Girl Fever

by Sacchi Green

  It was just what I wanted to hear. I turned to look the Woman in the eyes as I began to pump harder and faster. It was time to close these negotiations. I placed my thumb on Mina’s sweet back door and began to press rhythmically in time with my thrusting. Soon she was desperate to come for me. The Woman gave in and slid her hand down her own trousers. I turned my full attention back to Mina and moved my hand around to rub her clit, which was swollen and begging for my touch. Almost immediately she whispered, “Please, please may I come for you?”

  “Yes, right now,” I said, with a note of triumph in my voice the Woman was sure to catch.

  Mina came beautifully. She rocked and moaned and pushed back onto my cock. I stayed inside her, thrusting slowly through all the aftershocks, despite the slowing of the train and the announcements that we’d be disembarking in minutes. I gradually withdrew my cock and moved off the bed. “Time to get dressed, my love,” I said in a tone that told her we wouldn’t be the last ones off the train. She dressed in a flash. I stared down the Woman, her lips now a telltale red, while zipping, buttoning and buckling myself. “Thanks for the bed,” I offered coolly. “I thought I was going to have to fuck her crammed in with a toilet.” And with that, we made our escape, unable to keep the smirks off our faces as I led Mina off the train.

  We went directly to my hotel room. I’m sure Mina expected round two, but I intended to provide an opportunity for a little further reflection on her prior lack of patience. I took her up to the room, undressed her, and moved her to lie stomach-down on the bed. I sat beside her, fully clothed, and slid one bent leg under her hips to raise her ass. She gave a small moan of anticipation, knowing what was next. I turned her ass a lovely shade of pink with the firmest spanking she’d had in some time. Usually this was a prelude to a good hard fuck. “This time,” I whispered into her ear, “you’re going to wait for it. Get dressed. We’re going to dinner.”

  She wasn’t in a position to argue, and she didn’t want to. We’d both get hotter still at dinner, sharing the secret of her still-smarting ass, and knowing I’d fuck her the minute we got back in the room. As I recall, it made for a very hot weekend.

  SEASON FINALE

  Lea Meadows

  Olivia Benson is so fucking hot,” I said, moving from the couch to straddle Erica’s lap as she sat at her desk and banged away at her laptop intently. Sitting this way, I was able to rub up against the hard ridge of her jeans and still watch the season finale of “Law and Order: SVU.” Perfection.

  “Tara! Can’t you see I’m busy here? Go watch your stupid show somewhere else. God, haven’t you seen every ‘Law and Order’ episode ever made?”

  She was right. I think I have seen every episode. But I was addicted. Great stories ripped from the headlines, celebrity guest stars, twisted endings and the most important element of any good ‘SVU’ episode: Olivia Benson.

  I know, I know. Every lesbian loves Olivia. What’s not to love? She’s beautiful, smart, tough and can fill out a pair of jeans like nobody’s business. But I loved Detective Benson for a different reason: she looked just like Erica. Same short, brown hair. Same angular jaw. Same sexy swagger. And the cherry on top—Erica was also a cop. She was my wet dream come true and at the moment that dream was making my nipples harden into painful peaks and my cunt leak onto my thighs.

  Erica moved around me to stare at her computer screen and continue typing whatever it was she was typing like I wasn’t there. God, she was so sexy, and looking down at her as Benson was interrogating a witness on the TV screen was making me so hot. I smoothed back a lock of Erica’s hair from her forehead and planted my lips there, enjoying the smoothness and warmth of her skin. I locked my ankles behind her and slowly shifted forward. The pressure on my clit was intense, and all I wanted to do was ride her like this. My Erica. My detective. It was so delicious to be this close to her, and even though she was trying to cast me aside in favor of her work, my lips made a wet path down the side of her face and locked on to her earlobe.

  She paused for a moment, as if she knew where I was going with this, and I giggled as I heard her gasp quietly. And as I bit down, I knew where this was going as well. Though she initially resisted, my detective would ultimately come apart under my interrogation. She’d come apart in waves and I would gladly lap at her skin, at her tits and at her pussy to have her come in my arms. Better than Olivia, she was my Erica, and as our tongues tangled and our fingers trailed over each other’s bodies, I was vaguely aware that I’d just missed the season finale of my favorite show. Oh, well, there’d always be reruns.

  AUTOCORRECT

  Evan Mora

  Hi, Cris, are you coming to the meeting at 4?

  I’ll be there!

  Great. Please meet me in my office in 5 minutes so we can have a brief cunnilingus beforehand.

  Excuse me?

  I have no words. I typed conference and my phone changed it. I am so sorry.

  I’m on my way.

  I’m going to be fired. No—first I’m going to be brought up on sexual harassment charges, and then I’m going to be fired. This isn’t happening. I close my eyes, trying to keep the panic at bay. I double-check the screen on my phone, but the words are most definitely there. The most epic AutoCorrect fail of all time. How does my phone even know the word cunnilingus? And since when does “conference” look like “cunnilingus”? Somewhere, an Apple genius is snickering.

  And of course, it’s Cris. Not one of the dozen straight women who report to me who would’ve shared a titter and a conspiratorial, I wish that hunky new VP would send me messages like that. No—I’m sending lewd text messages to the only one of my subordinates who’s openly gay. And perceptive.

  There’s a knock at my door.

  “Lauren?”

  Oh, god. I grab a sheaf of papers and look busy just as the door opens and Cris steps inside. And hot—did I mention she’s hot? I cross my legs beneath my desk, a figurative down command to my unruly libido, which doesn’t even marginally succeed. It’s just that, well, now that it’s out there, the thought of this strong, stylish woman kneeling between my thighs won’t go away. And if I’m being completely honest, it’s not the first time it’s crossed my mind, either.

  She closes the door.

  My heart is beating far too fast in my chest, fueled by the twin messages of anticipation and need my body is telegraphing to my brain. I clear my throat; opt for professional: “Cris—thanks for meeting with me. I wanted to talk to you about your cost projections for the next campaign before the meeting.”

  There’s a beat of silence, then the audible click of the lock being pressed. She crosses the floor with unmistakable purpose, rolling up her sleeves like she’s ready to get down to business. I try another tack.

  “Crazy stuff, those iPhones, huh?” I say with a nervous little laugh. But she’s around the corner of my desk, spinning my chair so that I’m facing her, effectively trapped by the two strong forearms and very capable looking hands she’s got braced on the arms of my chair.

  She’s going to kiss me, and god help me, I want her to, the heat in her quicksilver gaze turning my insides into a hot, molten mess. And then she does, full sensual lips slanting across mine, tongue stealing into my mouth, laying waste to all my defenses.

  “I’ve been wanting to do that forever.” Her voice is a sexy rasp against my lips, and then she kisses me again, nipping my lower lip with her teeth and drinking in the little gasp that escapes.

  Her hands move to my knees, warm and solid, fingertips flirting with the hem of my skirt. I lay my hands on hers, but there’s no protest; I want this too badly to stop her. The heat in my cheeks rises with each inch of skin that’s exposed, but it pales in comparison to what lies below; the seat of my heat, my want and my need, covered by the flimsy barrier of my sodden panties beneath my bunched-up skirt.

  She scents my arousal and drops down to her knees, easing my thighs apart and urging me forward. I’m splayed wide on the edge of my chair, and her lips ar
e wending a wet trail up the sensitive skin on the insides of my thighs. She feels so good—I mean really so good—that I think I might come before she even reaches my cunt. I’m shivery and restless, fingers tunneling through her hair, winding the short, dark waves around my fingers, trying to get her closer. But she won’t be rushed, despite my silent urgings, despite the fact that we have to be in a meeting in less than ten minutes.

  “Please…” I say, though it doesn’t sound like me, this soft little whimper so full of need. Her mouth brushes against my cotton-covered pussy and I’ve got to bite my lip to keep from crying out.

  “Do you know how often I’ve imagined this?” she says, teasing me with kisses through the gusset of my panties. “How many times I’ve stroked myself, imagining you coming undone while I fuck you, right here in this chair?”

  I moan, lost in the visual of her stroking off, and then she pulls my panties to one side and her tongue is pressing into my slick folds, seeking and finding my engorged clit and sending me over the edge, almost before she’s even begun.

  “Cris!” I can’t stop the breathy cry, and she stands up quickly, covering my mouth with hers, her tongue filling my mouth with the taste of my arousal.

  “Shh…” she whispers against my lips, fingers dipping into my still-spasming cunt, “you don’t want the whole office to know you’re in here getting fucked, do you?” She’s thrusting into me, two fingers curling up to hit my G-spot, thumb stroking my clit, sending me right back to the brink.

  There’s a knock at my door.

  “Lauren?” It’s Cassie from accounting.

  My eyes fly to Cris’s. She smiles wickedly and keeps right on fucking me, pressing her other hand over my mouth as she drives me to a second shattering orgasm in as many minutes, my cry of release muffled behind her hand.

  “Is everything all right?” It’s Cassie again, clearly perplexed by the locked door and strange sounds.

  Cris releases me with one last hungry kiss, then makes a show of licking my juices from her fingers. It’s hypnotizing, watching her tongue travel their length, her mouth suck them clean. She knows she’s got me ready to go all over again, but she just arches an eyebrow and inclines her head toward the door. Right. Cassie.

  “Everything’s fine, Cassie,” I say in a cool, professional tone that completely belies my postorgasmic, disheveled state. “Cris and I just have a couple of things to work out before the meeting.”

  “Oh. All right. I guess I’ll just meet you guys in there.” She leaves.

  I stand up and try to smooth out my skirt, a process hampered by the proximity of Cris’s body and her hands on my ass.

  “You know,” she says, tongue tracing the sensitive line of my neck, making me shiver, “I don’t think we’re going to be able to work all these things out today.”

  “Mmm…” I agree completely, already imagining her naked in my bed. “What do you say to a little late-night planning session, my place?”

  “I’ll be there.”

  LURE

  Nikki Magennis

  She was hovering over the jewelry case when I saw her first, her face a double reflection—two smiles, two sets of teeth. Her fingers tapped the glass, pointing out a silver pheasant studded with paste diamonds.

  “How much is the peacock?” Her voice had Irish notes.

  I smiled. I didn’t correct her. “Let me buy you a drink and I’ll call it a gift.”

  There was a pause, during which I fell over, burst into tears, apologized profusely, tore my clothes off and lay down on the ground and stopped moving.

  “Yeah. Sure. Five o’clock?”

  I breathed out and released the moon from where I’d stuck it in orbit, let the tides return to normal and the birds sing again.

  I placed the brooch on the table between us. The fake jewels glittered under lights in the bar.

  “It’s not worth anything much,” I said, tasting the froth of the beer on my lips, watching to see if she’d lick hers. Wondering how her smile tasted. Knowing it would be moreish. “Still want it?”

  I followed her into the ladies’. Against the full-length mirror, I pushed her flat out, pinned her shoulders, placed her straight and delicate with her back to the glass. I kissed the crook of her neck, the inside of her elbows, the top of her knees. I wanted her splayed across my bed. Spatchcock. How many times had she done this before? Was I counting?

  When I gathered my purse from the table and left with her hand tucked into mine, I felt like a shoplifter. Like I’d stolen an exotic specimen from a private aviary.

  But: “Come to mine. It’s closer,” she said, and I followed.

  At her building, we ascended in a lift like a gold cage. She had me against the bars, trapped my hands between her lips and bit, gently. I feathered my eyelashes against her cheek, cooed softly. She called my name. A bell rang. We’d arrived.

  She offered me a bowl of sunflower seeds, dripped wine into my mouth and let it spill over my lips, run down my throat with a tickle.

  Silent, I shed coat, boots, blouse, skirt and socks and let them fall to the floor. I sat there in my underwear, pink and shell colored, shivering. My skin was goose bumped. Her mouth was warm. She drew herself over me like a counterpane. We drifted onto the sofa; I nestled into her corners. The point between her legs was shaved, a little prickly against my cheek. I nuzzled. She smelled of just baked bread and melted butter. I nibbled. Slipped my tongue into a roll, curled it around inside her. I heard her cry out, sing with a full-throated cry.

  We hid indoors for two days, pecking inquisitively, opening each other up and looking inside. She gave me a necklace of love bites. I gave her a few secrets, thinly wrapped and not all that shiny once I looked at them in daylight. Mostly, we tried to feed on each other; mouths attached to cunt, breast or mouth; fingers tugging, working, playing; heartbeats rising and falling as we passed orgasms back and forth, dipping into each other like inkwells, writing stories on each other’s flesh.

  On Tuesday I tried to leave, with my trinkets and my keys wrapped in a silk handkerchief. The floor was wet with her tears. I slipped, turned an ankle. Limped back to bed, where she fed me with pity and promises. I grew fat. We made a chorus of mews like birds imitating cats. Howled all night. Scratched a little. Yes, even the prettiest peahens have claws. And if not beaks, then teeth, always something hard and sharp.

  She spat curses at me while I slept. I woke up feverish, tried to wash myself in her future, kissed her until my mouth was numb and my lips were red. I knew, of course, the way home, though the thought made me shake. I had to leave by the window. Naked. Trust my bones not to be brittle, my rubber heart to bounce, my wings to suddenly feather and grow strong. I rocked on the sill. The breeze tugged.

  Midair, I called her name, but it came out a strangled crow-squawk. As I tumbled toward the ground, the long, lovesick song fell from my mouth like a skylark’s, a hundred invisible silk parachutes, in tatters and rags.

  LITTLE MISS GOODY TWO-SHOES

  Lucy Felthouse

  This garden sure is beautiful. I’d love to live here,” said my girlfriend, Izzy, as we walked hand in hand down the gravel path.

  “What, out here?” I joked. “You might get a little chilly in the winter!”

  “No, silly.” She nudged me. “I mean I’d love to live in the house and have this as my back garden.”

  Izzy turned to face the building we’d recently exited. I turned too. She was absolutely right, of course. An old manor house open to the public, Newberry House was all high ceilings, four-poster beds and creaking floorboards. A quaint old pile that many people would love to call home.

  “It is lovely, sweetheart,” I said, tucking my arm into Izzy’s and steering her round so we could continue our exploration of the grounds. “If I won the lottery, I’d buy you whatever house you wanted.”

  “Aww, we can but dream, eh?”

  “Mmm.” I said, nodding and falling into step with her as we continued our stroll in a companionable silence for
a while, enjoying the scenery. Every now and again we’d glance back toward the house to see it from different angles. Soon, though, we moved into a part of the grounds where that view was lost.

  High hedges lined the path on one side, and a mixture of trees and undergrowth adorned the other. It was a beautiful day. I sighed contentedly, drawing a smile from Izzy and a squeeze of my hand. I squeezed back. Seconds later, I received an entirely spontaneous pressure on my fingers, and Izzy crowded in close to me, her eyes wide and hand covering her mouth.

  “Whatever’s the matter?” I said, thinking at first she’d seen a spider or something. But she didn’t look scared, merely shocked.

  She pointed straight ahead. Before us was an alcove set into the hedge. Within it stood a beautiful white statue on a plinth. Judging from Izzy’s reaction, though, the beauty of the piece wasn’t what had attracted her attention.

  “What’s up, Izz?” I said, confused now.

  “Look at it!” she breathed, her eyes still betraying her surprise. “She’s…she’s naked!”

  I frowned. “Um…yes? What’s the problem with that?”

  “Well, you can see…everything! And she’s touching herself.”

  Izzy’s statement wasn’t strictly true. You could see most of the subject’s body, including high rounded breasts and curvy stomach and thighs, but the hand crammed between her legs meant that whatever delights lay between them were hidden.

  I was reeling with shock that my girlfriend, who’d seen and touched my naked feminine form on countless occasions, was offended by a statue in the grounds of a stately home.

  “Izz, what’s the problem?”

  “Well, it’s just that…anyone could see!”

  I shook my head, still disbelieving. “Oh, don’t be such a Little Miss Goody Two-Shoes. You’ve seen enough tits, pussy and ass to not be shocked by this, surely!”