit before my tongue could get inside her and taste who she was, what she had to offer. She looked down at me and there was a different light in her eyes, and I felt something in me I never expected. Sure there was the tremble of imminent sex, but there was a tremble too that I had entered some trap and I was about to become a victim. Lauren just looked down at me and told me to look up at her and not move and open my mouth wide.

  I did, and she slowly let a large, fat drop of saliva drop slowly from her mouth into mine. Oh, she didn’t spit, at least not then. But I saw the white saliva slide slowly, enticingly from her pretty lips and down on to my tongue. Then she did it again. Twice.

  “Don’t swallow, yet,” she said after the first one. “I will tell you when you can drink me.” I felt each ball of her saliva hit my tongue, felt it run back towards my throat. Lauren was doing this slowly, seeing if I could obey. Then after the third drop and with me still waiting, she put her free hand between her legs, ran it between the lips of her cunt and then wiped her moist finger – wet, but not with rain – over my waiting tongue. I could taste her and I duly made a croaking sound in my throat, more like a begging noise. Her saliva had run down my tongue to the back of my throat and I was snorting air through my nose, not
daring to swallow. Not very ladylike at all. “Now you can swallow me,” she smiled. Gratefully, I did, with a loud gulp.

  “Shower time,” she said. “You are ready now, Gina.” Without taking her fingers from my hair, Lauren stood me up and then told me to bend and follow her up the stairs. I gasped as she pulled me, scared to resist, frightened to obey. But I followed her, somehow, followed her naked body with her gorgeous bum almost in my face, wondering what she would do with me. Oh, she would do something, and I was powerless to resist. I hoped we were going to her bedroom but I knew somehow we weren’t. Lesbian sex, the way I had fantasized about it so often, was not on offer today.

  I was thrust, somewhat forcefully, into a large shower stall in her bathroom. I was pushed down and into the corner of the cubicle; she still hadn’t let go of my hair.

  “This is splashback,” she said. “What goes around comes around.” And she told me not to move whatever I did, or the magic would end and I could go straight to my fucking boring meeting and when I was alone at night I could wank myself stupid thinking of what I had missed. I would never have this again.

  And then Lauren let go of my hair, turned and offered me her backside. For a split second I thought she wanted me to kiss it as some sort of mark of tribute, but she didn’t. I knew a moment later, from the way she was half squatting over me, what was coming. Lauren, the sweet, sexy, naked girl who I had soaked and desired, pissed all over me.

  I was, of course, soaked. A seemingly never-ending stream of pee, yellow and hot, gushed over my pale pink blouse and my navy blue skirt, soaking through to my sensible bra and practical panties. I was sitting with my knees drawn up and the stream of urine splashed up my skirt, over my tits, in my face and in my hair. Oh, Lauren knew what she was doing. She varied her aim just enough to make sure I was drenched. She was talking, too, telling me to get used to this, get used to being pissed on. Taste it all, bitch, she said, and I dutifully opened my mouth. Her piss was bitter and hot but I knew I had no choice. I tried to swallow it even though I was gagging, worried she knew I wasn’t trying to please her. But most of all I felt the heat of her liquid on my trembling, eager tits, and where I had spread my knees, the pee splashed against the sopping wet crotch of my pants.