The Mammoth Book of Lesbian Erotic Stories

by Barbara Cardy

  She watched Anya’s neat little bottom wriggling in the tight black skirt. They wore similar outfits except Anya’s top exposed her shoulders. In a minute or two Anya’s excited voice issued from the bedroom. “I’m ready.” Helena picked up her riding crop and walked purposefully down the hallway, enjoying the emphatic click of her stiletto heels on the hardwood floor. She could submit and she could dominate. They were two sides of the same coin. Throwing her coat onto a chair, she approached the bed. Anya crouched on all fours like an animal, her eyes closed, straight auburn hair half-concealing her face. She was grinding her hips, pushing her bottom upwards, inviting punishment just as Helena herself had done. Anya’s boots were very like Helena’s – thigh high, supple black leather with spiky heels. The heels were not quite as extreme. Helena watched the girl intently. She could smell the delicate perfume of Anya’s arousal, sweet musk issuing from a pussy that was wet and swollen with desire. She thought of licking that delicious cunt, sliding her tongue inside its juiciness, lapping Anya until the girl screamed for mercy. But first, the crop.

  Slowly, Helena traced the contours of Anya’s body with the tip of the crop, making the other girl shudder with anticipation. She remembered how she’d felt on the train, the delicious taboo quality of total submission to a near stranger. She knew how badly Anya wanted to feel the stinging bite of the little whip against her tender buttocks. Each moment of delay was an eternity of torment that made the coming whipping all the sweeter.

  “You look beautiful in your boots.”

  Helena caressed Anya’s thigh boots with the crop tip, using it as if it were an extra finger. The buttery texture of the luxurious leather transmitted itself up the shaft of the whip. Helena could feel the sensuality of the boots as if she were stroking them with her hands. A warm scent of fine leather, pussy musk and Anya’s light floral perfume drifted up from the bed. Helena realized she was very wet between her legs. She put down the crop and eased herself out of her soaking panties. A stronger, spicier musk blended with Anya’s and created a heady, sexual atmosphere in the small bedroom.

  “Please, Helena!”

  Helena picked up the crop again but, instead of applying it to Anya’s quivering bottom, she squatted slightly and slid it between her own pussy lips. The long narrow rod felt cool and smooth as it passed over her wet velvety flesh.

  “Lick it.”

  Shivering with arousal, she knelt on the bed and placed the juice-anointed crop against Anya’s parted lips. A pink tongue crept out to trace the length of the whip. Helena’s clitoris throbbed softly as she watched intently. She wanted Anya’s clever little mouth on her pussy lips, licking and sucking, tasting and nibbling. But first, discipline.

  Reluctantly, she removed the crop from Anya’s mouth and then instructed the girl to pull down her panties. Anya’s bottom was beautiful, tight and round. Her buttocks squirmed in anticipation and Helena could see the damp stain on the crotch of her fine lacy panties. Helena placed the crop against the back of Anya’s thighs and the girl cried out: “Whip me!”

  Helena raised the crop and brought it down sharply against Anya’s wriggling behind. The girl flinched and moaned. Again and again, hard and fast, Helena snapped the whip across Anya’s buttocks, watching them turn from white to pink to an angry scarlet. Anya’s short skirt had ridden up around her waist revealing a broad expanse of bottom and thigh. She ground her hips and growled and sobbed, her hair falling over her face as she thrust herself up toward the punishing crop. Helena’s orgasm was building. She could feel her bursting clit, swollen and softly pulsing. A tiny dribble of pussy juice ran down the inside of her thigh and disappeared beneath the top of her boot. Anya’s bottom was ravaged, welted, crimson. It was enough. Helena laid down the crop and crawled onto the bed.

  “Is that better, my darling?”

  Anya was sobbing softly in gratitude and relief. Helena traced the painful welts on the girl’s buttocks, making her groan.

  “Yes. Thank you, mistress.”

  “Now lick me.”

  Helena lay down on the bed and spread her thighs wide, exposing her dripping cunt. Obediently, Anya crawled between her legs and dipped her face to Helena’s pussy. Helena could feel the girl’s hot moist breath on her throbbing clit and it was almost enough to take her over the edge. She moaned and arched her spine, pushing her hips up to meet Anya’s mouth.

  “Lick me! Suck my clit!”

  Slowly, teasingly, Anya kissed Helena’s pussy lips, deliberately avoiding the clitoris. Helena squirmed and ran her fingers through Anya’s hair.

  “You little bitch. You’re tormenting me.”

  Anya’s lips caressed Helena’s pussy with the delicacy of a butterfly tasting sugar. Helena’s orgasm swirled in her vulva like a whirlpool of pleasure, deeper than the clit alone. She fucked Anya’s face, coating the girl’s lips and chin with her potent juice. Anya nibbled on Helena’s pussy lips, like a fish on coral.

  “Suck my clit!”

  Wickedly, Anya paused and looked up at Helena who tried to push her lover’s face back down upon her pulsing cunt.

  Anya smiled mischievously. “Want to come?”

  Helena groaned. Her forehead glistened faintly with perspiration. She wanted to slap Anya. “You know I do!”

  Anya put out her tongue until the very tip of it touched Helena’s bursting clit. Helena shuddered and thrust her hips upward.

  “Did that feel good?”

  Anya paused again, gazing up at her mistress, gauging the effect of the brief lick. Helena’s eyes were closed, her cheeks were flushed with arousal and emotion. Her pussy was a slick pink cleft, swollen, juicy and headily fragrant. Anya longed to suck on the fat hard clit but she concentrated on stroking the silky inner planes of Helena’s thighs with her fingertips. She knew Helena’s orgasm would be amazing when it finally came, intensified by the game of torment.

  “It felt good, Anya. Make me come, damn you.”

  Anya crouched on all fours, raising her well-whipped bottom in the air, enjoying the sense of exposure and the cool air of the room rushing over her hot, disciplined buttocks. She was almost as wet as Helena. Daintily, she imprinted tiny kisses all around Helena’s clit. The scent of pussy musk was intoxicating. She coated her lips with juice then leaned forward to kiss Helena on the mouth.

  “Taste yourself,” she breathed into the other girl’s ear. “Taste how turned on you are. Taste how much you want me.”

  Helena moaned, incoherent with pleasure. Again, Anya slid down to her lover’s pussy. It was fun to prolong an orgasm, to make it build and build, but there was a limit to her sadistic streak. She would let Helena have her climax. Hungrily, she went in for the kill, enveloping Helena’s hard, softly pulsing clit with her mouth, massaging the bud with the flat of her tongue, hard and fast. Sweet juice coated her lips and chin as Helena squirmed and frantically thrust her hips against Anya’s face.

  “I’m coming! Oh, yes! Yes! Yes!”

  Intense waves of pleasure rippled through Helena’s body and she jolted wildly as if electrified. She had needed to come so badly after her whipping on the train. Anya’s lips imprinted gentle kisses on her neck and she pulled the girl to her, held her close.

  “I’ll make us some coffee in a minute.”

  She watched Anya rise and cross the room to the window. The winter sunlight brought out the rich auburn tint of the girl’s hair and glanced off the shiny leather of her thigh boots. Outside, down in the square, people were busy going about their everyday lives. Anya sat on the broad window ledge, stretching out her long, slender, booted legs like a beautiful doll in a toyshop. The heels were spiky, glinting like little daggers. Helena licked her lips. She knew Anya would want more. She knew she wanted more. More fetish boots, more hot sharp whippings with the riding crop, more sweet kisses, more luscious pussy licking. Maybe soon she would ask the woman on the train to visit Anya’s apartment, to discipline them both. Anya turned and smiled at her, as if she knew what wicked plans were germinating in her l
over’s mind.

  ROLE-PLAY REVERSAL

  Chris Westlake

  The final curtain had been drawn an hour ago. The actors and actresses had left the stage, removed both make-up and pretences, and reluctantly returned to their real lives. She only came back because she had forgotten something. The door to the changing room was pushed open. She stopped dead in her tracks, stunned motionless by what she saw. Naked buttocks pressed against the dressing table. Long ebony thighs were spread wide. Greedy hands pushed and directed towards a waiting lap. The girl looked up, pouted her lips; released a husky laugh. Emily turned on her heels. A second laugh could be heard from the room she had just left. She had no idea who had been between those beautifully parted thighs, only that the laugh was most definitely female.

  Emily Johnson joined the amateur dramatics two years before, shortly after her fortieth birthday. At first the roles were small and undemanding. This was her biggest to date. The production was set in rural England during the fifties. She played a rich, spoilt housewife, pampered by her hardworking, loyal black maid.

  It felt strange playing such a pompous, demanding bitch. Emily was usually the one who wouldn’t say boo to a goose. She would have joined the amateur dramatics years ago if her husband hadn’t insisted that she stay at home and cater for his every need. And here she was, bullying a sweet naive maid who would not dare to disobey her. It was strange, but exciting.

  Deana played the maid. Once the curtains were drawn, she could not have been more different from her character. The long plain dress and flat black shoes were replaced by six-inch high heels and skirts which showed off her long legs. The quiet, demure persona was replaced by a loud, sassy girl with seemingly no inhibitions. Deana was definitely full of fun and mischief.

  And never more so since Emily had caught her on the dressing table with her panties down, those long legs spread wide.

  The following evening, Emily prepared for the next show. She stared at her reflection in the mirror as the make-up girl, Natasha, brushed her long brown hair into place. She could hear but not see Deana. Then she came into view, strutting unashamedly in just high heels and a black skirt that barely covered the curve of her ample ass. Emily was struck by the full, upturned breasts and the astonishing darkness of her nipples. There was a silver ring in her right bud, which just seemed to demand attention. Emily felt unexpected heat stirring through her loins. It had been a long time. Deana caught her staring.

  “Coming out with us girls tonight, Emily?” she asked.

  Emily felt her face flush. She had never been asked out with the girls before. “I can’t tonight. My husband is expecting me home. But thank you for asking.”

  Deana continued undressing, pulling off her little skirt, revealing a pair of silk black knickers underneath. She looked at Emily in the mirror and winked. “I’m going to get you out one of these days, Ms Johnson, even if it’s just ‘out of the closet’!”

  Natasha sensed Emily’s embarrassment. “Don’t worry about her,” she said, tying Emily’s hair into a bun. “She is such a tease.”

  It felt stranger than usual on stage that night. Deana stared at her with sweet innocent eyes as she obeyed her every command. Emily recalled the lust that had filled the same eyes only the night before. They had not looked so innocent when she was getting licked out on the dressing-room table.

  The scene arrived where Deana tucked Emily into bed. She sat on the edge of the bed and listened patiently as Emily ranted about the unfairness of her life. Only tonight, Deana seemed that little bit closer. Emily could feel the warmth of her leg pressing against her midriff. The cut of her dress was pulled to one side, so that Emily could glimpse the frilly stockings hidden underneath. And then, there was the stray hand . . .

  Deana had her back to the audience who were innocently watching the play. With her right hand, Deana tenderly stroked Emily’s forehead, just as she did every night. Tonight, however, her left hand slipped under the bed sheets, explored Emily’s body. Emily could not protest even if she had wanted to. She could sense the audience watching, listening as her voice became higher pitched and less controlled. Oblivious to the wonderful stray hand that stroked between her trembling inner thighs, teased the fabric of her dampening panties, slipped underneath her bra, firmly groped her round excited breasts . . .

  Emily was her quiet self after the show. Deana was going out with all the girls, while Emily had to return to the coldness of her husband.

  “I thought Emily really got into the show tonight,” Deana exclaimed. The girls nodded their heads. Emily wondered which of them she had heard with Deana the night before. Maybe it was Tracey, who looked particularly raunchy in her tight hot pants. “Yeah,” Deana continued, discreetly sucking a finger into her mouth, “I could sure feel her heat tonight, ladies.”

  The next night Emily had never felt such raw energy up on stage. She longed for Deana to slip her hand underneath the bed sheets, right there in front of the unsuspecting audience. Her creamy, sensual loins craved to be caressed. She even arched her buttocks up off the bed, encouraging advances. And yet Deana appeared completely oblivious, playing her role with absolute professionalism. Emily frustratingly wondered whether she had lost interest.

  The changing room was subdued. There was no talk of a night out. Deana was not excitedly driving activities. Unusually, Emily was the last to leave. She was just getting out of her chair when the door swung open. It was Deana, theatrically swinging her hips. Her high heels clicked against the tiled floor.

  “I reckon it turns you on ordering me around on that stage, Emily,” she accused.

  “N-no,” Emily stammered.

  Deana pulled her hands from behind her back and revealed a pair of metallic handcuffs. She leaned so close that Emily was sure she could sense the heat emitting from her body. Deana dangled the handcuffs seductively, just inches from Emily’s eyes.

  “Well,” Deana continued, “let’s see what it’s like to really be the boss.”

  Emily timidly snatched at the handcuffs. She heard them click. “I think you’re getting the wrong idea here,” Deana growled. She took Emily’s other hand and handcuffed both hands to the back of the chair. Emily was now left in no doubt what her intentions were.

  Deana pressed her finger against Emily’s trembling lower lip, pushed it into her mouth. “Now, Emily, just as I do everything you tell me to up on stage, tonight you are going to do everything I tell you to off stage. Understand?”

  Emily could only nod her head. She watched as Deana unbuttoned her blouse, pulled her upturned breasts out of the bra. The nipples looked even darker than she remembered. The ring through the right bud teased and aroused her in equal measure.

  “Now, I know that you have seen these before,” Deana drawled, cupping her breasts. “I caught you fucking ogling them.”

  Emily felt the heat flowing down her cheeks, all the way to her chest. She knew that her own breasts were flushed with excitement.

  “The good news is that they do need some attention. When I give you the go-ahead, I want you to take them into your mouth and suck on them as hard as you fucking can.”

  Deana moved closer, nestled her breasts just inches from Emily’s face. Emily strained to move closer. She wanted the nipples in her mouth, wanted to savour the taste. Only, Deana remained just an inch or so from her eager lips. Deana laughed, but it was a cruel, wicked laugh. “Not until I give you the order, you horny little bitch.” She pulled on the back of Emily’s hair and whispered, “Now.”

  Emily sucked the right nipple into her mouth and rolled the bud with her tongue, massaging it against the ring. She felt the grip on her hair tighten, the nipple in her mouth stiffen. Hot saliva trickled down the breast. “Harder!” Deana demanded. Emily grazed the nipple with her teeth and then bit into it, pressing down hard. She felt Deana flinch. “That’s better,” Deana whispered in her ear. “Does your husband know that you are into girls, Emily?” she asked, mockingly. “I’m sure that you don’t suck his cock a
s good as you suck my tits!”

  Emily was still lost for words. She knew that protesting would be futile. Besides, she could feel her own sticky juices trickling down her inner thigh, probably staining the chair. Deana was already removing her skirt, then her black panties. Her full dark mound glistened. Emily had never seen such a beautiful sight as Deana naked.

  “I think the only real test, though, is how much a girl likes to lick pussy,” Deana snarled. “And fortunately for you,” she said, pointing her finger at Emily, “my pussy is crying out to be licked right now.”

  Deana knew exactly what she wanted and how she was going to get it. She swivelled the chair around, sat down on the edge of the dressing table and then raised her legs so that they gripped tightly around Emily’s shoulders. She took a fistful of Emily’s hair, pushed her face forcefully down towards her pussy. “I order you to lick me out, and don’t stop until I am screaming this fucking room down!”

  Emily had never licked a lady before, never in her wildest dreams imagined that she would ever even do so. Deana gave an urgent sigh of approval as Emily slowly ran the tip of her tongue down her sex, all the way to the warm inviting buttocks. The grip on her hair tightened as the tongue prodded inside. Emily could hear Deana growling, completely out of control. She teasingly massaged the clit. Deana responded with a frantic “Oh fuck, yes, lick me there!” Emily continued with a controlled circular motion until she could feel Deana’s legs on her shoulders shaking in spasms. Deana was already screaming the room down, but Emily did not stop there. She continued teasing Deana’s clit until she felt that Deana would just not be able to take any more pleasure.

  It took some time for Deana to regain some composure. She unlocked the handcuffs and gave Emily a peck on the temple, then hurriedly dressed. Emily was eager to regain her attention. She still had a throbbing ache between her thighs that she desperately longed to be satisfied. She knew that Deana was fully aware of her need. “That’s all you’re getting tonight,” Deana said with a wink. “If you are as hot as I think you are, there’s something hidden away in my top drawer that might help you out. Never been used; it’s for emergencies only.” With that, Deana was gone.