Sometimes She Lets Me

by Tristan Taormino

  She lowered her mouth. Maude hovered there, breathing, then slowly dipped her tongue along the slit, just the slightest pressure, and the warmth of her breath. Jenna trembled, her thighs and belly spasming as Maude brought her hands up under her ass, cupping the cheeks, allowing Jenna to rest there. Maude lifted Jenna’s pussy to her mouth and rubbed and licked, sloppy and wet, no pattern, no rhythm, just random pressure, slobbery tongue, spit trickling down the crack of Jenna’s ass. If Maude hadn’t been holding her up, there was no way Jenna could have kept the position; as it was, her calves and feet were starting to cramp and her hands were falling asleep, although there was no way in hell she was going to let go of the bedposts. Just when she thought she wouldn’t be able to stand the rush of conflicting, crazy-making sensations any longer, Maude pulled her face out of Jenna’s cunt and growled, “A nasty girl like you can probably come more than once, am I right?” Jenna made a groan of agreement. “So show me,” Maude ordered. “Ride me.” She lowered her face again, this time her tongue flat and businesslike against Jenna’s clit. She pulled Jenna close with one arm and gave her a hand to bite, just in the nick of time, as Jenna was already coming, pistoning herself against Maude’s face, screaming as quietly as she could.

  “Shh, shh,” cautioned Maude, lowering Jenna to the bed and rolling on top of her. “You can let go now. I’ll hold you.”

  Jenna gratefully abandoned her grip on the bedposts and grabbed hard on to Maude who had started rocking against her.

  “You liked that, didn’t you, baby, you liked feeding me your hungry little pussy, didn’t you, Homecoming Queen; you pretender, what would your boyfriend say if he saw you here with me, letting the big dyke eat you out, begging for her dick? Let me hear you, baby. Beg me for it.”

  Jenna could think of nothing clever to say, only, “Yes, please, I want your dick, fuck me, put it in me, fuck me!”

  Maude’s eyes were half-closed and her forehead was shiny with sweat. Her breathing quickened as she moved against Jenna, then she rolled off and turned her over, pulling off the pumps and fishnets and thong, and shoving her knees apart. Jenna could hear her unbuckling her belt, unzipping her trousers; then she was covering her, easing her dick in, slowly filling her pussy. Jenna made noise into the pillow, pushing back. Just rocking gently at first, then gaining momentum, hitting her stride, Maude fucked her, reaching underneath to find her tits, squeezing them with both hands, using them for purchase, pinching the nipples hard.

  “Such a slut, such a slut,” she whispered.

  Jenna lifted up onto her hands and knees and pushed back, panting and groaning. Her throat hurt from all the screams she was keeping inside. Maude reached down with one hand and found her clit, and Jenna bucked against the hard fingers, coming with a roar of pleasure that stopped them both cold.

  They heard a door open and footsteps in the hall.

  “Maudie?” an older woman’s voice called. “Maudie, do you have the dog in there with you? Are you all right?”

  Maude drew in a breath, trying to stop laughing. The two of them were giggling like fiends, clutching each other, practically falling off the narrow bed.

  “Fine, Mom! I’m fine! Nightmare or something!”

  “Well, all right.” Slowly the footsteps went back down the hall.

  “You almost got me busted,” Maude hissed, no longer laughing. She had pulled out and was holding Jenna tightly. “I won’t forget that. I told you to be quiet, and you weren’t quiet. You can’t follow the simplest rule. I won’t forget that, either, and next time you’re going to take your punishment, aren’t you, Cheerleader?” She reached for Jenna’s ass, roughly shoving aside the dress Jenna had yanked down, squeezing her cheeks, painfully raking them with blunt fingernails. Jenna shuddered.

  “Yes,” she said so softly she could barely hear herself. “Yes.”

  Maude pressed her lips together and shook her head, frowning. “Such a slut, such a bad girl. Someone obviously needs to take you in hand. Your boyfriend certainly can’t keep you in line, that’s clear, and he sure isn’t giving you what you need. So next time, we’ll go somewhere you can make all the noise you want, little Cheerleader. All the noise your nasty little heart desires. I’ll get you alone and you can just go ahead and scream and scream, but your friends won’t hear you, no one will hear you, no one will come rescue you. Now come sit on my lap and be good to me until we’re sure my mom’s gotten back to sleep and I can sneak you out of here. We have school tomorrow. Come here, Homecoming Queen. And remember. Be very, very quiet.”

  And Jenna was.

  ROULETTE

  Shannon Cummings

  Women got there earlier than the crowds at the nearby South of Market bars. Straight from work, proudly displaying the sweat of a day’s work on their clothes. Tidying up would have been a sign of vanity, of femininity. A glob of pomade to grease the hair back was all the evening wear they needed.

  There was an unspoken rule that you couldn’t park your bike in front of the club if it was smaller than someone’s who had already arrived. Think your ride is better than someone else’s, you better be prepared to defend it. The only exception was of course if you had a high femme riding bitch.

  If you arrived late, you had to park your bike a few blocks away and hope you could get to the club without being roughed up by the neighborhood crew. A few trucks lined the alley out front. No one messed with you if you had a truck. It was assumed it was for work and was therefore off limits. Jobs were scarce, so if you could earn a living without losing your edge you were never ridiculed.

  Lou had gone there on many occasions, sometimes returning home via the emergency room after bottles had been broken or blades pulled. Fights often started over motorcycles or the call of a pool shot. Or someone talking about how some stone had cracked.

  The worst fight had happened after one girl had underestimated the locker room talk and bravado of both her lovers. While trading tales over whiskey, they realized just how much they had in common and ended up in a brawl. The next day they both called her to say they had defended her honor. But it was their own they were fighting for. One got a cut just above her eye; nearly blinded her, the doctor had said. The other’s hand was sliced along the life-line, or was is it the love-line, when she grabbed the blade swinging at her. She lost the use of her thumb and earned three months’ disability leave from her machinists union. Women practiced their swaggers and rubbed their imaginary beards during pauses in conversation. It was a club for women with a rule of “no girls allowed.” I was dying to go.

  For six months, I had been crashing at Lou’s place. I had run out on my last lover and showed up on her doorstep. I had taken over closet space and control of the tape deck, had started four kitchen fires, and had run up a long distance phone bill to my sister out east. Lou regularly threatened to kick me out but I would always coo to her until she got into bed so she could get to work on forgiving me. She was a good fuck and I was determined to stay. Sometimes when she was at work I would hustle some money at the pool hall to get by, pay a phone bill, or buy something sexy to wear so she wouldn’t notice I had trashed her apartment. And her life. She was the first lover I ever had who knew a compliment should be taken as a request for more. I steadily stroked her ego and she let me stay.

  “Dress sexy,” Lou tells me. “We are going out.”

  I dress hurriedly and return for her approval. She looks me over, undoes another button on my blouse, and leans in to trace her tongue over the now exposed lace of my bra. “Tonight I’m taking you to the bar.” She grabs her cigarettes, sighs into her nearly empty wallet, and slides both of them into her pockets.

  “Who’s going to be there?” I ask her, trying not to sound overly curious.

  “It will be crowded. Nanc will be there, too. Just be on your best behavior.”

  Nanc, Lou’s best friend and sometimes enemy. We had spoken on the phone a few times.

  “Lou there?”

  “No.”

  “She leave yo
u all alone?”

  “Yeah, she’s out. I’ll tell her you’re looking for her.”

  “No, I mean, if you’re alone, why don’t I just come on over. We can wait for her together.”

  “I don’t think that’s the best idea. She’ll be home soon.”

  “She says you’re real pretty. Why don’t I come over so I can tell her what I think of you.”

  “Maybe…some other time. I’ll tell her you called.”

  “Ah, come on, she’s been talking about how you’re a wild one, that you can’t ever get enough. You’re probably rubbing your clit raw right now. I’ll just come over and help you out. Why don’t I just come over there and introduce myself to your….”

  “Ummm…. I should really go. Bye.”

  We hadn’t met but I had replayed her words in my head enough to recognize her voice anywhere. The best sex is always in your head, and Nanc had a knack for climbing into mine.

  Lou parks the truck near the bar’s entrance and comes around to open my door and look me over. “Who do you love?” she asks, brushing my hair back.

  This well-rehearsed mantra to sooth her fragile ego spills forth: “I love you, Lou, you know that. Only you. You know you are the only one who can keep me happy.”

  “Is that right?” She smiles a bit and pushes me against the side of the truck to kiss me and then she pulls back, seems to be waiting for more. It is not the cock but the compliment that is the way to a butch’s heart.

  So I continue. “You know you are my love. You turn me on more than anyone else ever could. How many times have I told you so? I’m not going anywhere. Don’t you worry, baby.”

  Lou looks me square in the eyes and says, “No matter what happens tonight, you just remember that.”

  With her arm around my waist, we head down the damp back street. I can see the bikes in silhouette and the shape of a crowd of burly women hanging in the doorway of the bar. There is a whistle or two as we approach, then smiles and nods to Lou as she ushers me inside. The room is dim but everywhere I can see the dark huskiness of the most handsome women. There are squeaks of leather as people turn and a hand brushes my leg now and then in an almost accidental way. Now I fully understand why femmes need a chaperone here.

  I like my women tough. The rougher edged and bigger, the better. I like to watch them get restless, their tough exteriors trembling under thick denim when they talk to me. I regularly call them sir to make them think they are passing. I admire those who don’t correct me—it is a compliment. All a good butch really needs is a femme to appreciate her.

  I have taken to making myself the most appreciative femme in the city. I can appreciate the fuck out of just about any butch I come across. And it is the fucking that I am really after. The trick is to find the soft spot in the hard women and tickle it until they hike my skirt up to see if my pussy is as sweet as my words. Their little way of thanking me.

  Shy butches on their bar stools want to be told that I can tell they are thinking deep thoughts. One drink later we are in their cars and they are thanking me as deeply as their broad-fingered hands can in such close confines.

  A cropped-haired mechanic who has been tinkering on a bike that has been parked, unusable, for months on the lawn wants me to tell her what a fine ride it’s going to be. Wants to hear me ask if I can sit on it for a minute, have me hitch my skirt up and place my oops-I-forgot-to-wear-panties-cunt down on the seat, lean forward so my clit slides along the leather to reach the handle bars. “I bet you can make her purr,” I say, feigning revving the engine. A minute later, the shop table has been cleared off and she paws me with grease-stained fingernails while her buddies go out for lunch.

  Lou had been hard and secretive and didn’t fall for any of my usual ploys. Her soft spot was hard to find. Two weeks after moving in with her, I discovered a hidden stash of books. A few worn-out trashy straight novels, an instructional manual called The Erotic Woman, and a thoroughly uninteresting not-verywell-illustrated version of the Kama Sutra. To stay with Lou I would need to find a spot I could tease her with that could last months. Ordaining her as the best lover I have ever had was a way to keep my side of the bed vacant and to prevent her from changing the locks. She was good, so it wasn’t a matter of faking it with her, as much as playing down every other encounter I had ever had. She knew I played around, but all seemed to be forgiven when I whined about how frustrated I was and how I couldn’t wait to come home to be with her. She let the indiscretions go and grew increasingly interested in the fumbling details of lovers I auditioned. Lately we’d been arguing almost every day, and my stories had gone up a notch to counter her complaints. Now, not only was no one even close to her in bed, but no one else could even make me wet. Lou, who had been jamming my things into a duffle bag, stopped what she was doing when I revealed this to her. With almost a sense of pity she seemed to feel obliged to let me stay. I always carried clean panties in my pocket, which I could slip on before I came home to convince her of the lie she so wanted to believe.

  We stop to get drinks before heading to the table that Lou’s friends have staked out. Nanc speaks to Lou but keeps her eyes on mine, watching me scan the crowd. “Ah, so you finally let her out of the house.” They laugh, giving each other a one-shoulder butch hug/pat.

  The floor is already sticky with spilled beer. Lou’s friends make room for us at the table and I listen to the group discuss work. How the assholes at the plant are reducing overtime, how so-and-so at the cycle shop has some thingy and such part doodad. I can’t follow the conversation and don’t care. I sip my beer, bouncing my ankle, trying to catch eye contact in a crowd used to avoiding it. Conversations in the room grow louder and women set their beers down so hard in anger or humor that the tables are slick from the sloshing over.

  Lou gets up to go fetch more drinks and Nanc slides into her chair. “So, what d’ya think of our little bar?” She moves my hair off my shoulder, giving it a little tug. She leans into me, one hand on my knee. In her familiar voice, she whispers the gossip of those sitting around the table. “Jess—been single for over a year, a pity she can’t find a nice femme like Lou obviously has.” I lean into her slightly so her mouth grazes my ear as she speaks. “And see Ron there? She passes at work. Takes shots too, when she can get her hands on a dose. Did you know testosterone raises sex drive?” She laughs alcohol-moist breath into my neck, saying she’d bet I already knew that.

  Lou interrupts us, shoves Nanc back to her own seat, and pulls me out of mine.

  “C’mon, let’s go.”

  “Lou, man, we’re just talking. Geez, half the time you want her to find a new man. I was just testing the waters.” Nanc punctuates this with a sizzle sound.

  “We’re just going outside for a smoke. We’ll be back.”

  She leads me out of the bar, squeezing the pinkies on both my hands in her fist as she pushes our way through the crowd.

  Lou ignores me when we get outside even when I kiss her throat and try to jam my hands into her pockets. She has rolled us a joint she didn’t want to share with her friends and we lean against the wall in silence trying to hang in the shadows. She feeds me drags between her long puffs.

  Three women leaving the bar pause as they catch the scent and come over to ask directions to some other bar in an obvious ploy to get offered a hit. Lou vaguely gives them the information they want, and when they linger, she hands them the tight-rolled cig and they chat as they pass it around.

  Lou introduces herself. Then she introduces me as the insatiable curse who couldn’t be left alone for a minute without trying to make a pass at her best friend. Lou laughs it off and says that even if her friend had taken me into some back corner and tried to rustle up some lust, I would just have come crawling back to her.

  Lou tells them that last week I went to the bathroom between pool-shots and convinced someone to feel me up. How after the woman was unsuccessful at using her fingers to arouse anything more in me than a need to pee, I came storming out, saying I’d hav
e to use a pool cue if I wanted to get off. She tells them how she caught me crawling back into her bed with chalky hands and a blue smudge on my nose.

  She complains that I am always picking up girls and going home with them, just to end up horny and frustrated and then have to steal cab money or hop a late-night bus back to her place. Like an alley cat who keeps wandering back in the window whenever you shut him out. With this, she lets out a meow-moan and they laugh as if they know what it’s like. It is the first time I have heard her retell these tall tales and I can see her eyes sparkle with butch pride. I see how much of herself is tied to this reality I’ve been weaving for her.

  “Baby, tell them how no one can turn you on like I can.”

  I raise my eyebrows a bit and nod.

  “Shit, if you can do it, you can have her,” Lou says seriously as she sends the tiny butt around for one last pull from each of them.

  The three step back. They look at my boots, the sheer black stockings of my thighs, the skirt that has been inching its way up as I shift from one foot to the other. “I bet I can make the bitch wet,” one mumbles to another, meaning for Lou to overhear.

  Lou warns them that many women have tried, even a couple of men, with no effect. But if they are willing to give it a shot, they would be doing her a favor. She drops the roach to the ground and grinds it into the sidewalk with the heel of her boot, saying she would be glad to get rid of me so she could get some sleep for a change. She tells them that I’ve jacked up her phone bill and owe her money. So, for $50 they can have three minutes to get a chance to make me wet. Three minutes of kissing. Lou tells them that she doesn’t give a shit, throw in some tit- and ass-grabbing too if they want. She lays out the terms: They can’t touch my pussy and I have to keep my hands behind my back. But most importantly, if they make me wet, they have to promise to keep me away from her.

  The thought of her handing me over to these women, these biker chicks with their huge hands and rough talk and their cocky attitudes, has me on the verge of coming already. I am not sure if Lou is setting this up to be rid of me once and for all or if she wants me to prove my devotion to her in some grand Russian roulette gamble based on a lie I’ve been tickling her with for months. I am still wondering this when the most boisterous one of the group steps up to the bet. She watches Lou as if she is afraid it might end up being a joke worth fighting over and pulls her wallet out of her back pocket. Fifty dollars, surely an entire day’s pay if she is one of those lucky enough to have a full-time job. She holds it out, as if daring Lou to take it.