The Mammoth Book of Lesbian Erotica

by Barbara Cardy

  “Tea? Coffee? Or something stronger?”

  “That one – the last.”

  “It’s just sherry.”

  “That’s fine.”

  I poured, sat beside her and we clicked glasses. “Cheers.”

  Amanda sipped, then said. “We don’t waste too many words around here.”

  “Then spit it out.” I could guess what was coming.

  “You havta know, Jane, you’ve moved into a nest of hets.”

  “You have objections?”

  “Not me, and probably not them.”

  “So?”

  “We’re curious. We seen you round and heard you talk, educated, like. What’s your sort doing in a dump like this?”

  “I’m broke. Flat. Sure, I’d rather be somewhere else but it’s not on right now. Got the sack from my teaching job for calling a spade a fucking shovel.”

  “Come again?”

  “I used four-letter words in my sex talks to my students. The principal called it ‘filthy gutter talk’ and gave me my marching orders. So, anything else?”

  “Yeah. We want to know – we’d like to know – what do your sort do – in bed?”

  I laughed. “Nothing like coming right out with it, Amanda.”

  “I’m like that. I don’t—”

  “—waste too many words?”

  “No.”

  “Well, before we sleep we . . .” I stopped, making her wait.

  She leaned forward. “And?”

  “We make love.”

  “I bleedin’ know that, but – how?”

  “Want to satisfy your curiosity?”

  “I reckon. I think. Maybe.”

  “Okay.”

  “Okay, what?”

  “You’ll have to suck it and see.”

  “I hope you’re speaking metaphoric-like?”

  “What do you reckon? Want to give it a go? Then tell your mates about it?”

  “Aw . . . aw . . . I don’t know about that.”

  “I won’t bite you – not unless you want me to.”

  “Jesus Christ.”

  “Save that for later.” I put a hand on her knee and she jumped. “I’m free this afternoon.”

  She was suddenly breathless. “Oh, oh. What time?”

  “How about now?”

  She swallowed the remains of her drink in a gulp. “Now?”

  “Of course I’ll have to be paid.”

  “I don’t have any money, Jane. Least none I don’t have to account for.”

  “To your husband? You don’t have any money of your own?”

  “Nup.”

  “Shit.”

  “Yeah. He’s a bit of an old dog with money but . . . I know . . . I could buy you something. Something legit. My hubby’s a builder – on again, off again one, and that’s the way the money is. Look around – low-rent houses ’cos no one wants to live here.”

  “I could do with some sheets.”

  “Right. I’ll buy you a set. No sweat.”

  “Okay. Let’s hit the sheets.”

  “Wh . . . where’s the bedroom?”

  “Just behind this curtain.” I led her to the bed, her eyes darting to the door looking for an escape hatch.

  “I don’t know if I—”

  “Can do it? Piece of cake, Amanda, but first you have to remove your clothes. Race you.” I whipped mine off, then hopped into bed and waited for my ambivalent bedmate to join me. “Think of it as an adventure. Now, just relax.”

  “How?”

  “Three deep breaths should so it. Don’t want you hyperventilating.”

  She took the three breaths, then said: “I’m scared.”

  “Switch your mind off. Lovemaking belongs to the senses. All you have to do is feel.”

  “I feel, all right. I feel like what I’m doing is a mortal sin.”

  “That’s thinking, not feeling. Now, if I touch your breasts like this . . . you will feel something . . . there. How does that feel?”

  “God.” She took a gulping breath. “Yes . . . um . . . it feels good.”

  “Women make better lovers than men because they understand another woman’s body.” As I talked, I caressed her breasts, her beautiful breasts, with nipples already high and hard. Throughout she gave soft moans of pleasure. “Men don’t really have a clue. I mean, how could they? They have no idea how a woman feels when her nipples are being caressed . . . or nibbled.”

  Louder groans from Amanda.

  “You like that?”

  She gave another groan of agonized delight.

  “Or twisted.”

  “Oh, my God.”

  “Too early for God, Amanda. Now, if you’ll just turn over on your tummy, then on hands and knees.”

  “Do you want me to bark, too?”

  “You’ll soon appreciate the necessity for this position. Very soon.”

  “Wh-what are you going to do?”

  “Relax, Amanda. I’m now putting my fingers in your cunt and they’ll stay there until I find – then activate – your G-spot.”

  “G-spot. There’s no such thing.”

  “Oh, yes there is. It lies on the front wall – the top part of our cunt. Believe. Now, bear with me. I just have to fossick around a bit . . . I need to exert a fair amount of pressure until . . .”

  Amanda gave small happy moans.

  “Sounds like I’ve hit pay dirt. Now, I’ll just keep up firm stroking of your magic spot.”

  Amanda’s groans get louder.

  “You hate it, I can tell. It’s reacting by not becoming swollen and slippery. Good . . . better . . . that’s great.”

  Amanda breathed heavily. “I . . . I’ve never ever felt anything like this before.”

  “Let go, Amanda. Go with the flow – and there sure is a flow down here, baby. Give yourself up to it. This is what you were meant for.”

  Amanda’s moans gave way to louder and louder groans. “Oh, my God . . . oh . . . oh . . . ooooh. Shit, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck . . . oh, my God. Jesus bloody Christ.”

  “The religious experience.”

  “Don’t stop. Wh-what are you doing? Don’t fer Christ’s sake stop.”

  “You want me to go on?”

  Amanda yelled, “Yes . . . yes . . . yes, yes yes.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Yes, I’m fucking sure.”

  “Quite sure?”

  “Quit torturing me.”

  “Okay.”

  Amanda’s cries of pleasure resumed and carried on until . . . “Oh . . . Gooooooooooood. Oh, shit, the neighbours will h-hear me.”

  “Fuck the neighbours.”

  Amanda gave a strangled laugh. “Yeah . . . F-fuck the n-neighbours.” Screamed, “Oh, my God.”

  “Yes, my child?”

  “Oh . . . that’s wonder . . . wonderfu . . . wonderful.” With heavy panting and tortured groans, Amanda, with a final scream, was taken over by orgasm.

  “Well done, Amanda. Now, roll on your back and let me hold you. Did you enjoy that?”

  “Enjoy?” she caught her breath. “Enjoy? What do you reckon? My whole fucking body exploded. I’ve never, ever . . . never ever . . .”

  “I know, I know. Now you can teach your old dog new tricks.”

  Amanda wafted off and I waited for repercussions. Didn’t have to wait long. At two the next day there was a knock on my door. “Business, methinks.” I opened the door to three women.

  “My name is Sarah. May we come in?”

  “Have you come to complain?”

  “Oh, no.”

  “Good. Then come in, sit yourselves down. I’m Jane.”

  Two of them sat on my couch; Sarah sat on a chair next to me. She said: “We saw Amanda leave here yesterday in a state of bliss. Couldn’t get any sense out of her. She never sings, but she was singing, ‘Heaven, I’m in heaven.’ I asked her what had got into her and she giggled, ‘You mean, who?’

  “Then she said, ‘And it’s going to happen again tomorrow.’ So, to coin a ph
rase, ‘I want what she’s having.’ ”

  The other two chimed in: “Me, too.”

  “Okay,” I said, “but it doesn’t come cheap.”

  All together they said: “We’ll pay.”

  “How much?”

  “Up to you.”

  “Twenty-five?”

  “Twenty-five, plus you spread the word.”

  Sarah grinned. “If we’re half as blissed out as Amanda, we’ll tell the world. Well, the females. The men, as well – if they’re lucky.”

  “No. Not the men. Show but don’t tell. I don’t want them knocking on my door accusing me of god knows what. If any of them do, I’ll triple your bills. Agreed?”

  They looked at each other and shrugged: “What’s to tell?”

  “Good. Who’s on first?” They rolled their eyes, eager beavers but scared. “Come on, decide.”

  Sarah broke the ice, “Me. Tomorrow morning at ten okay?”

  I grinned: “It’s a date.”

  “What about us?” wailed the other two.

  “You tell me.”

  “We’ll come separately the day after tomorrow and the day after that. At ten.”

  “It’s a date.” I waved them out, poured a drink and drank a toast. “To women, god bless ’em. And to the birth of a nice little earner that makes everybody happy.”

  Ruth, Roses and Revolvers

  Lori Selke

  Ruth couched the roses, dark as bloodstains, in the great glass vase that filled out the center of her dark cherry-wood dining table. She’d received the vase, tinted to a shade of midnight blue, as a present at her second wedding. Her second of three, so far.

  Ruth wore black every day, out of deference to her husbands, all deceased. It set off her honey-blonde hair, her lips rouged to match the roses perfectly.

  Her current live-in lover, Lina, came out of the kitchen carrying two fine china plates. She smiled when she saw Ruth arranging the blossoms with her white-gloved fingers.

  Lina was broad-shouldered, toffee-coloured, with thick black hair she kept pulled back and slicked down. Her heavy black brows always looked like they were halfway to a scowl, but her generous mouth and her eyes, always alert, offset that impression. She had stripped off her shirt, leaving exposed her ribbed white undershirt, but had stayed in her uniform pants, the ones with the stripe down the leg and the belt with its leather holster.

  “Another admirer?” Lina asked, nodding at the bouquet on the table. “Isn’t it a little soon?”

  “The proper mourning period for a dead husband is a year,” Ruth said, soft as silk.

  “Not that that’s stopped you before.” Lina smirked. Ruth smiled and shook her head, but didn’t reply further.

  Ruth had met Lina at the funeral of her last husband; Lina had been working as a security guard at the cemetery. It had been a whirlwind affair; soon enough, they were making love every night in Ruth’s marriage bed, and within three months, Lina was moving into the tasteful but richly appointed house Ruth had inherited in the will.

  They never discussed Ruth’s former spouses, or the circumstances of their deaths. The centrepiece of Ruth’s dresser was a small display stand that held three diamond wedding rings, each stacked above the other. Her closet held nothing but the most tasteful of mourning clothes.

  But Lina seemed no more than amused by the attentions that other men had attempted to pay Ruth since they’d met. The small gifts, the awkward, respectful gestures of flirting and wooing. The cool reception Ruth always responded with. Lina had never bought Ruth a ring, or any other jewel; her dresser was already strewn with tokens from her former husbands, and Lina’s small salary could never approach the riches they’d endowed her with. But Ruth was anything but cool to the ministrations of Lina’s strong, bold hands.

  “There wasn’t a card,” Ruth confessed over dinner. “I don’t know who sent them.”

  Lina nodded, her mouth full of garlicky pasta.

  “But they’re just lovely, aren’t they?” Ruth continued, reaching up to stroke the petals with her fingertips. “Love’s blood and baby’s breath. It doesn’t matter who sent them, I don’t care.”

  “Your food’s getting cold,” Lina said. Ruth obediently lifted a forkful of the pasta and its fragrant tomato sauce to her mouth.

  “This is delicious,” she said.

  “I made your favourite,” Lina said with a wicked smile. “Pasta Puttanesca. Whore’s delight.” Both women chuckled.

  “I’m no whore,” Ruth said.

  “There’s no such thing, though, as Coquette’s pasta,” Lina replied, and Ruth giggled, hand demurely placed over her mouth.

  A moment later, Ruth said, “You know, our anniversary is coming up.”

  Lina raised an eyebrow.

  “Our half-year anniversary.” Ruth dabbed at the corner of her mouth with her napkin. “It’s been almost six months since you moved in.”

  Lina smiled. “How could I forget?” she said.

  “I don’t know,” Ruth said, setting her lips in a mock-pout. “Maybe I should be concerned.” She cocked her head and failed to suppress a small smile.

  “About what?” Lina asked.

  Ruth shrugged with a slow, fluid roll of her shoulders. “I don’t know. Maybe you’re having an affair.”

  “You’re the one who’s getting flowers,” Lina said.

  Ruth smirked. “Touché,” she said. “So what are we going to do for our anniversary?”

  “Whatever you like, baby,” Lina said.

  “Anything?” Ruth asked, coy.

  Lina nodded. “Name it.”

  Ruth put a finger to her cheek, thinking. “So many choices. I’ll have to get back to you on that. But remember,” she said, aiming a finger at her lover, “you owe me.”

  “You’re not eating,” Lina said.

  “It’s delicious,” Ruth assured her. “I’m not hungry. Not for food, anyway.” And she stood to clear her plate, hips swaying in her black crepe dress as she stepped into the kitchen.

  Lina left her plate on the table and followed Ruth upstairs to the bed.

  Ruth arranged herself on the bed, still dressed. Lina sat on the edge of the bed, one arm braced between Ruth’s parted thighs. She kissed Ruth once on the lips, then at the juncture of her neck and shoulder.

  Ruth lifted her fine-boned hands to Lina’s belt. Quickly, she pulled it free, taking the leather holster that Lina wore with it. She cupped this to her chest.

  “What are you doing?” Lina asked.

  Ruth smiled like a child with candy and unsnapped the holster. “I’ve never touched your gun before,” she said. “Yet you wear it to bed every night.” She hefted Lina’s gun in her hand. Its barrel was narrower than she’d expected, the body heavier.

  Lina had stopped undressing. “Put that down,” she said quietly.

  Ruth glanced up at her lover, wrapped her hand around the grip, and rubbed the black barrel along her own thigh. She rubbed the dark metal suggestively, wiggling her ass on the bed’s comforter.

  “I’ve never held an automatic,” she said. “My first husband, Anthony, he owned the first gun I ever got a good look at. He was a collector. He liked old-fashioned guns, war relics, revolvers.”

  “Put that down,” Lina said, more sternly.

  “What’s wrong?” Ruth asked, a mocking tone in her voice. “Scared for me? Don’t trust me?” She giggled a little, to herself. “Anthony didn’t like it when I played with his toys, either.” And she pointed the gun at Lina’s chest.

  “It’s loaded,” Lina said, still in the same soft tone. “It’s not a toy.”

  Ruth laughed lightly and placed the butt of the gun in her crotch. “Do you like it better this way?” she said, wiggling her ass suggestively, stroking the barrel with her hand. “Don’t you think it’s sexy? What’s it’s name, baby?” she asked.

  “It’s a Beretta,” Lina replied.

  Ruth scowled down at the gun in her hand. “I thought Berettas were tiny ladies’ guns,” she s
aid.

  Lina shook her head and actually smiled. “Not this one. Now come on. Put it down.”

  “Come sit in my lap,” Ruth said.

  Lina said nothing. Instead, she reached out slowly, wrapped her hand around the barrel of the gun, and pulled. After a moment, Ruth’s grip slackened. Lina placed the Beretta on the nightstand next to the bed. Before Ruth could close her legs, Lina replaced the piece with her hand, the heel of her palm pressed against Ruth’s lace-concealed mons. Ruth gasped in surprise, clamped her legs shut, and leaned forward to kiss her lover on the forehead. Lina withdrew her hand, moving it slow enough to tantalize and no more. She pulled off her white ribbed undershirt and tossed it aside.

  “You like it that I have secret admirers, don’t you?” Ruth said, her fingers trailing along Lina’s collarbone, circling her breast.

  “Yeah, baby, it turns me on. All those men, wanting you. And I’m the one who’s got you.”

  Ruth shifted, straightening her back and pushing her chest out. Lina began to unfasten the buttons of Ruth’s dress, still nuzzling at her neck.

  “You’re not jealous?” Ruth asked.

  “What’s there to be jealous of?” Lina said, putting a hand on Ruth’s collarbone.

  Ruth smiled above Lina’s black hair, and bent to kiss the crown of her head. “They’re rich.”

  “You’re rich,” Lina said.

  “We’re rich,” Ruth corrected, smiling, and nibbled at Lina’s ear.

  Lina kissed her way down into the cleavage of Ruth’s bra.

  “You know how I got rich, don’t you?” Ruth whispered and buried her mouth in her lover’s hair.

  Lina reached up to cup Ruth’s satin-covered breasts in her hands. “You fucked them to death?” She teased, and kissed Ruth without waiting for a reply, until both were breathless.

  But when the kiss broke, Ruth shook her head, and pulled Lina’s hands away from her breasts. Lina kissed her again, lightly and then slipped her hand under the hem of Ruth’s skirt; Lina’s palm slid along the curve of her thigh to the top of Ruth’s stockings. Where it stopped. “I think I know,” Lina said, looking Ruth in the eye. “I think I’ve always known.” And she plunged her hand past the lace edge of Ruth’s panties, into the hidden moistness beneath. Ruth gasped. Lina manipulated Ruth’s clit roughly, mercilessly, but for only a moment before withdrawing.

  “Do you want me to tell you?” Ruth said, almost in a whisper.