The Mammoth Book of Women's Erotic Fantasies

by Sonia Florens

  I was mortified. I had long embraced these notions of submissiveness as being part of me, but they were a hidden part, which I had never shared with anyone. Now, they were in danger of unravelling before the titillated gaze of this twenty-something girl. I changed the subject, but I sensed Paula would not let it go.

  Indeed she didn’t. A week later, when we were alone once more, she broached the subject again. “So tell me, Louise, this discipline thing. How does it work? I guess you’re not into heavy stuff. BDSM and the like?” I shook my head, which was a mistake. By denying that, I was implicitly acknowledging that there was an element of discipline to which I was partial. Paula seized on the chance. “Not that then, but something milder, I guess.”

  She walked round the room, as though weighing up her thoughts. “So what we’re talking about here is something like, maybe, a little. . .” She paused melodramatically. “Spanking?” Again I blushed, but said nothing. “Now,” she continued, taking my silence as affirmation, “I would guess you’re not the one who administers the spankings. Am I right?”

  “I’ve never done anything like that in my life, Paula,” I said as haughtily as I could manage.

  Paula was undaunted. “Maybe not, Louise. But I bet you’ve wanted to. Am I right? Well, am I?” Inside, I was cringing. This was the most excruciating conversation I had ever had. It was my fantasy coming to reality, and as such everything I had ever dreamed of, but it was torture to endure. I gulped and stared into her eyes. She was gloating, relishing her control of the situation. I sensed the power she had and knew, in my heart, that I could only submit to it. “Yes,” I whispered, “I have.”

  She clapped her hands with glee. “Thought so! God, that’s kinky, who’d have thought it. Louise, you little minx, you.” For the first time, some sexual stirrings began within me. I couldn’t stop myself: I wanted to end the conversation, to forbid any mention of it again, but as I observed her face, the casual, fresh-skinned arrogance of her demeanour, I knew I couldn’t.

  “Well, it’s not exactly like that . . .”

  She cut me off curtly. “So am I right? You’re not the one to do the spanking?”

  I had completely lost by now. “No,” I replied.

  “So you want to be spanked?” She sounded incredulous.

  “Yes.”

  “Jeez. I’m going to have to think about this.”

  “Please, don’t tell anyone,” I stammered.

  “Relax, Louise baby. Your secret’s safe with me.” I smiled, and she grinned back. “As long . . .”

  “As long?”

  “As long. Now then, as long as you behave appropriately, shall we say?”

  I went cold. I had known the drift of the conversation; I had known what was happening, but still I think I believed it would blow over and nothing more would be said. It would be something Paula would tease me about, but no more than that. When she spoke those words, though, I knew that she had other ideas. And worse than that, I knew, deep down, that I wanted her to.

  That happened last week. I’m going round to Paula’s tonight. I’m cooking for her, apparently, because she doesn’t like cooking. And washing up afterwards. I think I’m going to be spanked. I think I want it.

  No, I know I want it. I’ve waited eighteen years for it. I’m more scared than I have ever been.

  Strategy

  Julia (San Francisco, USA)

  The cool Scandinavian decor of the boardroom only amplified my raging heat. The five of us at the teak table projected sleek confidence and fashion savvy as we listened raptly to Romaine present her buying strategy for the spring season.

  I probably looked calm and collected, too – it came with the retailing territory. Buyers who lost their cool were forever branded as “difficult” or “unprofessional”. Screaming at assistants or outside vendors was perfectly acceptable, but I made it a point to maintain my composure even with them. In this so-called “glamorous” profession, appearances were as important as competence and I was careful to preserve mine at all times.

  So, as Romaine spoke, others would have considered my relaxed but efficient cross-legged posture and passive facial expression primary indicators of an undisturbed mind. But they would have been seriously misinformed.

  I had no idea what Romaine was saying to us at the meeting. All I heard were replays of what she’d confessed to me at lunch.

  “It’s crazy, I know. Theresa’s married, for crissakes! But I can’t stop thinking about her.”

  “And she has two kids,” I reminded her between bites of my Nicoise salad.

  “She’s starting to become the reason I come to work every day!” Romaine continued, oblivious to my comment. Her blue eyes glistened like they had when those panties from the new Parisian vendor not only came in early but sold like hotcakes. “I feel like she’s been flirting with me, though, so she must feel something, too. Has she ever mentioned me to you?”

  “She’s my assistant, Rome, not my buddy. You don’t get chatty with your assistant, do you?”

  “No, I guess not. Still, maybe she gave you some clues? I just don’t know what to do here.”

  Romaine the Rigid, Romaine the Unflappable, Romaine the Lesbian had been bested not by an unanticipated lingerie trend or a vendor who failed to ship on time, but by a crush on a heterosexual, married mother of two. Why Romaine’s confession should have affected me so profoundly, I was at a loss to explain. I only knew I felt like the wind had been knocked out of me.

  Barbara, the divisional merchandise manager, whom I long suspected had had her limbic brain removed for purposes of workplace efficiency, began the meeting with her usual pedantic inquiries. The woman’s warmth was buried somewhere with her empathy, and the only reason anyone showed her any courtesy was because she controlled the purse strings.

  “Summarize this past season’s trends for me. What have you seen that you expect will carry forward?” Barbara asked.

  Past trends. Let’s see . . . I’d known Romaine for six years and had confessed my own misguided love interests to her during that time. In her own restrained but caring way, Romaine always listened and imparted advice only when I solicited it. Now that the tables were turned, I wanted to be as careful but supportive as Romaine had always been toward me. So at lunch today, I sympathized, even consoled.

  As Barbara shot the usual probing yet predictable questions at Romaine, I grappled with some questions of my own. First and foremost, had anything transpired between me and Romaine that set some sort of tone or precedent for us?

  I recalled the buying trip where Romaine took me to the batting cages to teach me how to swing a baseball bat. Though I had been a tomboy in my childhood, once adolescence set in, my ability to crack a bat against an oncoming ball had long slipped into my past. But Romaine played softball often and had never lost the knack. With unfailing patience and a teaching stance that required her arms wrapped around me, she imparted her secrets of slugging. I didn’t retain much from the batting lesson, other than the indelible memory of Romaine’s warm, womanly curves pressed against my back.

  Hadn’t Romaine felt that little charge of excitement at our physical closeness? Wasn’t my incessantly girlish giggle a signal of some sort? Shouldn’t Romaine have noticed that? After all, Romaine was the lesbian. She was the one who should have known how to respond to a potentially sexual situation between women, wasn’t she?

  And then there was the time, just after Romaine and her long-time girlfriend split up, when I spent the afternoon at her home. The place was enormous – four bedrooms and a kitchen designed for entertaining, which Romaine never did – and now it nearly echoed from the loneliness inside. Romaine was working from home, and I knew it was because she couldn’t face the continuing onslaught of questions about the break-up. I swung by to get her signature on some purchase orders. To my surprise, Romaine came to the door in her bathrobe.

  The robe, a flannel-backed Natori classic in a luscious sky blue, emphasized her vivid blue eyes and imparted a soft sens
uality Romaine never showed at work. Later, as we sat on the sofa in one corner of one room in the excessively large house, the occasional gap in the robe’s front wrap mesmerized me. Romaine never wore clothing that revealed any part of her chest, so the robe’s opening provided glimpses of skin I had never seen and would likely never see again. Once, and only once, I saw a pale strip of skin that followed the smile of one breast’s slope. Thankfully, Romaine had been talking and never heard my quick intake of breath. But the memory of that vision still quickened my pulse to this day.

  “What are your customer profiles like this season?” Barbara asked in her traditional monotone.

  I knew Romaine’s “profile” pretty well, I thought. I had struggled with my own, though. The baseball incident had prompted me to mention it to my therapist the following week.

  “Julia, this isn’t the first time you’ve mentioned feelings toward Romaine. Maybe there’s something there worth examining,” Seamus said, eyes full of mischief. Mischief. From a therapist.

  “When you say ‘worth examining’, you mean that I should consider whether I’m bisexual or a lesbian or something?”

  He smiled. “Something. If you’re feeling an attraction to another woman, especially one who’s not only a friend but also a lesbian, this might be an ideal opportunity to explore a new side of yourself.”

  “Oh, God. I wouldn’t want to explore this stuff with somebody I know!” The idea mortified me.

  Seamus chuckled. “Oh heavens no!” he teased. “That would be too pleasant!”

  Exploring my feelings for Romaine with Romaine herself had never crossed my mind until Seamus forced me to think about it. I had no idea how to seduce a woman. And I had no idea whether my friendship with Romaine would survive a failed attempt at seduction. It was all too risky.

  “If Romaine is interested, she can let me know. I wouldn’t know how to come on to her,” I told Seamus, who, wisely, let the subject drop temporarily. I then steered the discussion back to my woes with the married man I was seeing; safe territory that had been the focus of my therapy sessions for the past three years. Besides, Romaine would never make the first move and it was useless to explain that to Seamus. She’d lamented her shyness to me on more than one occasion, blaming it for her uneventful love life. She considered me an incorrigible flirt with men, so I would offer tips but they sounded silly when I put words to actions that were second nature to me.

  “You’ve just got the knack,” Romaine told me. “I don’t.” It was the only area in which Romaine ever expressed disappointment with herself.

  “What are the vendors showing?” Barbara asked. “What’s hot?”

  Romaine now yielded the floor to her assistant, a mousy girl with a low threshold for stress, who began talking about the intimate apparel she and Romaine had seen in New York last week. Romaine busied herself with her papers, keeping her eyes lowered.

  So, what was Theresa showing that made Romaine hot?

  My eyes roamed in my assistant’s direction, hoping to discover what the woman possessed to discombobulate the eternally practical and unerringly grounded Romaine. Seeing Theresa – a sexy, petite, and delicate Filipina with a real aptitude for both spotting trends and hounding uncooperative vendors – as the object of Romaine’s affections was a startling revelation for me. Theresa’s desirability was not in question, but Romaine’s judgment certainly was.

  Romaine once told me lesbians often fantasized about seducing straight women. I had initially felt hopeful about the remark but now felt merely foolish for thinking Romaine considered me seduction-worthy. Apparently, straight and married with children was more of a turn-on than uncomplicated heterosexuality.

  Should I have rubbed my desire for men in Romaine’s face? Was a confirmed, unflinchingly straight woman what it took to get Romaine’s motor running? Had she caught me stealing glimpses of the swell of her breasts in those silk sweaters she favoured? I thought I’d been careful about admiring Romaine’s trim, athletic body, but maybe not. Maybe those selfish, stolen glances made me seem less straight to Romaine, and therefore, less desirable. Maybe I had ruined my chances to feel Romaine’s thin but sensual lips on mine simply because I longed for it too visibly. But I wasn’t even truly aware that I longed for it, so how could it be visible?

  But maybe it was something else. Maybe Romaine liked the subservient position Theresa was in as my assistant. Romaine had a strong personality – maybe the whole dominance thing flipped her switches. Theresa would have to do what she told her, unlike me, who was a colleague and an equal.

  I assessed Theresa more boldly now while Romaine’s assistant droned on. She was so unlike what Romaine had shown interest in previously. Her ex-girlfriend was a dykish, semi-overweight sports enthusiast who probably knew as much about intimate apparel as an eight-year-old boy. Theresa, with her size four frame and smooth black hair, was a walking advertisement for cocktails and luxury. Her skin glowed with a natural, subtle bronze hue and her legs comprised an enviable portion of her height. In contrast, my size twelve body, with breasts that always entered a room before I did, might not be Romaine’s cup of tea. Perhaps something less . . . feminine . . . was what she wanted. But Theresa oozed femininity, despite her lack of pronounced curves.

  I wanted to slap myself for objectifying myself and my assistant like any man would have done. What had my jealousy reduced me to?

  Jealousy. There it was. The heat between my legs since lunch, the urge to yank Theresa’s perfectly conditioned hair from her skull strand by strand, the compulsion to lay Romaine on the boardroom table, kiss her, and finger her until she screamed – all these reactions were the verdant, vile outgrowths of an emotion as useless and debilitating as the attraction itself.

  “Julia, are you with us? I need your report, too,” Barbara said, loud enough to jar me from my silent epiphany.

  “Oh, sure. Sorry.”

  I paused. I’d originally planned for Theresa to present some of the information today, but now I hesitated. Theresa talking meant Romaine looking. Could I stand to witness Romaine’s desire for another woman right now? Yes, yes, of course I could – changing plans would look suspicious and disappoint Theresa, who’d been eagerly awaiting her opportunity to impress Barbara.

  “Theresa, why don’t you go ahead and fill Barbara in on our findings and then I’ll close with our strategy.”

  Theresa’s eyes lit up and she smiled with gratitude at me. I squelched the urge to spit at her. I refused to watch Romaine’s reaction to the sex kitten’s presentation.

  Instead, I sat back and tried to think about strategy. As my mind reeled, my posture remained controlled. I slid my hands under the table and picked at my cuticles. Strategy, I realized, was precisely what I’d overlooked where Romaine was concerned. Because I’d ignored this essential element of gamesmanship, my fate hung before me now like an enticing bra – full of sexual promise but limp and hollow for the moment.

  Based on what I knew about myself and Romaine, both separately and together, what could I have done to seal our fate or at least direct the course of our relationship?

  Scenarios ran through my head, not exactly in succession because my brain was so addled with pent-up desire and newly introduced confusion.

  Scenario One

  I imagined myself sitting Romaine down and confessing my attraction, much the way Romaine had confessed her interest in Theresa today at lunch.

  “I don’t know how else to say this, Romaine, so I’ll just come right out. I’m very attracted to you and suspect that you might feel the same way. I just don’t know what to do about it.”

  Romaine looks at me with pity and a smidgeon of revulsion. “Oh, Julia. I’m so sorry if I ever did anything to make you think I was interested in you in that way. Anyway, we’re friends and, if we fooled around, who knows what would happen? I would never want to lose your friendship.”

  So much for confession.

  Scenario Two

  I’d read a lesbian novel once, a very
long time ago, before I even knew Romaine. The women had an interlude that began in the ladies’ room. Though it had seemed implausible and contrived at the time, maybe that was how women stole intimate moments together. Maybe I’d been too quick to scoff.

  “Oh, no. Look at this stain on my blouse. This will absolutely never come out.”

  “No, I think it will, Julia. You just have to pretreat it a bit,” Romaine says, moistening a paper towel and adding a teeny bit of soap to it. “Here, let me show you.”

  She dabs at the stain sitting smack in the centre of my cleavage. To get better access, Romaine unbuttons the area closest to the stain and slips one hand inside to provide a base for the area to be treated. With Romaine’s face so close to mine, I inhale the scent of her lavender-scented shampoo and brush my lips against her hair. In response, Romaine moves her fingers subtly to caress the gentle slope of my breasts. My skin is instantly warmed by Romaine’s touch.

  Romaine then seeks out my mouth and we melt into a scorching embrace. We are interrupted by Barbara bursting in on us on her way to complete her morning constitutional.

  “What are you two up to? You’ve got a weekly sales report due to me by ten!”

  Ladies’ rooms are private love shacks only in books. In real life, they needed locks.

  Scenario Three

  I saw a scene in a porno film once where two women were happily baking in the kitchen. One thing led to another, and well, the piecrust wasn’t the only thing that got the rolling pin treatment.

  Romaine giggles as I pour the milk meant for the pie filling down the front of her sweater.

  “Well, I can’t wear this now!” she exclaims. “It’s making me cold because it’s so wet!” Her pout is irresistible.

  “You’d better take it off, then,” I say as I coax her nipples further outward by rubbing them through her drenched sweater. It clings to her as seductively as any bimbo’s in a wet T-shirt contest. The little pebbles her nipples form are so adorable, I can’t wait to see how they feel in my mouth.