“Well?” she asked, looking up from the book open on her lap.
“I liked Jane. She had balls.”
“Like you.” She arched an eyebrow. “And Cathy?”
I wrinkled my nose. “Too whiny.”
She nodded. “I’m Zoe, by the way.”
I was surprised. I figured she’d go on being the mysterious woman from the library. “Amy,” I said.
She studied me, her dark lashes blinking slowly, languidly. She stroked the pages of the book in her lap with a delicate white-tipped nail. I felt my nipples tighten as the pages fluttered softly. Her gaze never shifted from my face, but by her quiet smile I suspected she knew the effect she had on me. She stood and crossed the narrow expanse between our chairs. She knelt, placing the book in my lap with a gentle caress of my khaki clad thigh. “C is for cunt,” she whispered, and I could have sworn her tongue slicked hotly against the rim of my ear.
When she straightened, I saw that several of the buttons on her skirt were unfastened. With a subtle adjustment, she parted the panels and revealed her cunt, with its dark, bare lips tucked up tightly and a silky black patch of hair on her mound. I wanted to look around to see if anyone else had noticed her display, but I was too mesmerized by the cunt before me.
It wasn’t until she glided through the doors that I looked down and realized C was also for Agatha Christie.
I was still making a couple trips to the library each week, but I only saw Zoe every other week. I looked forward to our meetings and, if I was being honest, I’d have to say I was looking forward to the books she would choose for me. I’d expected something like Dostoyevsky for D, what I got instead was Daphne Du Maurier’s Rebecca. She handed it over with a feral smile and a scratch of blood red nails against my wrist.
When I got home, I sucked the mark she left on me, imaging it was her skin. I read Rebecca in three days.
And so the weeks rolled by. Zoe gave me books: Zora Neale Hurston’s Their Eyes Were Watching God, Susanna Kaysen’s Girl, Interrupted, Anne Lamott’s Tender Mercies, Toni Morrison’s Beloved. The books were eclectic, unpredictable. Wonderful because she chose them, exciting because I enjoyed almost all of them. Our flirtations grew bolder, the brush of her face against my breast when she bent to give me a book , my lips pressing to her hand as she pulled away.
By the time she introduced me to Anais Nin’s Delta of Venus, I was starving for her touch. I returned the book two weeks later, breathless with anticipation. Only Zoe wasn’t there; her chair was empty. I waited for three hours and she never showed. I thought maybe I was a day early, but no, it had been two weeks to the day. I left the library angry and hurt, and with an insistent throb between my legs.
I spotted her at the back of the parking lot, leaning against my Honda. She was wearing a green sheath dress, darker than my eyes but lighter than my car. She didn’t smile as I approached.
“Something wrong?” she asked, a lime green nail flicking at the corner of my mouth when I stopped in front of her. “Miss me?”
“Bitch.”
She smiled at that. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s go for a ride.”
She sat in the passenger seat, window rolled down halfway, watching me fidget as I pulled into traffic. I tried to play it cool. It wasn’t as if we didn’t both know what was going to happen. But, dumb as it sounds and as much as I wanted her, I was afraid if we got involved, if we fucked, things would change. The library would never be the same.
“Nervous?” she asked, watching me pick at the faux leather flaking off my steering wheel.
I shrugged. “Should I be?”
She leaned nearer, hiking my skirt up to my hips. “No, baby, you shouldn’t be nervous.” One lime green nail traced a figure eight on my pale thigh. “You should be wet.”
I was soaked. I wasn’t about to tell her that, though.
“Green light, Amy,” she murmured, her fingers sliding up under my skirt as I belatedly let up on the brake and jolted into the intersection.
Her fingers were hot on my thigh. So close to my cunt I trembled. I kept driving, trying to focus on the street signs. Trying not to wreck the damn car. I felt her finger part my slick lips and I gasped. So much for playing it cool. I wanted to pull over and beg her to fuck me, but I didn’t. I kept driving.
Her finger snaked into my cunt and I squeezed it with my muscles. She chuckled. “Hungry, baby?”
I didn’t answer. I turned the corner. I was heading toward my apartment, I realized. My cunt quivered.
She finger-fucked me slowly, teasing me. Her thumb nail scraped my clit and I nearly ran over a little old lady crossing the street. “Careful, careful,” Zoe chided. “Maybe it’s time we headed back to the library.”
I didn’t question. I made the turn. The lights were against me, so it took a few minutes. By the time we pulled into the parking lot, she’d whipped my cunt to a froth.
Two fingers pumped me, she was half-leaning into my seat. I slammed on the brakes, jolting us both forward, and put the car into park. My thighs were shaking.
“Come on, baby.”
It was all the encouragement I needed. With the shadow of the library shading us, I came with Zoe’s fingers buried in my cunt, her lime green thumbnail flicking my clit. Rocking against her hand, my fingers wrapped tight around her wrist, I came with a moan. Months of pent-up lust had driven me to this, a quickie in a parking lot, but I didn’t care. I didn’t care because Zoe’s fingers were inside me and she was whispering how good I was, how pretty, how wet. I came and I came. And when I was done, she pulled her fingers from my wet cunt and sucked them dry.
Before my heartbeat had returned to normal, she was gone.
The weeks went by in a blur. Books took on new meaning. I walked into the bookstore one day to buy a gift for my mother and had to go to the bathroom to get myself off. Just the smell of a book was enough to make me cream my panties. I wanted to tell Zoe but I figured she’d laugh. I also figured she already knew.
She introduced me to the poetry of Christina Rossetti and, even more appropriately, Sappho. The hypnotic words of the lesbian poet invaded my dreams, causing me to wake in a fever of lust, my fingers between my thighs massaging my clit even as I slept. I could feel my heart hammering in my chest when she walked through the door of the library two weeks later.
“Sappho get you hot?” she asked, settling in the chair across from me, her suede dress the colour of chocolate, her thick, curly hair wrapped in a bun at the nape of her neck.
I didn’t answer. She stood up and took my hand. I resisted a moment, but at her insistent tug I followed her across the wing of the library to the bathrooms in the corner. She pulled me into a stall. Once inside, she slid the lock home and pushed me down on the lid of the toilet. She pulled her dress up and tugged her black panties to the side.
Within moments, my mouth was pressed to her bare cunt, sucking her as hard as I’d ever dreamed of sucking her.
“Oh, baby, that’s it,” she moaned, her voice soft and urgent. “You must have really liked Sappho.”
Her sarcasm drove me on. I plunged a finger in her cunt and rubbed her G-spot roughly while I nipped her clit between my teeth, sucking it out, letting it go, sucking it back. Soon, she could barely breathe, much less talk. I jerked my jeans open and shoved my hand down my panties, rubbing my clit as roughly as I was sucking hers.
She came on my tongue in a gush of fluid that I lapped gently while I shuddered through my own orgasm.
The bathroom door opened and someone entered. We adjusted ourselves quietly, then she slipped out while I waited for the other woman to finish up. By the time I escaped the bathroom, Zoe was gone.
As we got near the end of the alphabet, I wondered what she would find for X and Z. I figured something by Malcolm X, but it didn’t seem like her. I was right. Instead, she presented me with a fascinating little book called There’s a Whip in my Valise by Greta X. I smirked, wondering if Zoe was trying to tell me something. I flipped to the back of the
book, where the library’s stamp should be. It was blank.
I looked up at her. “This didn’t come from the library.”
“I’ll donate my copy when you’re done with it.”
She left me soaked. So did the book.
Y was a vampire tale by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro. I stayed up all night to finish it, I liked it that much. I’m still working on reading the others in the series.
When I returned the Yarbro, I found Zoe sitting in my chair for a change. The library was quiet that day, very few patrons perused the aisles. Maybe it was the weather, dark and unusually chilly for March in Florida. Maybe it was just wishful thinking on my part. When she beckoned to me and smiled, I didn’t give a damn what anyone else thought. I settled on her knee, my head resting against her shoulder. She was wearing blue today, and I remembered this was the same dress she’d been wearing the first day I’d met her. I felt the softness of her breast pressing into my side and I ached to cup it, stroke it.
“You liked Yarbro,” she said.
I nodded against the top of her head. “Yeah. I liked it a lot.”
She turned her head so that her mouth was against my neck. Instead of pulling away, I arched my neck. She nipped lightly at the stretched tendon, then pressed a wet kiss to my skin. “I want to fuck you right here,” she said, louder than a whisper. I didn’t care. I wanted the exact same thing.
This time, it was me pulling her toward the bathroom. I don’t think the librarians noticed, but I would have knocked anyone who tried to stop us on their ass. I pulled Zoe into a stall, pushed her down on the seat and dry humped her thigh until I came with a whimper. When I tried to get under her skirt, she shook her head and pushed me off. “Not today.”
We left the bathroom and the library. My heart thudded dully in my chest, partly from the after effects of the powerful orgasm I’d just had and partly in fear. Something felt different between us, something had changed.
I expected her to say something when we got to my car, but she didn’t. Instead, she handed me a book. I knew this was Z. I was curious what she’d chosen, but at the moment I was more interested in the strange expression on her face. I saw a vulnerability I’d never seen before. It frightened me.
She turned and walked away without a word. I looked at the book in my hands. It wasn’t a book from the library, it was a journal. Zoe’s journal. I flipped to the first page and saw that Z was for Zoe Zimmerman and the date of the first entry was the day we’d met, just over a year ago.
Hot tears pricked my eyes even while wetness trickled down my thighs from my earlier orgasm. I read the book that night, cover to cover, then I stayed home from work the next day and read it again. Zoe wrote about herself, us, the books, the sex. It was the best of the books she’d given me.
I waited at the library two weeks later, but she never showed. Somehow I knew she wouldn’t. I never saw her again at the library. Our alphabet game had come to an end. Still, I held out hope for five months that one day she’d stroll into the library and give me that little knowing smile. I stopped by more often and I even got a library card. She’d made me hunger for books as much as her body. I applied for a job as a library assistant and got it; I quit my waitressing job and enrolled in Broward Community College. I’d waited almost to the deadline to enroll, so when I finally got around to picking my classes, the only literature class left was something called “English: Special Topic.” I signed up, figuring what the hell.
The first day of class I walked in to the full classroom and took a seat at the back. The instructor strode in several minutes later in a puff of lavender silk. She scrawled her name and the title of the class on the board. When she turned around, she saw me toward the back. There was a moment of startled recognition and then she grinned. I grinned back.
On the board, she’d written: Zoe Zimmerman, Women’s Literature, A to Z.
I was pretty sure I was going to get both an A and a Z out of the class. After all I’d already completed the reading list.
Women at Work
Lynn Lake
Cherry Feliz dusted the door with her knuckles.
“What!?” the impatient voice of Nan Stewart came from within.
Cherry pushed the door open, stuck her head into the large, tastefully-appointed office. “Ms Stewart, I’m Cherry, from the payroll department, and—”
“It can wait!” Nan stated, waving a dismissive hand. She slammed a briefcase shut and stood up behind her huge expanse of mahogany desk. “Make an appointment to see me next week or something. Right now, I’ve got a date with a drink and a boat.”
Cherry slipped inside the office, quietly closing the door and walking over to Nan’s desk. “What I have to say won’t wait until next week.”
Nan looked up, her clear, blue eyes flashing angrily. She swatted a dangling strand of glossy blonde hair aside and demanded, “Just who do you think—?”
“I want to talk to you about the irregularities I’ve found on your expense claim forms.” Cherry placed a file on the gleaming top of Nan’s desk.
Nan swept it away. “Get out of my office! Now!”
Cherry didn’t blink, big brown eyes locked on Nan’s. “Part of my job is to enter all the executives expense claim forms into the system. Usually I only get totals for yours, but a while back I received a number of detailed forms. And I’ve been reviewing them, and I’ve found a number of irregularities. For instance—”
Nan banged a hand down on her briefcase. The office went quiet. She took a deep breath, large breasts straining the rich silk of her white blouse. “My expense reports are reviewed and signed by Mr Fielder, Chairman of the Board. No one else is allowed to see them. Now get out of here and consider yourself lucky to still have a job on Monday.”
“Well, I guess Mr Fielder doesn’t look at them too closely -being pretty old and all,” Cherry persisted, tucking her shimmering, brown hair in behind her ears. She rubbed her tiny hands on the sides of her short, black skirt, licked her crimson lips. “Because you’re missing a bunch of meal receipts from your trip to New York – expensive meals. And you filed a mileage claim for the trip when a plane would have been a lot cheaper.”
Nan glared at the young woman, silver fingernails biting into the leather of her briefcase.
“And for your trip to Miami, you submitted all the receipts okay. But you’ve included expenses for some woman who, as far as I can tell, doesn’t even work for the company.”
Nan moved swiftly around her desk, slender, silk-sheathed legs whispering lethal. She was beside Cherry in an instant, looking down at the smaller woman from the end of her aristocratic nose. “Consider yourself terminated, effective immediately!”
Cherry looked up into the older woman’s angry face. “And you were reimbursed for a trip to Mexico, even though the company doesn’t do any—”
Nan slapped the girl across the face, the hot crack of flesh against flesh exploding obscenely inside the hushed, dignified confines of the business office.
Cherry touched her cheek, crimson finger polish flashing under the lights, diamond spider brooch on her scarlet top rising and falling in rhythm to her small breasts. “Even though the company doesn’t do any business in—”
Nan slapped her again, even harder this time. Cherry’s head jerked to the side, hair flying. She slowly brought her head back around, cheek burning, quiet smile on her pouty lips. Then she shot her hand up, as if to smack the CEO full in the face.
Nan staggered backwards on her spike heels, in fright and in realization that this was a girl to be reckoned with. Her face went deathly pale, her eyes wide. “W-what do you want?” she stammered.
“Bitch!” Cherry hissed, fists clenched with the effort to hold back, body quivering. “You think you can get away with anything! Treat this company and its employees like you own them!”
“N-no, that’s not true,” Nan gasped, staring into the girl’s burning eyes. “I’11-I’ll . . . treat you right.”
“Too late,” Cherry sneered.
“Once I turn over what I’ve found to the Board of Directors, and the District Attorney, all your future expenses are going to be the State’s responsibility.”
Nan suddenly sagged to her knees, grabbing onto Cherry’s skirt. She hugged Cherry’s legs, pressing her face against the girl’s brown, muscled thighs. “No-no, you don’t want to do that,” she whimpered.
Cherry looked down at the woman’s bowed, blonde head, and laughed. “Why not?”
Nan jerked her head up, the shrewd businesswoman quickly conjuring up some tears, blinking them away so that they rolled down and over her high, haughty cheekbones, setting her mascara to running. “I’ll give you whatever you want,” she gushed, searching Cherry’s eyes.
Cherry felt Nan’s sharp fingernails digging into her plump buttocks, Nan’s hot breath steaming against her skirt, pussy-level. She didn’t say a word, even as the kneeling woman slowly unhooked her skirt with trembling fingers.
When Cherry made no move to stop her, Nan pulled the girl’s skirt down, lifted her high heels out of the puddled garment. Then she ran her now tearless eyes up Cherry’s gleaming, golden legs, to the tiny wet spot staining the red satin panties. “I know what you want,” she breathed, inwardly and outwardly smiling. “And I know just how to give it to you.”
Cherry grabbed Nan by the back of her $200 hairdo, jerking the woman’s face up to meet her fiery eyes. “You think that’s all there is to it?” she rasped.
“No, no!” Nan responded, sliding her hands up the back of Cherry’s legs. “I’ll make you my personal assistant – at any salary you name. And you’ll go on all those trips with me from now on. Just you and me.”
Nan’s lips curled into a sly smile, as she brushed her fingers over the vulnerable backs of Cherry’s knees, waiting for an answer. And when the girl’s bare, bronze stems buckled, she had her answer. She moved her hands up and over the warm, firm swells of Cherry’s buttocks, fingers sliding in under the girl’s panties, nails biting into the soft, thick flesh there.
Cherry shivered, her body, her pussy surging with heat and moisture, tingling with the other woman’s touch. She looked down into Nan’s glittering eyes looking up at her. And the woman quickly brought her head in between Cherry’s legs, lips bumping into the growing wet spot on the girl’s panties, kissing it.
The Mammoth Book of Lesbian Erotica Page 17