The Mammoth Book of Lesbian Erotica

by Barbara Cardy

  “Come in.” Wendy stepped away from the doorway in her thin and scanty yellow dress.

  “Thanks,” she responded, walking passed her host, heart rate increasing when she heard the door closing behind her. Now it was too late for second thoughts. The teacher-pupil relationship was soon to change forever, a change that would be for the better.

  “Lets go through to the sitting room,” said Wendy, indicating a door to the right with an outstretched hand.

  Miss Spencer went into the large room. A pale, mauve three piece was placed around the room and there were framed prints of sunsets on the walls.

  “Do you want anything to drink?” Wendy asked from behind her, making her tutor jump slightly, her attention having been concentrated on the bookshelf on the opposite side of the room.

  “No. I’m fine thank you.”

  “Did you get to finish reading my story?” Wendy moved past her and then turned to look into her eyes.

  “Yes,” replied Miss Spencer.

  “And?”

  “On second thoughts, maybe I will have a drink. Have you got any red wine?” asked the tutor, needing something to bolster her courage.

  Wendy smiled and nodded. “I’ll go and get us both a glass and then you can tell me what you thought. Make yourself comfortable.”

  She left the room, Miss Spencer catching the soft scent of her mild, musky perfume. The tutor looked around the room and then sat on the cream coloured settee which was placed before the large front window, sun pouring into the room.

  She listened to the chink of glasses that drifted from the kitchen down the hall. There soon followed the sound of a bottle being uncorked and Miss Spencer felt her heartbeat increase as her student’s return became imminent.

  Wendy breezed into the sitting room with a full glass of wine in each hand. “It’s sweet and fruity, like me,” she said with a disarming grin as she held one out to her guest, fully aware of Miss Spencer’s nervousness.

  “Thanks.” The younger woman took the offered drink and immediately took a sip, hoping it would calm her down, though she thought it would probably take a few bottles to manage that.

  “So, what about my story?” asked Wendy as she sat in the armchair opposite, crossing her smooth legs. She was aroused by the presence of her tutor in her home and by the fact that the two of them were alone and beyond any disturbances.

  “Well,” began Miss Spencer, taking another sip to wet her dry mouth. “I have to admit it came as a bit of a surprise.”

  “The fact that it’s erotica or that the characters were based on me and you . . . Amy?”

  “Both,” admitted the tutor, a tingle running down her spine after hearing her first name uttered by Wendy’s smooth and rich voice.

  “But did you like it? Did you like what our characters did?” She looked at the woman opposite her expectantly.

  Amy hesitated. “Yes,” she whispered after a moment.

  Wendy’s smile grew wider. “I’m glad.”

  There was a moment of silence and then Wendy put her glass down on a low coffee table beside her, stood, and stepped towards the younger woman. With the immediacy of the situation making her nervousness increase dramatically, Amy quickly stood and walked over to the bookshelf on the far side of the room. Trying to appear as natural and nonchalant as possible.

  She put her glass down and began to study the spines of the works gathered there, noting the slight trembling of her hands. She ran fingers through her long hair as she tried to think of something to say.

  Then Amy heard soft footsteps drawing close. She could feel Wendy move to stand just behind her. The slight pressure of a hand on her right shoulder made her start a little, heart missing a beat.

  “Do you see anything you like?” The words were almost a whisper, Wendy’s mouth beside her left ear, the hairs on Amy’s neck brushed by soft breathing and sending shivers down her spine.

  “Well . . .” Amy’s fingertips stroked the spines of the books on the third shelf down.

  “You’re trembling,” observed Wendy. “Will this be your first time with another woman?”

  The motion of her hand halted immediately.

  “Yes.” Amy’s eyes closed temporarily as breath caressed her neck once more. Then she looked at the books where her fingers had stilled and found that they were all works of erotica.

  “Why don’t you have a look at one of those books?” The hand resting on her shoulder began to move down her back.

  Amy slid one of the volumes from amongst the others. In unsteady hands she held it before her, two entwined woman portrayed on the front cover, their clothes extremely revealing.

  “Check out the second piece of fiction,” Wendy said at her shoulder, hand at the small of her back, pressing lightly, moving slowly to the top of her firm backside.

  With nervous fingers, Amy awkwardly opened the front cover and checked the index. She flicked to the relevant page. “Red Wine, by. . .” Her words trailed off as the sensation of Wendy’s lips upon her neck almost made her drop the book. The older woman’s hand moved to her backside and groped her buttocks. She sighed, head rolling back as her eyes closed.

  Wendy raised her skirt with her right hand. She felt the warm air of the house against her bare legs, followed by the student’s touch upon her inner thighs.

  Wendy’s arms reached round her, hands at the buttons of her navy shirt. Amy felt it loosen as her bra and smooth, pale stomach were revealed.

  With a couple of tugs, Wendy pulled the shirt from her gently curved shoulders and started to kiss them. Her hands ran across Amy’s belly, traced circles and lines across it, up it, along her sides, moving to her upper chest and the slopes of her breasts, held firmly in a black bra.

  Amy dropped the book onto the edge of the bookshelf, her eyes tightly shut. Her hands moved to Wendy’s black ringlets, fingers grasping as her pleasure built. She longed to feel her fingers and her tongue inside her. The lust was almost overpowering.

  The straps of the bra were slowly slid along her arms and then it fell away. Then the zip of the skirt was pulled down and it dropped to the floor as she slipped off her shoes.

  Amy now stood before the bookshelf wearing only a pair of black knickers, damp with her rising excitement. She could smell herself as Wendy’s hands grasped her breasts, squeezed hard and then gently. A fingertip then circled each nipple, barely touching the skin, leaving a tingling in their wake, as if charged with electricity.

  Her right hand moved from Wendy’s hair and she went between the legs. Pushing down on the crotch of the yellow dress, she felt the moisture of the older woman’s vagina seep through. Like the previous day, Wendy wasn’t wearing any knickers and Amy prickled with pleasure of touching the softness of her hidden lips for the first time. The feeling of another woman’s privates was such a sensuous thing and more erotic than she could have imagined.

  She turned in Wendy’s arms and lifted her face. Their lips pressed together. The older woman’s hands stroked down her spine and tucked inside her knickers. Their tongues met and even as Wendy pulled her mouth away from Amy’s they continued to wind about each other until the distance grew too great.

  Crouching before her, Wendy pulled the panties down her legs and Amy stepped out of them. The tight curls of her dark triangle were in front of the student’s face. The scent of Amy’s desire was strong as Wendy’s hands gripped her buttocks. She ran nails over them and down the outside of her legs. The creative writing tutor shivered and groaned as they ran down to her ankles and then began to rise up the inside.

  Leaning forward, Wendy placed her lips just above the dark pubes and kissed the soft skin. Then her tongue ran upward, circled Amy’s navel and then descended to run alongside the hair and the top of her inner thighs.

  Wendy’s fingers stroked the length of the pink, fleshy lips that glistened with moisture. Amy groaned, pushing her crotch towards the other woman with increasing urgency as she felt the climax building. Wendy’s index and forefingers held her
open. Her thumb began to rub Amy’s clitoris with a growing pressure. She licked it and then wiggled her tongue in the hole revealed by the spreading fingers.

  Wendy’s thumb gently flicked her clitoris as her tongue darted in and out of her. Amy’s breathing was heavy as her hands grasped the older woman’s head, held her hair. Her mouth was open as the orgasm built. She began to writhe with the pleasure of the attentions and gasped as two fingers entered her.

  The thought that this was one of her students added to her sexual excitement. Further adding to her pleasure was the newness of another woman giving her such sweet sensations. She’d always known she had the potential to find fulfilment in this way, but had never had the courage to instigate such a rendezvous. Thankfully Wendy had instigated it for her and she glad the mature student had the confidence to do so.

  Wendy’s tongue was working a special kind of magic along with her fingers as they pulled out and pushed into Amy. The tutor’s muscles were filled with tremors as she tried to remain standing. Her legs threatened to buckle as the orgasm drew ever closer and then suddenly cascaded through her body and mind. Wendy felt the added wetness and saw the tension and then release of Amy’s body, slowing the rhythm of her fingers and tongue.

  Pulling her head away from Amy, licking the tutor’s juices from her lips, Wendy continued to stroke her clitoris. Amy slowly sank to her knees and let out a long, satisfied sigh. Wendy kissed her and she tasted herself.

  “Stay right here. There’s still a lot I want to teach you,” said the mature student with a large grin on her dark face.

  Amy simply smiled in response as the afterglow of the orgasm continued to make her body tremble and its warmth remained centred in her vagina.

  The older woman left the room and Amy heard her ascend the stairs. There were sounds of movement from above, the floorboards creaking slightly. Then there was a moment of silence before Amy heard her host returning.

  Her eyes widened as Wendy walked back into the sitting room. She was naked. The tutor’s gaze took in her large breasts, the nipple on the left pierced, the silver bar glinting. Her body was curvaceous, dark skin silky and smooth.

  Amy started to rise, wanted to go to the other woman and explore her nakedness.

  “No. Stay there.” Wendy took her hands from behind her back and Amy saw that she was holding a red silk scarf and a couple of pieces of white cord.

  Expectation built within the tutor as her eyes widened and her arousal grew quickly.

  Wendy walked to where Amy knelt. “Don’t move, just let me guide you,” said the older woman, feeling a glorious and sensual freedom as she tingled beneath the other woman’s gaze.

  She gently took hold of Amy’s wrists and tied her hands behind her back. The tutor shuddered with pleasure as Wendy kissed her shoulder blades while fastening the cord.

  “Stand,” whispered the older woman.

  Amy rose unsteadily and stood naked beside the bookshelf, keenly feeling Wendy’s eyes upon her, finding a thrill in the simplicity of her nudity for the first time in years. Wendy’s closeness and nakedness filled her mind, along with the continuing kisses, now moving down the left side of her body. The older woman’s lips kissed each rib in turn, moved to her hip, and then down her leg.

  The second cord was tied about her ankles, not tight, but allowing circulation and her legs to part a little. Wendy rose behind her. The mature student touched her buttocks, cupped them in her hands and kneaded them with obvious enjoyment. Then a finger stroked between their curved sensuality and along the bottom of the tutor’s back, sending a shiver down her spine.

  Wendy removed her hands and the soft luxury of the cool, silk scarf slid across Amy’s pale throat. It rose smoothly over her chin and brushed against her lips. Then it moved over her petite nose and high cheekbones, finally coming to rest over her eyes. The scarf was tied behind her head, knot against her dark hair. She was left without sight, blind to the actions of her new lover.

  Wendy moved away from her naked captive, who heard her retrieve something from the bookshelf. The sound of rushing blood roared in Amy’s ears as she came up behind her. The older woman’s breath settled between her shoulder blades and sent yet another shiver down her spine. She felt her hands move to either side of her head. Then Wendy inserted two spongy earplugs and Amy was left with only the sound of her heart and desperate blood. Every part of her body prickled as she suffered the sensory deprivation. Her skin tingled in expectancy as she waited for Wendy’s touch.

  One of the student’s fingers ran across Amy’s glossed lips, which tingled with sensitivity as it then moved across her cheek and traced lines down her neck. Wendy’s tongue ran across her back, licked down her spine. It ran over her buttocks, followed their tight curves inward. Then it entered her from behind as the older woman’s nails ran delicately over her hips, through her pubes, into the wetness that awaited as a new orgasm beckoned.

  Then, suddenly, all physical contact was ended. She could still feel Wendy’s closeness, but the tempting touches and kisses were gone. In her world without sight or sound she relied on some primal sense of her presence. It made the hairs on the back of her neck and arms stand on end as she waited for the next caress.

  Amy sensed Wendy move in front of her. She exhaled sharply through the silk covering her mouth as hands took hold of her breasts and played with them roughly. Her breathing was heavy as her second orgasm continued to build.

  Wendy’s hand pushed between her legs, rubbed against her hidden lips, made her hotter than she’d ever been before as she stood bound and blindfolded, without anything but interior sounds and sensations. The mature student’s body was pressed to her, the two women’s breasts pushed against each other, Amy feeling the initial coldness of the nipple piercing, its touch adding to the pleasure of the moment. Their nakedness, their sensual union, was intensified by the tutor’s helplessness. The orgasm drew closer.

  Wendy’s left hand went to her arse, groped it and pulled her onto her other hand as the older woman’s fingers moved inside. Amy could feel every motion of those fingers, however slight. Without her sight or hearing all that was left was the warm body against hers and the writhing, plunging fingers filling her with erotic fire.

  The orgasm exploded through her. If Wendy hadn’t held her on her feet Amy would have collapsed. She felt weak, every muscle trembling and without energy. The orgasm consumed her. There was nothing else as she sighed and hung limply in her arms.

  Wendy moved her fingers with decreasing speed, keeping them inside the tutor, adding gentler motions to enhance the strong echoes of orgasm’s flush. They sank to the carpet together and lay there for a few moments, Wendy’s hands then reaching behind Amy and undoing the bonds that held hers together.

  Amy put her arms around the woman who had now taught her a new dimension in the pleasure her body could bring. They kissed as Wendy pulled the blindfold over and off her head and then took out the earplugs.

  “Did you enjoy your first time?” asked the older woman.

  “I loved it. You’re a great teacher and if that’s the way you teach then you can put me down for the entire course.” Amy smiled.

  “In that case I’ll always teach you like this.” Wendy paused. “You’ve taught me a lot as well, you know.” A grin spread across her face as she looked at Amy’s glowing features.

  Wendy rose and stepped over to the bookshelf. She selected one of the books, another collection of erotic stories, and took it from the shelf.

  “This has only recently been published,” she commented while settling back beside Amy, who undid the bonds about her ankles.

  Wendy flicked to a specific page, looked at the younger woman with a mischievous glimmer in her eyes, and then passed her the book. “My writing has come on in leaps and bounds thanks to you, and my confidence in it has grown too.” She smiled. “I sent a couple of pieces off and . . .” Wendy nodded towards the open book that Amy was holding.

  The creative writing tutor looked down and
began to read aloud. “ ’Erotic Fantasy’ by Wendy Stone.” Her eyes widened. “. . . Miss Spencer’s heart began to flutter, its pace increasing as she turned onto the street where Wendy lived.”

  Amy looked at the other woman in surprise.

  “I’ve been fantasizing about what’s just happened since I first laid eyes on you,” explained Wendy. “It’s like the other erotic story I wrote using us as the characters, apart from the fact I always hoped this one would come true.”

  “I’m glad it did,” replied Amy. “And maybe we can make the other story became a reality too.”

  Wendy nodded. “I’d like that.”

  “So would I,” said Amy, taking Wendy into her arms.

  The women kissed, eyes closing as they savoured the sensations of their entwined nakedness, fiction having become truth in the narrative of their lives.

  My Room with a View

  Janey Maurice

  Whoever decided exams should be sat in the summer needs shooting. Being banished to my room in the attic whilst the rest of the family lounged around the house and garden without a care or commitment, made me want to scream. But if I did, no one would hear me. I longed to be splashing in the paddling pool with my kid sisters; I’d even endure sitting with my mother, helping her write her weekly column for the Gazette rather than list the arguments for and against religion in the 21st century for my Sociology paper.

  The slightest diversion fascinated me and recently I’d found the most compelling distraction of all. Trying to let some air into my stuffy garret, I’d been leaning out of the roof top window when I found the perfect view of a piece of our neighbour’s garden which had previously been totally unexposed. She obviously thought it was private as she lay in the nude trying to get an all-over tan.

  This neighbour hadn’t really interested me before. If asked to describe her, I’d have found it difficult. She was that sort of age which isn’t relevant to an eighteen-year-old: too old to be my friend and too young to be my mother’s friend. Her hair was the proverbial mousy brown and her clothes a bit school teacherish, if I was honest. I think we’d probably spoken to each other all of three or four times. Words, such as, “Cold, isn’t it?” or “Have they put my newspaper through your door?”