She forced the panties against my nostrils. Oh, that smell, who could resist it?
“In that letter you told her to wear them. These panties are one of your best pair, my favorite actually, and you sent it to the dirty cunt.”
“Oh, Mia…”
Her hand cupped my panties, slamming up into me like a hammer to a nail, forcefully. I let out a sharp, puppy-like yelp.
She smacked my pussy, once, twice, three times. Each slap was harder, faster and louder. She bit down on my ear gently, sucking on the lobe and then slithering her tongue deep inside. I melted into a puddle. She tapped my cunt, teasing it, making me squirm with anticipation.
“Fuck, you’re so wet Stella. Did you fuck yourself like crazy when you got your panties back from that bitch?”
“Yes…”
With my mouth barely open, she put the panties before my eyes, stretched them out with both her hands and forced them into my mouth. She pulled the sides down hard so that my underwear became a pony-bit gag, perfumed with the scent of Bella-cunt. My moan was loud and helpless.
“Nobody wears my girlfriend’s panties but me!” Mia hissed.
She pulled at the ends of the panties as if they were reins and I was the pony. This was unbelievable and beautifully shocking. Was Mia truly jealous? Jealousy made her sexy. I groaned when she pulled the panties harder and tied a knot at the back of my head. The smell, Bella’s lipstick mark, and her autograph were crammed into my mouth. My lips trembled. Mia pushed two fingers into my pussy, smooth and easily, pushing the fabric of the panties I was wearing into me as well.
“Do you like that, my little bitch?”
She had her other hand around my neck, choking me for a second, then letting me go. I breathed loudly and heavily in pleasure; I liked that. She applied pressure again for five seconds then let me go. The sensation was intense.
“M-m-mia…fuck…I love you like this…”
“I can’t hear you…you sound like a baby with those panties in your mouth!”
She forced the panties I was wearing into my cum-filled pussy. I screamed.
“Want more?”
With barely a nod, she thrust her fingers up deeper, the fabric of my panties burning my cunt with an intense explosion. I came all over Mia’s fingers. She licked my ears, making me weak at the knees. I was trembling and melting. She pulled off my panties, and then slowly crunched bit after bit of my panties inside of my pussy. It hurt like a bitch, the shock and pleasure indescribable. She crammed them all in, letting my panties soak inside my cunt.
“You are so fucking filthy,” she growled. “Get in the fucking bath with that dress on.” She ripped the panty-gag out of my mouth.
“Are you serious?”
“Do as I say!”
“Yes, Mistress!”
I couldn’t believe that I was calling Mia “Mistress.” For the first time in our relationship, she was the bitch in charge. I got up slowly, heart pounding, drunk with love, high with sex, pussy panty-stuffed, because of Mia. I turned off the faucet, the tub now full, and stepped in. The water was hot as hell, but oh, how good it was to feel my dress clinging to my skin, the panties in my cunt meshing with my own pussy water, another pleasure that I had never thought of.
“How does it feel?” Mia smirked.
“I never thought I’d ever have panties up my pussy, you bitch.”
“It’s what you’ve been waiting for, right? You deserve it.”
I was going to reply when Mia bent over and took a Japanese bondage rope out of her purse. Her entire presence had changed; she had stepped into my universe.
She put her feet in the bathtub, fully clothed as well. She grabbed me by the wrists, pulling them behind me, tying them with the rope, nice and tight. How the fuck did she learn such a trick? To my surprise, she lifted my legs up in the air, pressed my ankles to my wrists and tied them together.
“You look so helpless,” she said with a scowl. I couldn’t move. Mia, so powerful; Mia, so dominant; Mia, my love. She lifted up her dress, revealing a purple, double-strap harness made of vinyl. We didn’t own a strap-on, so she must have bought it without my knowing. Then she took out an eight-inch black monster dong, snapping it into the O-ring so quickly and easily, it looked like she’d been doing it her whole life.
“You love being fucked by huge, black dicks don’t you?”
“Yes!”
“So big that it will ravage your cunt and asshole to pieces…”
“Oh, god, Mia! I fucking love you!”
She sank into the water and pressed the head of her black dong against my mouth, pushing hard, forcing it in, smacking my face with it. Then she knelt, her dress still on, the water soaking through the fabric. Her warm, slender fingers opened my pussy lips.
“Oh, how lovely your panties look inside of you…I’m surprised that you didn’t do this earlier and then send them out to Belladonna.”
“I never thought of that…”
She looked at me sharply and dove at my pussy, pulling on the panties with her teeth. She tugged the entire thing out of me, crammed it in her mouth and sucked the taste of my juices. I threw my head back, grinning, shaking my head, wanting to laugh and thinking that I must be dreaming all this.
“Mmm, you taste amazing,” she cooed, tossing the panties to the side. “I’m going to pound you so hard that you won’t think about using that rabbit vibrator ever again…”
She grabbed my feet, gripped them tightly and put that enormous dildo into my body.
“Oh, my god!” I roared. She fucked me, her sensually evil eyes stabbing into me, raw and horny, renewed and confident. The bathwater splashed back and forth against my thighs, as she began to pound me at a gentle but increasingly rapid pace. The heat intensified. Mia took me to that place I had always wanted to explore with her: a new world full of daring, raunchy, kinky sex. Mia fucked me better than any man or woman I had ever been with; she knew exactly how to please me and how to ravage me to bits. She squeezed my feet harder—the perfect handles—pounding me faster and faster. I closed my eyes, hearing the panting of her breath, the rush of her intensity, the trembling of her pussy beginning to release. My body ached, the rope felt tighter, chafing my skin.
When she pulled out of me, my pussy clicked and gaped, dripping with my juices. I panted heavily, looking up at my Mia. She growled, grabbed my asscheeks, spread them and inserted the dildo into my asshole. I screamed. The bathwater rushed against my face as she pounded me, hard and rough.
“I love you!” I groaned.
She smacked my face—it was a hot, tingly sensation. I wanted more, and she saw it in my eyes. She slapped my face again and again, stroking my ass. She pushed into me; counted to three, out loud, so that I could hear her; pulled out. She bent over, flicked her tongue around the edge and then dove deep inside, fishing out my orgasms. She teased and played and my cum flowed out of my pussy, dripping into the steamy bathwater.
She grabbed my breasts and squeezed them hard, bit down on my nipples and thrust her fingers into me. She stroked both holes, deeper and deeper, harder and harder. I came a thousand times. She came a thousand times more.
At last she was exhausted, panting and quivering. She collapsed on top of me, the water still warm, washing over both our sweaty bodies and soaking into my rope restraints.
“I didn’t know I had that in me,” Mia said, hot sweat dripping down her face. “I think this is the naughtiest thing you’ve ever done, Stella,” she whispered. “It really turns me on. Maybe Bella isn’t that bad after all.”
“She made you into a beast,” I breathed heavily, licking her cheek.
“No, you did, honey.”
She untied the rope, letting me free. We kissed deeply and passionately, tongues dancing, caressing each other’s skin from underwater, as if we were floating in a dream.
“From now on,” whispered Mia, “I’m going to be more like Bella. I’ll be your nasty bitch.”
“Aw, baby doll,” I smiled. “You had it in you all along.”<
br />
She kissed me, her hands traveling to every part of my body, her eyes looking deeply into my soul and taking me to a higher place. Stella will always love Bella. But at the end of the day, Mia is all I’ll ever need.
HOMECOMING
Anamika
“Is that Priya Agarwal?”
The voice sounded familiar, but I couldn’t immediately tag a name to it. My automatic response was: “I am rather busy right now, could you ring me after some time?”
“Priya, this is Megha Singh, your old classmate from Miranda.”
I took a deep breath and my index finger poised on the mouse stiffened. The last I’d heard about Megha from one of my college classmates six years before was that Megha had married a rich hotelier and migrated to the USA. Since we were never on good terms, Megha had not invited me to her well-publicized marriage reception party at a five-star hotel in Delhi where (as one of my friends later reported) caviar was served and a Bollywood item girl was invited to entertain the guests with her acrobatic dancing. Why did Megha call me now? I wondered. “Well, Megha, it’s nice to hear from you,” I said, keeping my voice as cool and courteous as I could manage.
“You didn’t expect a call from me, did you?” Megha asked.
“Not really. We were never that close, after all.” I could have said more, but didn’t, fearing that we would end up exchanging some hot words, raking up an unpleasant past that had troubled me in my college days.
“We could meet, you know,” Megha said rather plaintively. “I am now in Delhi, staying with my aunt at Vasant Vihar.”
“Oh.” Even as I made that noncommittal sound, I felt my pulse going up and I felt very hot, even though I was sitting in my air-conditioned office. “I thought you were calling me from your home in New York or is it Chicago?” I said, trying to sound nonchalant.
“Vineet, my husband, is now staying in New Jersey,” Megha told me, and then said: “When do we meet, then?”
“Tomorrow, I go to Mumbai for a couple of days to attend a business conference. I will be back on Thursday morning.”
“In that case, we can meet on Thursday evening, right?”
Megha’s authoritative tone, which had once impressed me, now galled me. So I said: “I will be busy during the week. I am now an assistant manager with Tata Consultancy Service…in case you are wondering why I am not free on Thursday evening.”
“I know a little about your present occupation…and also about your single status… Neha told me. In fact, I got your number from her.”
So Megha’s old confidante and roommate at Miranda had done this little mischief. I would have to warn Neha not to share my personal details with anyone. “I wonder what we will talk about now,” I said. “Frankly, Megha, I don’t fancy reviving a friendship that was never there…if you know what I mean.”
“A lot of water has flown down the Yamuna since we met last time, Priya,” Megha said. “Maybe we can talk about that. How about Saturday evening? You can choose the venue.”
Megha was insistent. I took a deep breath, then said: “Seven thirty at Flora, Nehru Place.”
“That suits me. Thanks.”
It was Neha, my classmate at Miranda College, who had originally introduced me to her pretty, snobbish roommate. Megha came from a rich, conservative and politically influential family in Lucknow. Her family owned a mall and several large estates in and around Lucknow and her father was a cabinet minister in the government of Uttar Pradesh. Apparently, Megha, who studied psychology and was senior to me, was not interested in boys, so Neha thought I could perhaps meet her and find out if she was a “queer” like me. I initially declined to be a part of her dubious project, but when Neha introduced me to Megha and she gave me a tight hug (I fancied she was trying to assess the size of my breasts) and a captivating smile, I was tempted to know her a little more intimately. Neha suggested that a dark auditorium would be the right place for our courtship, so she booked three tickets for a matinee show at Eros, a single-screen cinema, which was showing a mushy Bollywood musical. We sat according to Neha’s plan: Megha in the middle and the two of us on either side of her.
The movie theater darkened after the promos, but nothing happened in the first half hour because, experienced as I was in the art of seduction (I had had three lovers—one steady and two casuals—in my senior grade at school), I didn’t think it prudent to touch a girl I hardly knew. Neither did Megha show any inclination to take the lead. So, an exasperated Neha, who loved as much to spread news as to create it, volunteered to play the pimp/facilitator: she picked up my left hand (I was after all a leftie), placed it on Megha’s right hand and then hissed: “Now start, you dumbos!” I tentatively stroked Megha’s long, tapering fingers and then leaning sideways I tried to kiss her, but Megha moved away her face, denying me this privilege. “Sorry, I am not yet ready for that,” she said.
“You are a pretty girl, Megha, and I like you,” I whispered in her ear.
“Thanks, just carry on,” Megha whispered back.
I pushed my hand under her top and discovered to my delight that she wore no bra and her boobs were small but firm.
“Please don’t rough-handle me, Priya,” Megha mumbled and then leaned back. I assured her that I wouldn’t do anything to hurt her.
And true to my words I didn’t hurt Megha; in fact I handled her body like one handles a newborn baby, stroking and nuzzling her breasts and then sucking her taut nipples. As Megha softly moaned and clutched my hair, I thought we had reached a stage when reciprocation was absolutely necessary. So, I took her hand and slipped it under my top to caress my embarrassingly large boobs. Megha cursorily fondled them a little and then withdrew her hand. I asked her if she was disappointed with my tits. Megha said she just wanted to concentrate on the pleasures I was giving her and didn’t want to distract herself by engaging in mutual fondling. At this point, when I was debating in my mind if I should extend my field of exploration below Megha’s waist, Neha, the pimp, grabbed my hand, pulled the zipper of Megha’s trousers and thrust my hand under her panties. I stiffened, expecting the conservative Megha to evict my eager fingers from her crotch. But she obliged me by spreading her legs. Her smooth, clean-shaven pussy was already swollen, hot and moist, which only showed she was awaiting her spasms. Slowly, I masturbated Megha, stroking her labia with my index and middle fingers and rubbing her clit with my thumb till Megha climaxed, clamping her thighs hard on my wet palm. “Thank you for your good work, Priya,” she whispered when I finally withdrew my fingers awash with her cum from her crotch.
“So when are we going to meet again, honey?” I asked her when we came out of the movie theater.
Megha arched her finely drawn brows. “Now, aren’t you going a little too fast just after a groping session, Priya?” she said with the superior air of a benefactress who had given alms to a beggar. “I need some time to think about it.” And Megha suddenly looked very somber and thoughtful.
I realized belatedly that Megha had used me as a guinea pig to find out what a lesbian couple do to each other when they are left in the dark. I was a fool to let her know that I was besotted with her, and got snubbed for my overture. But unable to banish her from my mind, I buttonholed Neha a few days later to ask her about her roommate.
“Sorry, Priya, she’s not going to join your club,” Neha said, rolling her eyes. “I told you Megha comes from a rich, conservative family and girls from such families have inhibitions, taboos and whatnot. So forget her and find a new face among the freshers.”
“Thanks for your advice,” I said tartly, “but I think I can handle my libido pretty well.”
Two weeks later, I saw Megha in the college canteen, munching samosas with two of her classmates who knew that I was a “queer.” Megha turned away her eyes to avoid meeting my gaze and that irked me. In a moment my thwarted love turned into pure hate and I decided to spoil Megha’s reputation as a nice, clean, hetero girl before her friends.
“Honey, you enjoyed what I did to you the
other day in the movie theater, didn’t you?” I asked Megha, beaming.
“It was okay,” Megha said stiffly, looking slightly scared. “Want some samosas?”
“No, thanks. Well, Megha, you have a great body and I enjoyed fondling you,” I chortled, twinkling at her friends’ bemused faces.
“You never told us you went on a date with our pussy-loving Priya,” one of Megha’s friends pouted.
“It was a mistake,” Megha said drawing her breath sharply. “You don’t really need an extra pair of hands to…pleasure yourself. That was not real sex.”
“What’s real sex, then, sweetie?” I said, pinching her cheek. “And where do you get that?”
A plump girl with braces said: “Wow! What a question! Of course, you need a six-pack alpha male with a reasonably firm dick to give you that kind of experience.”
Megha blushed and nodded. “Sorry, Priya, Pinky has given you the answer in a bold forthright manner. Now, spare me from your dirty talk on this subject.”
Since Megha was not ready for a fight, I did the best possible thing in that situation: I clamped her face between my palms and pressed my lips hard on her mouth for the kiss she had denied me in the movie theater. Her friends twittered and clapped even as Megha struggled to free herself from my grasp. “Some great poet said: ‘If there’s no help, let’s kiss and part.’” I flashed a victor’s smile and walked away.
A couple of months later, Neha told me Megha had started dating an athletic boy from St. Stephens, one of the prestigious colleges, and often talked about her ongoing affair.
“Has she done it?” I asked Neha, because in those days losing one’s virginity was the in thing on the campus.
“Not yet,” said Neha, the faithful reporter. “She says she is in no hurry to rush into a physical relationship.”
“Good for her,” I said. “Because truth could be very unsettling, you know.”
“So you think she’s one of your kind?”
“I will not say anything right now. Just tell her to watch out before she takes the big leap forward.”
Best Lesbian Erotica 2013 Page 9