The Mammoth Book of Lesbian Erotica

by Barbara Cardy

  Mandie left the kitchen reluctantly, subsiding into the living room’s soft creamy sofa, cradling Harry’s compliment like a prize.

  Harry seldom bothered with underwear, but as Mandie adored it she had made the effort. The cream stockings that covered her slim legs, lead to a soft pair of cream silk briefs. Her neat breasts remained unfettered though, behind an almost transparent ecru blouse. The slightly crumpled material, draped seductively across her chest, had just enough buttons done up to suggest what delights might be found underneath. Slipping on her kitten-heeled strappy shoes to complete the effect, Harry took a deep breath, picked up the plate of food she’d prepared before work, and some wine, and headed for the living room.

  Mandie stood up as soon as Harry entered the room, and wiped her lightly sweating hands down the side of her polyester skirt. “You look incredible.”

  “Good enough to eat?” Harry smiled mischievously indicating the plate in front of her. Mandie glanced at the neatly sliced, cleaned and conveniently shaped pieces of carrot, celery and cucumber.

  “Well, that doesn’t leave much to the imagination, does it?” Mandie kissed her as she took the plate out of Harry’s hands and placed it on the unit behind her.

  Harry pushed Mandie down, and lay on top of her, half on, half off the sofa. “I’ve been thinking about this all day. I want tonight to be for you. It’s your present. There is only one rule.”

  Mandie slithered into a more comfortable position. “Which is?”

  “You do what you are told. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  Harry led Mandie through to her small bedroom. They stood, holding hands at arms length. “Stand still,” Harry commanded as she slipped the blue jacket off Mandie’s shoulders.

  Mandie reached out to remove Harry’s blouse, only to have her arms gently restrained at her sides. “Not yet, honey. I said, stand still.” Harry whispered.

  Mandie stifled a sigh as Harry undid her despised work shirt instead, sliding the shiny material off, so that it joined the jacket on the floor. Harry’s intake of breath at her first sight of her lover’s lace up was worth waiting for. She stopped taking her time and yanked off the skirt, revealing Mandie in her beautiful new lingerie.

  Forcing the basque’s laces as wide open as possible, Harry pulled Mandie’s tits out, so that they rested above the bindings. Falling on them with relish, a practised hand kneaded one, whilst Harry’s mouth worked across the other. Squeezing, flicking, licking and biting until Mandie was utterly breathless. “Please, Harry, I’m gonna come.”

  Harry bit down hard on Mandie’s nipple causing her to cry out in pain as she spasmed with longing.

  Harry sounded insincere as she apologized. “Sorry, babe, I was going to make you wait, but for heaven’s sake, you look so incredible.”

  “Don’t be sorry,” said Mandie as she dragged Harry back down on top of her. “I still promise to be a good girl and do exactly as I’m told, on one condition.”

  “Which is?”

  “Let me unbutton your blouse. It’s crying out to be taken off, and I can’t concentrate. I need to see those neat little tits.”

  Granting Mandie’s wish, Harry lay still as she savoured each button. Her light fingers trailed gently around each globe, rubbing the sensitive underside until Harry began to raise her hips in an automatic response to the feelings being aroused within her. Then, unexpectedly, Mandie let go. Harry moaned as the intense sensations were suddenly denied her.

  “Well,” teased Mandie as she twisted one of her lace-up’s ties around her fingers, “you are supposed to be the decision maker tonight. Do I let you come or not?”

  “Of course you bloody do!” Mandie grinned at Harry’s hungry, lust-filled face. She locked her eyes into Harry’s, licked her index finger, and almost in slow motion, lowered it on to the very tip of her right nipple. Harry bucked right then, the heat of the evening’s expectations, and the attention to her chest tipping her over the edge.

  “So much for seeing how long we could both wait! Come on, let’s eat something; you’re making me hungry.” Once she’d caught her breath, Harry took Mandie back into the living room. “Now comes the part where you really have to do as you’re told.”

  “Yes, Miss.” Mandie looked demurely up through her eye lashes.

  “That’s a good girl.” Harry patted the long thin coffee table which ran along one side of the room. “Hop on.”

  Mandie sat down on the edge of the cool brown surface, but Harry shook her head. “No. Lie down. Tonight you are going to be the fanciest tablecloth I have ever had. And as tablecloths don’t speak, I don’t think you should either.”

  Mandie lay on the hard, slim table, her discomfort relieved only slightly by two small silk cushions, which Harry slid underneath her head and bum, raising both slightly off the table. Still attempting to make herself comfortable, Mandie was taken by surprise when Harry pulled her left arm above her head and secured it to the table leg with a short leather strap. As Harry carefully manoeuvred her right arm into position Man-die’s heart quickened and her head spun.

  Leaving her ankles free, Harry stood back to admire her work. Words failed her as she examined the amazing sight she’d created.

  The few minutes Harry took to decide where to begin felt like an eternity to Mandie. Her body was desperate to be fondled; she had to clamp her mouth shut to hold in the frustration that was building within her.

  Well aware of the effect the delay must be having on Mandie, Harry took her time. She poured a glass of very cold white wine, and after a few sips, carefully balanced it on her new “table”. Mandie gasped as the cool glass met her bare stomach; she hardly dared breathe, imagining how it would feel if the chilled liquid spilt across her body.

  Picking up a handful of salted peanuts from a dish, Harry toyed with them a second before sprinkling them in and around Mandie’s belly button. Holding the stem of the glass in place, Harry began to nibble them up, swirling the residual salt around the peach-coloured flesh with her tongue.

  Mandie released a low moan as Harry finished her hors d’oeuvres. She didn’t speak, but Harry knew she longed to. After a swig of wine, Harry removed the glass, and swung her leg over Mandie, so she was sat astride her stomach.

  Mandie tried to lift her head towards Harry’s clit; she was so sure that it was at last on offer.

  “Patience,” Harry admonished her with a light slap. “I thought you might like something moist to eat.” She reached across to her tray and picked up a long thin slice of cucumber. Pushing her panties to one side, Harry slid the pale green wand up inside her own pussy. Moving forward, she stood over Mandie’s face, offering her the contents of her snatch as a snack.

  Mandie began to lick the end of the cucumber as if it were a tiny cock. Then she used her tongue to push it further up inside Harry, until it almost disappeared. Being unable to use her hands frustrated her madly. Mandie strained uselessly against her straps to get a better purchase on the treat that was being proffered.

  Harry crouched down, until she was virtually sitting on Mandie’s face. Struggling to keep herself still, as Mandie began to nibble the sticky baton from out of her, Harry felt a mewl building in her throat. Mandie’s sensually slow tongue was driving her to distraction as the remaining morsel was twirled inside her body. She sat down abruptly on Mandie’s chest, her climax overcoming her, causing the remains of the cucumber to escape.

  “My turn, honey.” A few seconds later Harry had recovered enough to move back down the table to collect a wand of carrot. Carefully, she teased the blunt end of the orange stick up and down Mandie’s legs, causing her captive to writhe in her bonds.

  Mandie was desperate to move now, to clasp Harry with both hands; but she lay as still as she could, waiting for the carrot to be stuffed into her neglected cunt. She bit her tongue in an effort not to speak, but as the teasing continued across her lower body; Mandie couldn’t help but yell out. “Shove it in me Harry, please!”

  Harry contort
ed her face in an effort to look cross. “Begging me already? I didn’t even hear you ask for permission to speak.”

  “Please, Miss? I feel so empty.”

  Harry rammed the baton hard and deep, causing Mandie’s backside to leap at the chilled invasion. It felt good, but was nowhere near thick enough to stem her rising need.

  “I think it would be best if you weren’t able to talk for the time being. Punishment for speaking out of turn.” Harry disappeared from view as Mandie felt a sharp wave of panic sweep over her. She had been bound before, but never silenced. The perspiration prickled across her back against the hard table.

  Harry returned with her hated work blouse, rolled up into a long thin gag. “Open wide.” Mandie didn’t move. “You promised you would do as you were told.”

  Mandie continued to hesitate until Harry leant down and began to suck her left breast. Automatically, Mandie opened her mouth to sigh, and Harry quickly filled it with the material, lifting her head to secure it in an uncomfortable knot beneath her. Mandie was still unsure, but Harry looked so deliciously triumphant and happy that she swallowed her fear.

  “Now. Don’t move.” Picking up a small bowl of honey and mustard dressing, Harry took a long stick of celery and used it as a scoop to dribble some of the contents over each of Mandie’s incredible tits. Mandie shivered as the cool sticky liquid trickled across her chest. Harry loosened the laced basque further, allowing the plum silk to fall to Mandie’s sides, and watched the dressing run down towards the table, her tongue rescuing the drips before they hit the delicate material.

  Mandie began to tremble again as Harry worked over her lush body, cleaning her up. By the time she had sucked all the dressing off Mandie’s left tit, her right side was screaming out for attention and, her previous orgasm forgotten, her clit burned with need. The neglected carrot, too thin to have had any satisfying effect, fell out as she squirmed against the table. Mandie bit into the blouse, desperate to concentrate on anything other than the feelings that swelled with her.

  Harry scooped up some more dressing. Refilling Mandie’s belly button, she swirled sticks of food in and out of the mixture, before eating them in small neat, provocative mouthfuls. Man-die’s legs began to twitch with the effort of keeping still. She began to wish that they had been tied down as well.

  Aware of the effort Mandie was making to be good, Harry decided to reward her by jamming a large, thick, stick of celery into her soaking snatch. Even the gag could not totally suppress Mandie’s cries, as her legs and hips leapt away from the hard table.

  “You are gorgeous,” Harry whispered into Mandie’s ear, “I could look at you like this for ever.” She turned back to the unit along the wall, “In fact, I think I will.” Mandie was unable to protest as Harry produced a camera, and took picture after picture.

  Finally, throwing the camera to one side, she laid full length on top of Mandie, pushing the exposed bit of celery in to her own body as if it were a double-headed dildo. She rubbed her whole body against Mandie, until she called out in ecstasy.

  Pulling the gag away from Mandie’s mouth, Harry kissed her long and hard. “I’m going to enjoy looking at those photos; they’ll be the perfect souvenir of an incredible evening.”

  Mandie smiled up at her, “Permission to speak?”

  “Yes?”

  “Untie me. I want to take some snaps of you.” Harry didn’t hesitate, her fingers fumbling in her haste as she loosened the straps.

  Mandie stretched her aching arms, before pushing Harry to the floor and sucking each of her small globes hard. “Stay there,” Mandie commanded as she grabbed the camera and photographed Harry in her dishevelled heap upon the floor.

  “I have a present for you.” Mandie produced the little parcel from out of her bag.

  Harry’s eyes lit up as she carefully undid the pretty paper. Her lust-fuelled smile as she weighed the tiny silver vibrator in her hand said it all. It was the perfect size to be hidden at the bottom of the capacious pocket in her work skirt. “I have a feeling that tonight is going to get even better,” she said as she pushed Mandie forward over the back of the sofa. “Come on you, I want to test this on your cute arse . . .”

  The following day they sat in the staff room drinking coffee and eating biscuits. Mandie brushed some crumbs from her hated uniform, as Harry reached into her bag and produced a small packet of newly developed photographs.

  They decided that today would be the perfect day to do some more work in the storeroom . . .

  Another Fleeting Night

  R. Greco

  Erin’s pretended schoolgirl-like innocence was wearing thin . . . just as it always did. Although I had often seen my friend wear this outfit – clunky heels; too short black and white dress; thong underneath – right then the ensemble was only adding to her petulance . . . and my desire to swat her ass.

  “Over the edge of the bed,” I demanded.

  “Claire, I . . .” she tried, while turning to the soft bedspread. “I . . .”

  “Yes, you have been bad,” I said to her unspoken protest. “Now get.”

  Balancing her taut legs on those four-inch heels, Erin bent her upper half across the high solid bed frame. Her short skirt just covered her ass as she spread her legs slightly, bent at the knees and looked to her side at me. I paid her no mind (or pretended not to at least) stepping to the chair behind me to lift the leather crop that lay across its cloth seat. Turning, I spied a slight smile playing across my friend’s angular features as she pushed her cheek into her bedspread and regarded me through her fallen hair.

  “You know . . .” I began slicing the air between us.

  Each “fick-swip” caused Erin’s shoulders to twitch. She peered up at me, her long straight hair falling across her left shoulder, covering one eye. Once more she shifted her hips, spreading her thin legs even wider.

  “. . . we go through this every time,” I continued. “If you just learned.”

  But I knew she wouldn’t . . . and didn’t want to. Erin’s late-night carousing, teasing and dancing were tempered well by what we did here. And even though I had joined her on occasion – I wasn’t a nun after all and I liked to dance – Erin surpassed me in frequency of her outings and phone numbers acquired . . . numbers from men, even! She was a lesbian, as was I, but one who liked to tease whomever happened to be looking, so we often frequented dance clubs where she knew she could attract every eye in the place.

  This all-out need for unlimited attention only fuelled the fire in me to beat her ass harder . . . and of course made me wetter at the same time!

  “That dress is just too short,” I said, closing the carpeted distance between us by taking another step.

  “Well, I . . .” she attempted.

  “No excuses,” I said. Reaching down and across her, I fingered the hem of her dress and lifted it to the small of her bent back.

  Erin’s tight round ass was halved by a black thong. Although Erin and I were gay we had never been intimate, but God knew I dug her ass! I wasn’t really sure if these spankings added to my longing for her, or quenched a thirst we could have built on; all I knew was that she looked and smelled hot as hell bending there! Would a time come when we’d finally risk the friendship and jump one another?

  After she was sufficiently whipped, though, of course!

  “I look good, don’t I?” my friend snickered.

  Christ she was cocky . . . but she did look good! Erin often took to spinning as she danced and I knew in this outfit everyone in the club had caught quite an eyeful. Regrets, my friend would never own, not now . . . not ever. So I reached back, flicked the long crop through the tight air of her bedroom and connected to Erin’s bared cheeks.

  As always, that first strike caused her to jump as she rode through the sting.

  “Ah ha,” she said. “I don’t need it that hard!”

  We both knew this wasn’t true.

  Erin had made me promise, some six months ago, that I would never, ever relent becau
se of her protests. She trusted me to know what she needed and how hard; she might complain, cry out, growl and beg me to stop, but always afterward my dark-haired best friend smiled and thanked me for the beating.

  Somehow, much to my own protests when first approached, I had learned to give Erin exactly what she needed. Hell, I loved looking at her ass anyway, that I loved making it red did come as a surprise to me at first, but . . .

  “I need to stop this shit,” Erin was confessing that late night as we sat huddled in the corner of the diner.

  I had been only half listening as Erin bragged of her aching for some “new attention”: wanting to rip up phone numbers in expectant faces; dance close with every girl her age in Des Moines! I smiled as I always did these Thursday night tirades; my friend was just feeling good about her lithe figure, a little buzzed and blowing off steam. But that particular evening, as we drove from club to club, finally settling at the diner at two, I did notice a tone of desperation in Erin’s usually liquid voice. As we sat over ice-teas and fries with extra gravy I slowly began to listen as Erin confessed the plan she had been gestating for quite a long time, a plan she needed me to help her carry out!

  “You are my best friend,” she said and I nodded after another sip of my tea. “You know me better then anybody. We share so much.”

  This was true. It was so much easier avoiding people than making friends, especially when your lifestyle, as was mine and Erin’s, didn’t fit in to what was considered “normal” in our suburban town. We had found each other, realized we’d be better friends then lovers (after really only one night of some regulation heavy-petting) and then grew into being the best buds.

  “I’m really out of control. I really need your help. I can’t keep going partying like this,” she continued, as always a bit over-dramatic.

  “Just stop going out so much,” I offered her slightly downcast gaze. “I mean it’s no big deal. Just rest your ass for a couple weeks.”

  “But I don’t want to,” she said, smiling up at me then. “I really don’t want to . . . but I know it’s wrong,” she continued, still smiling. “I’m staying out way too late. I’ve got a Lit. test tomorrow . . . later today, and I know I’m going to barely be able to drag myself to class.”