by Lynn Lake
Lillian’s eyes suddenly lit up like the flaming gun muzzles, the corners of her pert mouth rearing up into a smile. She pounded a sticky key, then cursed. She slammed a piece of paper into the typewriter, rolled, baled, began to type, her fingers flying on the keys at her top speed of eighty words per minute.
And then a loud banging interrupted Lillian almost immediately. The wall in front of her vibrated, rhythmically, something knocking against it. She heard sounds, like voices, above the distracting thumping.
“Damn sodbusters!” Lillian fumed, the wagon roll she’d been on broken. No one could work through all that noise.
She pushed back from the mill and jumped to her feet, tore the door of the closet open and busted into the washroom next door. The last stall down the line contained the racket, one semi-nude woman violently finger-fucking another semi-nude woman.
Lillian’s jaw dropped along with her rage. The two women had their blouses open and their breasts popped out of their bras, their skirts and panties down around their knees. One woman was jammed up against the wall face and fists first, the other woman crowded in behind, arm coiled around the first woman’s neck, fingers jammed in the other woman’s pussy, ramming her from behind fast and furious.
Lillian recognized them as Millicent Fullbright, editor of Snazzy Stories and ten other pulps, and her secretary, Ernestine something or other. Millicent was a tall, tanned, raven-haired Amazonian, Ernestine petite and pretty and dark-skinned. Millicent was briskly pumping Ernestine’s black, bushy pussy with her long fingers, the editor’s huge breasts jumping to the frenzied beat of her banging, Ernestine’s bubble butt cheeks gyrating.
Lillian tried to retreat, get away from the wicked scene and back into her wild imagination. But Millicent spotted the girl. She pulled her dripping digits out of Ernestine and beckoned.
Lillian grinned sheepishly. “Um, I guess I can lend a hand.” She did want to get in good with all of the company’s editors.
Millicent smiled and plunged her fingers back into Ernestine’s juicy pussy. Ernestine turned her head to look at Lillian, and Millicent seized the opportunity to kiss the young woman on the mouth, flail her tongue against Ernestine’s bright pink lips. Lillian undid the buttons on the front of her dress, let it slide, popped her own small breasts out of her bra and pushed her white panties down to her knees, eager to get into the spirit of things, and then back to work. She was burning daylight, after all.
“We’re just blowing off a little steam during our lunch break,” Millicent told Lillian, admiring her body. “The pressure of deadlines and all.” She shrugged, smiling while plunging her fingers back and forth in Ernestine’s pussy. She spread her legs more and pushed her bum back at Lillian.
Lillian gulped, then got right in behind Millicent. The story would have to wait until these two were polished off. Lillian put a hand on Millicent’s neck and poked out two fingers on her other hand.
“Spank me first! Spank me for being such a cunt-slut!”
Lillian stared into Millicent’s wild dark eyes. Then she smacked one of the woman’s huge, rounded buttocks. Millicent bit her lip and groaned, pounding into Ernestine even harder.
Lillian whacked Millicent’s big bum until her palm burned red and the editor’s cheeks flared and trembled with feeling. Ernestine banged on the wall again, her body and breasts bouncing to the brisk beat of Millicent’s churning fingers inside her.
Lillian finally balled her scorched hand into a fist and stuck out two shaking fingers again. She speared them into Millicent’s shaven pussy, shooting inside to the third knuckle. Millicent shuddered and bit into Ernestine’s neck. Lillian pumped the woman’s pussy like the editor was pumping her secretary’s.
The two women rocked with the fingers fucking them. Lillian’s tits jumped, her nipples swollen up hard and jutting, her pussy brimming with moisture, face and body on fire. The heat of the three women at close quarters was intense, the smack of palms onto bum cheeks, the fast-sluicing of fingers in tunnels, loud even above the breathless moaning and groaning, the thumping of Ernestine’s body and fists against the wall.
Ernestine shrieked, shuddering violently. Millicent drove long and deep into the young woman’s pussy, then shivered with wicked orgasm herself. Lillian felt Millicent’s pussy clasp onto her fingers, the woman vibrating in front of her. Then hot, sticky liquid flooded Lillian’s hand up to the wrist. She screamed right along with the pair of coming women, caught up in the meltdown moment.
*
Lillian fled the publishing house and checked into a cheap hotel two blocks down the street. There were just too many interruptions with all those lovely office women around. She toted the company typewriter along with her, ‘on loan’ until she completed her assignment. Once she finished the story, and got paid, then she could pay for the hotel room, as well.
She set the typewriter up on a small, rickety table inside the shabby third floor room. Then she pulled up the single bed to sit on, propped the cover painting up against the fly-specked window in front of her. She screwed up her pretty face and her powers of concentration and tried to remember what she’d been about to pound onto paper before she’d been caught in the hot cunt crossfire.
“Yahoo!” she yelped, the story idea clicking back into focus. She set off on the keys at a gallop.
The door burst open, and a woman stumbled inside. “Oh, hiya, honey! Got any dildos for a group of ladies in need?”
Lillian’s fingers froze on the keys. The woman was completely naked except for the pink flapper bonnet covering most of her bobbed black hair; a young woman not much older than Lillian. She was long and lean, with full, hanging breasts sporting upturned pink nipples. She had a mole on her left cheek and right thigh and clutched a bottle of bathtub gin in her left hand.
“No… I… what?”
The woman gestured with her right hand. “No matter. C’mon. C’mon, then. Room for one more.” She staggered right up to Lillian and grabbed her by the arm, pulled her out of the room and across the hallway, into a larger suite filled with eleven other women—all flappers, all naked, all having sexual fun with one another.
It was an all-girl orgy! Lillian gaped. There were women kissing and caressing on the sofa, humping into one another against the walls, sixty-nining on the floor, strap-on fucking on the bed. Debauchery of the kind Lillian could only dream about back home.
“We’re having a sort of sorority party,” her host slurred in her ear from behind. “But everyone’s welcome—everyone with a pussy, that is.”
Lillian quickly shed her clothes and felt one of the woman’s hands slide across her stomach and down over her pussy to cup her furred mound. She tilted her head back onto the taller woman’s shoulder and moaned. She was still wet and tingling from her earlier unexpected escapades in bed and bathroom.
“I’m Louise,” the woman murmured, squeezing Lillian’s pussy. “The others are my Sapphic sisters.” Louise pushed Lillian’s head to the side and slipped her tongue into Lillian’s mouth.
Then Louise forked three fingers into Lillian’s pussy and pumped, the pair twining their tongues. The story could wait, Lillian concluded, fiction taking a backseat to fantasy.
The twosome were approached by a petite, busty blonde in a flapper hat. She grasped Lillian’s breasts by way of introduction, blossomed her painted lips over one of Lillian’s nipples and sucked on it as Louise bit into Lillian’s neck and knuckled Lillian’s pussy.
Women fucked and sucked and ground together all around, the smell of wet steaming sexes funking the room, the sounds of frenzied lapping and coupling filling it. Lillian was passed around like a new sex toy herself, for the amusement and pleasure of the other young women, and herself. A brunette scissored in between her legs and scoured her pussy against Lillian’s, as a redhead lowered her own damp cunt onto Lillian’s mouth, and the girl licked like a kitten at cream.
Her own pussy was eaten, her nipples ravaged, her mouth filled with flaps and fur. Fingers and tongues ent
ered her, and she lapped in between trembling buttocks, penetrated rosebuds with digits and tongue. Until, finally, pantingly, furniture was shoved back and she was spilled onto the carpet with all the other young women, encircled in a daisy chain, thirteen girls buried face-first in between thirteen sets of legs.
Lillian clutched the raised leg of the woman in front of her and licked the dark-furred, pink-petaled pussy with a feverish fury. Someone was lapping her pussy, painting her lips with their wet, beaded tongue, dragging Lillian to the very edge of total release. The whole head-bobbing, tongue-stroking circle was moaning with impending, explosive orgasm, fingers digging into hot flesh, tongues into molten pussies.
Someone cried out, coming, setting off a white-hot chain reaction. The circle surged, quivered, screamed in Sapphic unison. Lillian shuddered and slurped wildly, tongued to bursting with raw emotion, flooding with heated, wet waves of utter bliss. She shrieked into pussy, as her own pussy was bathed with a cry of equal delight; the entire chain writhing with wanton abandon.
*
Bill Brisbane’s bloodshot eyes bulged out. His hairy hands clutching the typewritten sheets shook. Then he blew out his cheeks and his cigar and stared at Lillian sitting demurely across the desk from him. “I… you…” He gave his grizzled head a shake, slammed the story down onto his desk. “What do you call this?”
Lillian batted her eyelashes, blushing fiercely. “Um, Mounted Ladies, sir. I, um, just got the idea… and couldn’t stop typing.”
“How did you know about the purple market?”
“The what?”
Brisbane grunted. “The market for saucy stories. We turn out a few purple pulps, too, everyone does. And this,” he picked up Lillian’s torrid tale of the two trailblazing cowgirls free-ranging over each other far from their boys and the strictures of the west, culled from the action-packed cover painting, “is as purple as I’ve ever seen. Lavender, you could say.”
Lillian smiled softly. “I like purple prose.”
Brisbane snorted. “So does Millicent Fullbright. She’s the editor of our saucy books. Know her?”
The smile widened on Lillian’s soft, wet, red lips. “I’ve met her, yes.”
Brisbane studied the girl. “You and her are going to get along just fine. Take her your story. Tell her I sent you. And here’s a voucher for 150 beans you can take to accounting while you’re at it.”
Lillian leapt up and grabbed onto her yarn and the voucher.
She knew all along she had the passion to make it as a pulpster.
About the author
Lynn Lake’s writing credits include Hustler Fantasies, Leg Sex, 18eighteen, Feminine Zone, Readerotica.com, and stories in the anthologies Truckers, After Midnight, Sex & Seduction, Sex & Submission, Five Minute Fantasies, Spank Me, Satisfy Me, Ultimate Sins, Ultimate Uniforms, Seriously Sexy, Girl Fun, Sex At Work, Best of Both, Wanton Women, Dark Desires, Partner Swap, Explicit Encounters, Crimes of Passion, Purple Panties 2, Indecent Proposals, Chocolate Flava 3 & 4, The Mammoth Book of Lesbian Erotica, and The Mammoth Book of Erotic Confessions.
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