Chloe rocked on her high heels in rhythm to the spanking. But she could barely feel the blows anymore, her virgin bottom already battered to a searing numbness. “Hit me harder!” she wailed into the fogged-up windowpane.
Marilyn knew what the problem was, and quickly rectified it. She tore one of the long, cloth blinds off the window frame and folded the flexible material over and over, fashioning a two-foot long, three-inch wide, one-inch deep whipping device. “Don’t worry,” she hissed at Chloe, “you’ve got plenty of hurt left!”
She swung the improvised strap down in a vicious arc, slashing the girl’s behind.
Chloe almost went through the window again, her buttocks exploding with feeling. She’d never felt anything like it before. Her bum was on fire, her pussy dripping.
She steadied herself, one hand on the glass, the other groping her tits. So that when Marilyn landed another lash, she fully absorbed it, reveling in the brutal impact. “Yes! Spank me! Whip me! Thrash me! Harder!” she screamed, her body trembling out of control, mind blown.
Marilyn didn’t have to be told, didn’t like to be told. She flogged the girl relentlessly, with all the skill and stamina of a seasoned practitioner of the inflaming art. She watched with grim satisfaction Chloe’s butt flesh shiver, shudder, darken ominously; lose its elasticity under her onslaught, ridges forming up white-hard where she flailed it. Perspiration poured down Marilyn’s face, shone on her swaying tits and twisting torso. This girl before her deserved no mercy, and she was giving none.
Chloe’s bum burned brick red and brick hard, battered to almost senselessness. She bit her lip and rolled her nipples between her shaking fingers, absorbing blow after blow, and begging for more. The beating went on and on, swelling her bum, her clit. She could hardly feel, yet she was ready to explode, knowing it would take only one flick of her stunningly engorged clit to trigger a cataclysmic orgasm.
And, eventually, she just couldn’t take it anymore, the strap lashing her butt raw. She dropped her hand down off her chest, onto her . . .
“No you don’t!” Marilyn yelled, grabbing Chloe’s wrist. She jerked the girl’s arm back, pinned it just above Chloe’s blistered buttocks. Then she unhooked her own skirt and pushed it down, stepped out of it.
She moved closer to the panting blonde, her white cotton panties as sodden as Chloe’s thong. Marilyn pulled Chloe’s hand back and plunged it into her panties, over the top of her pussy. “Yes!” she breathed, thrilling at the touch of Chloe’s fingers on her slit. “I give the pain, you give the pleasure!”
Chloe desperately rubbed her boss’s pussy. Marilyn dropped the folded-up window covering and lightly smacked one of the girl’s cheeks with the intimate flat of her hand again, Chloe’s other cheek. Then she rubbed and caressed the flesh she’d inflicted so much damage upon.
Chloe could feel Marilyn’s loving hands on her ravaged buttocks, all this tenderness after all the torture making her head spin and her body brim with delight. She rubbed the woman’s damp fur and slickened, puffy pussy lips even faster, palming Marilyn’s needful cunt.
Marilyn urgently pressed her pussy against Chloe’s moving hand, gasping when the girl’s fingertips stroked her clit. She shook like Chloe, massaging the scorched flesh of the blonde’s derrière. Then, finally, almost regretfully, she slid her fingers down in between Chloe’s butt cheeks and touched the bottom of the girl’s soaking pussy.
“Oh!” Chloe yelped.
She pulled her hand up in Marilyn’s panties and pressed her fingertips down onto the woman’s swollen clit. At the same time, Marilyn glided her own finger edges down along the length of Chloe’s cunt and up against her button.
“Yes!” Chloe cried, exploding with orgasm.
She gushed against Marilyn’s hand, electrified with ecstasy, even her destroyed rear end suffusing with erotic sensation. Marilyn moaned and shuddered; Chloe’s fingers, the stunning sight of the bum-beaten girl throbbing with joy, setting her off as well.
The pair of women came over and over, wave after wave of white-hot orgasm washing through and between them.
Brenda stopped her idle chocolate bar chewing and looked up at Chloe. Her blonde colleague was leaning against the outside wall of her cubicle, a strange expression on her remarkably pale face. “Well, how’d it go?” Brenda asked cheerfully. “Did the old battleaxe really lay into you?”
“Y-yes,” Chloe whispered, her voice as raw as her bum.
“Tore a strip off you, huh? Got a bad performance rating?”
“B-bad,” Chloe mouthed.
“Oh, well, don’t—”
“B-but,” Chloe interrupted, her green eyes shining, “I get to give a rebuttal.”
LADIES WHO LUNCH
Catherine Lundoff
Jayne Peters walked past me like I wasn’t there on her way to the podium at the Women in Business Club’s monthly luncheon, just like she did every month. I, on the other hand, not very subtly drooled over her, just like I did every month. But this time she stumbled, one stiletto heel caught in the carpet, and I grabbed her elbow to hold her upright. This time Jayne looked up and our eyes met like a spark igniting.
Or maybe it was just igniting for me, sending everything below my waist into freefall. I noticed that her eyes were a little bloodshot around their normally gold-brown pupils, as if she hadn’t been sleeping much. Her lipstick was still perfect though, and I wanted to smudge it with a white-hot kiss.
“Thanks.” She pulled free of my grasp and gave me a disconnected smile as she turned away.
“Disconnected” was not a word that described Jayne under normal circumstances. I wondered what was up. She seemed as if she had the perfect straight lady life: adorable kids, profitable business and presumably a doting husband. And a best friend who made any self-respecting dyke’s mouth water. That thought made me look around for the beautiful Gabriela. Normally, she would have been doing all the elbow catching and I wouldn’t have gotten this close to Jayne.
But Gabriela was nowhere in sight. Weird. I couldn’t remember when she’d last missed a lunch. Interesting. I looked back at Jayne and watched her stumble through an introduction to this month’s speaker, there to exhort us not to give up on real-estate investments. She turned the mike over and was off the stage in record time. Something was definitely wrong. Jayne was the center of her own universe. She didn’t just yield a mike to anyone.
I watched her slip quietly along the back wall, pausing to exchange a few words with some of the group’s power players, but clearly making a beeline for the door. I decided it was time for a little quiet skulking. Though if I had had a Gabriela of my own around, I couldn’t have told her why I was so interested. Jayne was hot, but Jayne was straight. We all knew that wasn’t likely to end well.
But my clit was doing my thinking for me today and Jayne had legs that went on forever and cleavage that promised lovely things and I was going to get close enough to fantasize about her later, at least. I trailed after her, moving as unobtrusively as I could in the direction of the ladies’ room. It turned out to be more complicated than I expected and I got stopped a time or two myself as I walked past the packed tables.
When I looked back up from my last whispered conversation, Jayne was nowhere in sight. But I kept moving. Maybe circumstances would prevent me from making a fool of myself and I would just use the ladies’ then pop back for lunch. There was dessert to look forward to, after all.
I walked through the lobby and nodded at the club staff as I made my way to the bathroom. They were used to me now, finally. My short hair no longer caused elderly women to run shrieking from the bathrooms in dismay, though the monthly luncheons were a hard place to look even slightly butch. I kept it toned down, even wearing a bit of make-up and chinos, though I drew the line at a dress and heels.
When I opened the door to the bathroom, someone’s breath caught anyway. I sighed. I had thought we were over all this. Except this time it wasn’t some blue-haired matron.
Jayne was leani
ng over the sink and watching me in the mirror. Her mascara had run and she was scrubbing at it, clearly trying to hide the fact that she’d been crying. My lustful curiosity ebbed away.
I tried to behave like a decent human being. “Hi, Jayne. You OK?”
She shook her head and looked away so I couldn’t see her expression in the mirror. I stepped closer, thinking I might gently touch her shoulder.
She jerked away then froze, shuddering. When she looked up and met my eyes in the mirror, her eyes looked like they were all pupil and she gasped for air, dry-sobbing. I held my hands out in front of me, palms up to indicate that I wasn’t going to try to touch her again and I didn’t mean any harm.
“Don’t touch me,” she hissed. “I’m fine. Just fine.”
I went cold at her tone. My landscaping business wouldn’t survive an accusation of unwanted attentions directed at the completely het president of the local Women in Business chapter. I was an idiot and I needed to get out of this as quickly as possible. “I’m very sorry to have intruded.” I turned away and headed for the door.
“Wait.” It was a command and I stopped like I was on a leash. There was a hesitant click of high heels on the tiled floor as she stepped closer. From the corner of my eye, I watched her walk up behind me in the mirror. She was chewing her red lower lip as if she wasn’t sure what to do next. One perfectly manicured hand reached up toward my hair, then jerked away. I could hear her breathe just a bit faster and my own breath caught. What the hell was she doing?
I didn’t know what the rules were for this kind of thing. Should I turn around? Pretend nothing was going on and keep walking out? Jayne laid her hand on my back, just below my right shoulder. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, almost too quietly to be heard. “I didn’t mean to yell at you. I was just . . . startled.”
I turned around carefully and her hand traveled around my shoulder to land on my collarbone above my breast. I thought my heart was going to beat its way out of my body. She chewed her lower lip again and looked up at me like she was seeing me for the first time. Maybe she was. “Do you . . . Do you want to touch me?” She was staring at her hand on my chest now, like she couldn’t bring herself to look up and meet my eyes.
What the hell could I say? If I said yes and she freaked, there would be no living it down. Then again, would I regret it if I said no? I studied her face for clues on what to do next but I was getting absolutely nothing.
She dropped her hand, sliding it down toward my own cleavage, such as it was. I could feel my nipples harden. There was no way she could miss my reaction since she was staring at my boobs from inches away. Her hand moved over, very slowly, long red nails raking across my oxford button-down. It appeared to be heading for the rock-hard nipple on my left breast. I wondered if I should stop her. I wondered why I would want to.
Jayne’s hand dropped lower, the tips of her nails grazing my nipple through the layer of cotton shirt and bra. I groaned, a tiny bitten-off sound that turned into a gasp. Jayne smiled, red lips curving up like a vampire’s and I shuddered. Her nails closed, pinching my flesh between them and an “Oh!” escaped my lips.
I was in serious trouble now. I wondered if she had known all along that I wanted her. Then Jayne Peters looked up at me and whispered the words I knew she would never say to me, the words I knew I had to be making up. “Take me. Now.”
I froze and stared at her. This couldn’t be happening. She grabbed my arm and turned away. Then she started walking, pulling me toward the last stall and I stumbled after her like I was sleepwalking. A moment later, we were inside and she had latched the door behind us.
Then she studied me, looking for something, some reaction from me.
I suspected I just looked confused. Very confused. And maybe desperate. This kind of thing didn’t happen to me. Or to any dyke I knew, outside of a porn movie.
Jayne grabbed my hand and shoved it up under her skirt. My fingers grazed her stockinged thighs on their way up to her crotch. Her very damp crotch, barely covered by her lace undies.
I decided to stop worrying so much. I tilted her face up to kiss her, but she turned away, letting my lips slide down her neck. She moaned a little as I applied my tongue and teeth to her flesh, nibbling and licking my way down to the collar of her blouse. My hand cupped one of her full breasts and she twisted her face down to my ear. “Harder,” she breathed.
A small growl emerged from my lips and I grabbed her hands and raised them above her head, pushing her back against the tiles of the bathroom wall. My heart was pounding as I leaned down and bit her nipple through the silk of her blouse. Jane whimpered and closed her eyes.
I shoved my hand up against her, stuffing the thin lace into her slit until it felt like a thong. Jayne gasped and rocked her hips against my hand. I bit down on her other nipple and wedged my fingers inside her, working them in around the lace. I fumbled, trying to shove the lace up against her clit, not sure if I was succeeding.
My fingers got slick from her wetness and I lost my grip, nearly shoving my hand between her legs and into the wall. It made me look up and meet her eyes. They were nearly shut but she was watching me through the slits, like a cat. Her face was slack and relaxed, lips parted in a gentle pant. It was a sight that sent a warm shock through me and I slipped my fingers back inside her.
She moaned, louder than before. I kissed her hard, as much because I wanted to, as to remind us of where we were. I was pretty sure that this could get us kicked out of the club, even if she was the president.
She bit my tongue and her hips ground against mine until I was the one making involuntary noises. That was when she pulled her hands free, grabbed my head and broke up the kiss. I could feel her pushing me downward and I went with it, dropping to my knees in front of her on the cold tiles. I glanced up. Jayne’s head was tilted back, her eyes closed. She looked exactly the way I imagined she would if I ever got her in this position. I toyed with the idea of taking a picture with my phone for a memento.
But only for an instant. I was dragged firmly toward her crotch. I yanked up her skirt and pulled off her sodden lace panties. Jayne moaned, a sexy sound that seemed to begin in her pussy and work its way up to her lips and I drove into her, months of subverted lust taking over any thoughts I still had left.
She was so wet, it was like showering in her juices. I drove my hand into her and located her clit with my tongue. Once I found it, I licked it as hard as I could, finesse thrown out the window. There’d be time for that next time. She was riding my fingers as hard as she could and I knew she was close. I stopped licking and sucked at her flesh until she came on my tongue with a soft yowl, thighs quivering around my ears.
That, almost inevitably, was when the bathroom door opened. And the same moment that I noticed that tears were pouring down Jayne’s cheeks and that the word she was murmuring was not my name, but “Gabriela.”
I pulled back just as someone poked her nose over the stall next door. I looked up into Gabriela Vasquez’s very, very pissed-off face. “What the hell are you doing?” she shouted.
“What am I doing? You’re the one doing a married straight woman. When I’m not,” I sputtered.
“You dumped me,” Jayne hissed, like the world’s biggest cobra. “You said we were through unless I left Todd.”
“All things considered, maybe you should give that some thought,” I volunteered as I wiped off my face and fingers.
“Shut up,” they both said in unison. Jayne was glaring back at Gabriela, her panties still down around her ankles and her skirt still rucked up around her waist. It was as if I was invisible and Jayne’s sudden interest in me was made pretty clear. I can’t say that felt very good.
That was also the moment that Jayne chose to fill her ex in on what was going on. “I was just using her to get back at you!”
My phone was out of my pocket and in my hands in an instant. I’d like to say I hesitated before I opened the camera, but that just wouldn’t be true. Jayne and Gabriela were arguing
so much they didn’t even hear the shutter click. I put the phone back in my pocket and got to my feet. Then I held up a hand and cleared my throat to cut them off. It took two or three tries but eventually they remembered there was someone else in the bathroom.
“I suggest that you finish what I started,” I said to Gabriela, with what dignity I could muster. “I’ve always got my memories—” I let my eyes travel over Jayne’s rumpled form and patted my pocket “—and a few other things. I take it that it’s safe to assume that all your rich friends will be using my landscaping company for future projects?”
There was an eruption of denials and I held up my hand again. “It’s that or Facebook.”
Jayne stared at me in horror. “There are pictures!” she squeaked.
“There are indeed, sweet lips. And while I’d like to keep them to myself, a gal’s got to do what she’s got to do. I’ll leave you to consider my proposal, among other things.” Then, I couldn’t help myself. I leaned in and kissed Jayne while slipping a hand between her legs and dipping my fingers into her wetness. She kissed me back and I could feel her hips rock against my fingers.
I broke off the kiss and stuck my fingers in my mouth, licking them off slowly as I unlocked the stall and walked away, Jayne’s uneven breathing music to my ears.
THE LEGACY OF LEG WARMERS
R. Mary Esade
I love teasing my past: tricking my memory, hiding evidence, masturbating over pictures and video. When I saw those damn leg warmers at the Capezio outlet, my past came back to bite me on the ass . . . and I loved it! I paid for a pair and snuck them in with my niece Stephanie’s socks, knowing they’d spark Jackie’s memory as well.
Steph and her friends could never imagine, but way back when I was seventeen, girls who weren’t dancers wore leg warmers for fashion as much as for warmth. Being a gay girl back in seventies suburbia, attempting to deal with a whole host of contradictory sensations and stimulations God knew we were all – straight girls and lezes (what we called one another then) – a lot less sexually aware than teenage girls today; my niece and her friends wear their jeans so low it’s never any mystery what color thong they are wearing. Wearing leg warmers was our weak attempt at dressing “naughty”, wearing something that would hug your legs and make your ass all that much noticeable.
The Mammoth Book of Lesbian Erotic Stories Page 11