The Mammoth Book of Lesbian Erotic Stories

by Barbara Cardy

  Philip, having no idea what I’d planned, was grateful for a day off work (he’s a civil engineer) but was still unaware why I’d asked him to arrange it. In bed in the morning, he imagined I was on the menu – well, I was, but not till the evening – and was mildly annoyed when I resisted his clumsy attempts to keep me in bed. Instead I was up, in a bathrobe and into the shower.

  All clean, I told him – truthfully – I’d bought some new clothes and wanted his opinion. He sighed patiently (I’m always buying clothes) but sat in the chair ready for my fashion show.

  In the adjacent room I put on my new black bikini – if I valued it by pounds (sterling) per square inch, this was a very expensive bikini, but Philip didn’t seem to mind. OK, I admit it, I posed a lot. I bent forwards facing him, so my boobs looked as if they’d tumble out, and facing away from him, giving him a good view of my (very shapely, thank you) bottom and legs.

  Back in the other room, I slipped into a lingerie set bought for the occasion – his favourite all black and in the style of burlesque, though a lot briefer and more see-through. I danced into the room humming “The Stripper” and he nearly cricked his neck watching me. Remember he was still naked at this point and this outfit certainly perked up his interest, if you get my meaning. Being a lap dancer – check!

  Hardly surprising, then, that he made a grab.

  I had to tell him off; I didn’t want my new silk stockings to get laddered so soon. He promised to behave but I made out I didn’t trust him, an excuse to bring the next fantasy into play. Sounding like a schoolteacher I’d guess, I used some of his ties to fasten his wrists behind the chair and his ankles to it. He wasn’t bothered – it was all part of the game and he’s usually up for games. Once he couldn’t grab me, I really went to town, doing my best lap-dancing impression, which had me nearly losing control when I rubbed my bits in his face.

  I was delaying this bit to reach the next cue – a ring at the doorbell.

  “Who could that be?” I asked in my best amateur dramatics voice.

  By this time I’d removed my bra and, when I made to leave the room to answer the door, he suggested I cover up, but I teased him by suggesting it was probably the postman and he wouldn’t mind. His face when I left the room was a picture!

  I already knew who was at the door, but I covered myself up with my arm just in case as I opened it.

  “Very nice,” said Debbie with a grin, as she stepped inside and I relocked the door.

  I’d not really told her what I’d planned for the day; in any case I only had the basic ideas and was quite happy to see where the day would go. But she knew it was going to be sexy and I whispered to her that Philip was tied naked in our bedroom before having a loud conversation (about nothing, really) from the hallway – I wanted Philip to know she was there and that he couldn’t do anything to get himself dressed. Then I beckoned her upstairs, letting our conversation get louder as we got closer, imagining how red-faced Philip was going to be. Female domination – check!

  “Debbie’s here,” I announced as we entered the bedroom.

  “D, get me out of here,” he hissed, trying to keep his legs closed. I did notice his erection had vanished.

  “It’s all right, darling,” I told him. “Debbie used to be a nurse; she’s seen more than you have to offer.”

  Then I told Debbie I was just trying on some new outfits and invited her to try some too. I left her with a very red-faced Philip and skipped next door to bring some clothes in. Debbie’s about my size, though my boobs are bigger, so this would be fun. Philip’s mouth was agog as she casually stripped down to her underwear – wicked red bra, thong and black fishnet hold-up stockings – before trying on a sexy red cocktail dress I’d bought for our holidays.

  But still his erection wasn’t playing. That was OK, though. What I had planned didn’t need an erection.

  Or a man.

  He was still complaining, just like a man, which suited me just fine. I handed Debbie a pair of black French knickers and asked her to try them, which involved her taking off her thong, under cover of the dress.

  That led on to my berating Philip for complaining and the excuse to bunch up Debbie’s warm (and damp) thong.

  Philip was ahead of me. “You wouldn’t dare,” he started.

  “Open up,” I told him, and when he stayed clenched I mentioned as innocently as I could that he had a choice. Debbie and I were there, I said, and he could either accept the gag and be able to watch, or he could be fitted with a blindfold.

  He hates it when I get one over on him, but he opened up. I knew he would. Debbie’s thong in place, fixed there by a few strips of surgical tape – we have it in the bedside table because he loves to gag me. Then I turned my attention to Debbie.

  But I didn’t really know how to start.

  She helped – I must ask her if she’s done this kind of thing before – by grabbing me and snogging me, full on the lips.

  Wow.

  I love kissing anyway, but what had I been missing? She kisses so well, so gently yet so completely, that it was a natural reaction to kiss her in return. We spent ages doing it, mingling tongues and breathing into each other. At times I almost forgot we had our audience. Oh, er . . . Having sex with an audience – check!

  And her hands were everywhere: my neck, my back and shoulders, but mostly my boobs. How gently and lovingly she treated them; so different from Philip’s usual mauling. She kind of weighed them, as if they were different from her own, which I suppose they are. Maybe, I thought, I should check.

  She made no protest when I pulled off the dress. The French knickers and the bra didn’t match, of course, but I unfastened her bra.

  Actually, I’d seen her breasts before, and she mine, because we go to aerobics classes together and have showers afterwards, but this was a bit different. Kind of. I realized in that moment I’d actually always been interested in them, but I’d never had an excuse to do anything about it before. This time, though, with her still paying homage to mine, it was only fair that I return the compliment. They felt a bit different from mine – firmer, maybe, with smoother, tougher skin.

  And still we kissed, Philip all but forgotten. I knew she went on holidays to the Mediterranean and was used to sunbathing topless – she’d shown me some photos once – but she was showing no shyness in front of my husband and I had no idea what he would be thinking. I just hoped he didn’t have a heart attack.

  I heard her say “at last” at one point and I stopped to ask her what she meant. She explained that she’d flaunted herself in front of me in the gym changing room and all but forced me to see her topless pictures, but I’d never taken the hint.

  “What hint?” I asked dumbly.

  “I fancy you. I’m a lesbian, D, didn’t you know?”

  “Lesbian?” No, I didn’t know. “But you were married.”

  “A marriage of convenience,” she explained. “But it was never going to last and it didn’t. Carl is gay.”

  Now you could have knocked me over with a feather. Or could you. It’s amazing how once somebody’s told you something it all becomes obvious. The signs had always been there but I’d never read them, about Debbie or her ex.

  She renewed the kissing. And the breastwork. She was more insistent now, reaching down to my knickers and trying to push the waistband down. It felt fantastic! Until I remembered.

  “No,” I protested loudly, pushing her away.

  She looked at me like a slapped puppy. “But I thought . . .”

  “My list of fantasies,” I reminded her, having shared the list – if not my plan – via email. “Top of the list,” I insisted.

  She thought for a moment, then it clicked. “Rape?” she asked.

  “Rape.” I smiled.

  “But how . . .?”

  “Some of Philip’s ties. Pretend you drugged me. I’ll wake up in five minutes so you’d better be quick.”

  I didn’t help her, either. I fell like a dead weight on the floor while she went
to his wardrobe, already open from when I’d got the ties to do Philip. Then she dragged me by my arms to the bed and humped me onto it. I almost giggled but managed to control it.

  When I was on the bed it was easier. I’d been tied up before – Philip likes doing it, but never got as much as this from it. She had me stretched between the four corners of the bed really tightly, pulling off my thong before she tied my feet.

  Then I magically awoke and protested how I was there against my will and she should please let me go. The bitch just ignored me. She knew I was stuck there and she just prodded me all over with her fingers – well, not all over actually – you know what I mean.

  When I’d been playing asleep, I’d heard some weird noises, but hadn’t opened my eyes because of the pretence. Now I realized what they were – Philip was trying, slowly, to turn the chair round to see us and the noise was the chair legs scraping on the panelled floor.

  “Help me,” I called to him, keeping up the pretence of an unwilling victim.

  “He can’t help you,” Debbie laughed. “In fact . . .”

  She went to the linen closet and found a pillowslip, then dragged it over Philip’s head so he couldn’t see, despite his moaned complaints. She secured it there with another tie and turned her attention back to me.

  There wasn’t much she didn’t do to me as she held me captive. Her fingers and hands went all over me, not just my sexual parts. Her mouth, too, unhurriedly kissing up my arms and legs, on my breasts and belly and neck, never forgetting my mouth, which she explored inside and out.

  I struggled and protested, more because I thought I should than because I wanted to.

  What I wanted, in fact, was for that maddening, teasing mouth to go down on me and to drink of my nectar, which I could feel cooling between my thighs. But she knew that; she was in control. Instead, she stood and stripped off, telling me (unnecessarily because I could see) and Philip (who couldn’t) that she was taking off her knickers. Then, as I suspected she was going to and was powerless to stop, she mounted the bed, facing my feet, and straddled my face, lowering herself onto my mouth. I’d never seen a vagina in close-up before (despite university anatomy lessons) but I watched this one until her bottom cut out all light. Then I didn’t need to see; it was there, wetly sucking at my mouth and daring me to plunge my tongue in. I never could refuse a dare.

  I wanted her to do me more than anything I’d ever wanted. Philip goes down on me, more because I like it than because he does, but I just knew Debs would like it and be good at it, if only she’d give in and do it. Now!

  “Please, Debs,” I moaned into her flesh, but I doubt I could make intelligible noises.

  Whatever, because all she did was ride my face, getting more and more energetic until she was doing all the work and I was trying to keep up. She made herself come more than I made her, but that was OK. Then she turned round and sat down on my face again, this time facing the top of the bed so she could watch me licking her and I could look up at her pubes and her boobs and her staring face.

  This time it was me who made her come.

  When she’d finished, and I was certain I was due my turn, she just climbed off and left the bed. For a horrible moment I thought she was going to fuck Philip – I couldn’t have stopped her – but she just left the room and went downstairs, leaving both Philip and me all trussed up with nowhere to go.

  She was just playing a game, of course; a few minutes later she was back, gloriously naked, carrying a cup of coffee for herself. She sat and drank it before coming to me again.

  Her tongue was still hot from the coffee when she attacked my pussy with it. I imagined I’d climax immediately but she was too good for that. She licked then left, kissed then drank, fingered me then fingered herself, keeping me simmering but letting me know who was boss.

  “D’you want to come?” she asked at last, looking down at me with a totally obscene trail of my juice on her lips.

  I nodded like an idiot.

  “OK, but there are conditions. First, you have to agree I can do this again whenever I want.”

  I nodded like an idiot again.

  “Secondly, I spend the night here in bed with you. Philip stays tied to the chair either way, but you can choose whether it’s in here or in another room.”

  Poor Philip. I considered, briefly, what he’d choose. Apart from to be set free so he could fuck my brains out. I decided two things: one, he’d probably prefer to be there and at least hear what we were up to and two, Philip was not in any way my priority.

  “In here,” I gasped.

  She didn’t wait a moment, descending on me like a wild thing and licking along the lines of my labia (and directly across my clit) rapidly and hard. Her previous gentleness had apparently deserted her. All she wanted was to make me come, which I did. And then again, which I did, struggling at my bonds. Then again, until I lost count. Rape? Check!

  SERVING SARA

  Angel Propps

  Laughter sounded from corners, cigarette smoke clung to the ceiling in blue-grey veils and mingled with colognes and perfumes. The hum of conversations ran like an electrical current through the crowded rooms of the penthouse apartment. The elegantly clad guests stood about drinking from thinly stemmed glasses and stuffing themselves from the ever-present trays of food.

  Walking among the guests was Sara Dahl: an employee of the caterer who had been hired for the evening. To alleviate her boredom, Sara amused herself by practising subtle little tortures like moving the trays she held just far enough away so the person reaching would really have to stretch to be able to take the tidbit they wanted. Earlier in the evening, she had slathered an unholy combination of peanut butter and crab-meat on wheat crackers then topped the creations with sprigs of mint. She had found the way the guests had looked askance at the morsels, but had eaten them anyway while praising the caterer’s genius, hysterically funny.

  At that moment she was feeling fairly prankish and wondering what she could do about it. She had plans to go out to the local dungeon after the party was over and was considering going to the room where they had been allowed to stow their belongings, grabbing a tube of the flavoured lube she kept in her toy bag and using it to garnish a few of the foods being served. That thought was instantly forgotten when the door opened again to admit a late arriving guest. The talk died down, and then sped up as the ones who had fallen silent realized it. The woman who had caused the furore stood quietly in the doorway, an amused smile on her face and Sara could not help but stare. It was not just that she was beautiful, although she was; she simply exuded sex like some women put forth the scent of the food they ate. The newcomer had honey-coloured hair that hung to her waist, framing an oval face that featured green eyes which tilted at the outer edges, a straight nose and full pink lips. She had the long attenuated body of a model, shown to its best advantage in a skinny black sheath that clung just a bit too tightly and was held up by one thin strap crossing her right shoulder. Her glowing golden skin made Sara wonder where her tan line ended, and if it even did.

  The woman came deeper into the room and small groups parted in hesitant, hopeful patterns but she ignored the smiles and small waves and nods. Her eyes locked on to Sara’s and Sara refused to drop hers first. She stood stock-still, the tray balanced on one hand and watched as the woman moved towards her with a low-slung, nearly vicious walk. A come-on-and-fuck-me stroll that left no doubt that she was a woman who got what she wanted, Sara thought, and a cruel grin crossed her sensually cut lips. She had no doubt that the woman approaching her knew damn well that her walk gave her away . . . and could not have cared less.

  “I don’t suppose you have whiskey in those glasses.” The voice was a smoky and nasty contralto with a gritty undertone. It made Sara think of dark molasses pooling slowly over jagged rocks.

  “No. Champagne.” Sara extended the tray slightly but not quite far enough. The pale bubbles swished and hissed inside the delicate glass and the woman gave Sara a long assessing look th
at was filled with recognition.

  “I would love something—” the voice got lower, the kohl-surrounded eyes went to a sleepy half-mast position and those lean hips tilted out slightly, too slightly to be noticed by the rest of the room but enough to light Sara’s nerves on fire with lust “—a hell of a lot harder and stronger.”

  “I can give you that.” Cool confidence oozed from Sara’s words.

  “I bet you could.” There was cool consideration in the words. “I’m Jamie. I have to say I have never fucked the help before but you look like fun. There’s a bathroom down at the far end of the back hallway; do you know where it is?” Sara nodded. It lay a few feet from the room the caterer’s employees had been given. “If you go past it and turn right at the end there’s a little room on the left. It used to be the nanny’s room years ago but nobody uses it. I could meet you there in five minutes.”

  “Don’t be late, Jamie. I won’t wait.”

  Sara did not wait around to see if her order would be obeyed. She knew it would be. She went past the guests, half-heartedly offering the flutes of champagne and, once in the massive kitchen, tossed the tray into the sink and ducked back out again, heading for the room and grabbing her toy bag on the way.

  She slipped through the door of the old nanny’s room in a cloud of expensive perfume and sexual heat and Sara forgot everything but the white-hot lust beating a pulse at the top of her pussy.

  “Take your dress off,” Sara said and there was a brief silence. Then the dress slid to the floor with a small noise that sounded remarkably like a sigh. Sara let her eyes wander from the toned shoulders and bird-light collarbone to the stacked ribs and the concave stomach. The nearly flat hips led to slim thighs and well-toned calves, trim ankles and long narrow feet, all of which were shown off to perfect advantage in nothing more than a pair of sky-high black stilettos. There was already a smear of clear fluid staining the thin blonde curls from behind which a glimpse of coral could be seen.