As suddenly and silently as this visitor entered, she left again, leaving Julia glowing all over from the heat of unearned punishment.
The next visitor planted a familiar kiss on her mouth – Siobhan.
“Having a nice birthday, darling?” she asked when she broke the kiss.
“I feel so embarrassed,” she replied, wishing she could see and move to embrace her lover.
“And I suppose you’ve been plotting your revenge?” Siobhan laughed.
“Actually, no,” she said. “But it’s a good idea.”
“It would only be fair. I would do anything for you, you know. I’d even let a man fuck me if you wanted total proof.”
“That won’t be necessary, thanks. Eww, the idea of a man’s grubby paws all over you . . . Ewww.”
Siobhan laughed. “I’m sure you’ll think of something.”
“How about eight hours licking me?” Julia suggested, not because that was what she would choose, but it was all she could think of at that moment.
“If you want,” came the matter-of-fact response. “But enough of that for now. You have two more visitors waiting outside. I won’t let them in unless you agree to this one.”
That made her curious, even more so when Siobhan told her it was Jenny.
“But she’s married. To a man!” Julia protested.
“Yes, John’s here too. But before you freak out, there’s no way he’ll do anything to you. Jenny’s decided she’s bi, though she’s never tried it. If you are OK, she’ll go down on you while he screws her. That’s it. But, like I said, only if you agree.”
“If you want me to, I will. You don’t have to ask.” It always felt warm and comfortable when she assigned her safety to Siobhan.
“Good girl,” she said, accompanying it with a kiss.
“Answer me one question before you go,” Julia said. “Who whipped me?”
“I did,” Siobhan told her before she left.
Wow.
Julia wasn’t sure about Jenny’s sudden declaration she was bi. Jenny was one of those women who had what they imagined were trendy ideas, and Julia was sure this was just another. This was borne out when the couple came in. They didn’t say much, but were obviously kissing and undressing each other, then Julia felt pressure on the bed as Jenny lay face down between her legs and tentatively stroked her thighs. She behaved as if she was nervous, afraid even, but eventually worked up enough courage to touch her pussy and slip a finger inside. It felt less than adequate after the fisting.
Jenny jerked and gasped suddenly and Julia guessed John had entered her from behind.
“Do it,” she heard John say as Jenny’s face was pushed into her.
Inexperienced, clumsy kissing along her groove gave way to inexperienced clumsy licking as John fucked her, with Julia actually getting as much from the jerky pressure that John was vicariously providing as from Jenny’s work. Within very few minutes, John shouted out and came in his wife’s pussy. A minute later and they had gone.
“They didn’t last long,” Siobhan’s voice told her.
“You watched? You were there?”
“I was. I had a feeling it wouldn’t be exactly good. I think you deserve a reward.”
Now this was better. Siobhan knew every inch of her. She knew the reactions and how to respond. As quickly as John had climaxed, so Julia climaxed under her lover’s welcome and beautiful expertise.
“Let me do you,” Julia begged afterwards.
“Later,” Siobhan told her. “I have a treat for you first. Auntie Imogen.”
Julia’s stomach lurched. Auntie Imogen wasn’t an aunt at all. They called her that because she was quite a bit older than they, probably mid-forties, but incredibly elegant and sophisticated. She chaired a regional LGB support charity and made no secret of the fact of her lesbianism. She was a flag-flyer, a minor celebrity for her outspoken views. And she was going to make love to Julia.
“How did you get her to agree?” Julia asked.
“I met her a few weeks ago. I told her what I planned for your birthday and she thought it was a fantastic idea. She said I must love you a lot and that was the kicker. I asked her and she agreed. I think you’re in for a treat.”
“I wish I could see,” Julia told her.
“OK, I think we can arrange that.”
The light hurt her eyes for a few minutes, but she soon became accustomed to it. “I must look a mess,” she told Siobhan.
“You look fantastic,” her lover replied, but nevertheless brushed her hair and repaired her make-up. “Ready?” she asked.
Julia nodded.
“Enjoy.”
Siobhan left the room and Imogen entered a few seconds later. She smiled down at Julia’s helpless form.
“I need to check,” she said. “You have agreed to this?”
Julia nodded.
“Good.” The older women smiled, starting to unbutton a very expensive-looking tailored jacket. “I’m very honored, really,” she continued. “Such a young and pretty girl. I thought my days with someone so young and attractive were long gone.”
“You could have any girl you want,” Julia assured her.
“Well, now I have you.” She grinned, draping the jacket across a chair and reaching for the zip of the skirt.
Everything about her was elegant, from her perfume and hairstyle to her clothes, all so old-fashioned and complicated compared with modern skimpy underwear. Under the suit she wore a full-length powder-blue slip, yet it didn’t look jaded or out of place. Instead it was lacy and slightly see-through, showing her matching bra, suspenders and French knickers.
“You make me impatient seeing you like that,” Imogen told her. “So you won’t mind if . . .” She smiled again. “No, you can’t mind, can you? I can just do what I want.”
Imogen’s impatience had her walking towards the bed, still all but fully dressed. Julia watched as she climbed over her, lifting the skirt of the slip and shuffling forwards until the crotch of those knickers was almost on Julia’s mouth.
“Just the idea of you has made me wet,” she said, though Julia didn’t need telling. A vertical line of damp had already darkened the blue silk along the gusset of the knickers, one which had, the next instant, been firmly pressed to Julia’s lips. As expensive as her clothes looked, Imogen smelled and tasted just as expensive, bizarrely bringing back memories of the warmth and cosiness of childhood bathtimes. Imogen dragged the crotch of the knickers aside to give Julia access, then pressed herself down without bothering to ask permission, riding quickly across Julia’s face as if she were an inanimate object.
Julia felt duty-bound to try to impress this experienced woman, using every trick she’d learned with Siobhan to excite her. To her surprise, Imogen just let her get on with it, and maybe five minutes later exploded into a screaming climax.
“Phew, you’re good,” she said as she backed off slightly afterwards. “Very good. I shall ask your mistress if I can have you again.”
“My mistress?” Julia quizzed. “You mean Siobhan? She’s my partner, that’s all.”
Imogen laughed. “Is that what you think, darling? I’ve seen enough relationships to know who’s the boss. She dominates, you surrender, yes?”
“Well, yes, but we’ve never . . .”
“You never called her your mistress. You should. It underlines the way you feel.” She paused a few moments. “Now . . .”
She stood and removed the rest of her clothing, not hurriedly, just at her own pace, until she stood naked. Julia had to admit she looked in perfect trim.
“You took a full fist earlier today, I hear,” Imogen said, rousing Julia’s visual exploration of her body.
“Yes. First time.”
“I shall be your second time. Don’t look so worried; I’ll be gentle. Would you like Siobhan here?”
Julia nodded. Little did she know that Siobhan was outside the door, listening. Once she was invited in, Imogen took total control. The submissive/dominant relationship
meant nothing to Imogen. She told them both what to do and her confident orders were not to be disobeyed.
Which is how Siobhan found herself lying face down on top of her lover with her arms and legs tied to the four corners and her intimate parts as exposed to Imogen as Julia’s were. And which was how Imogen, her hands thoroughly lubricated with gel, got both hands ready.
“Happy birthday, Julia,” Siobhan gasped as they were both filled with slender female hands.
ADDICTED TO LUST
Chris Westlake
The big round clock ticked past six o’clock, signaling the end of the working day and the beginning of the quiet after the storm. Colleagues trickled out of the door until, at long last, she was left alone, free from the deadly “Ds” – distractions, demands and deadlines. Her body ached, but it was nothing to the relentless aching between her legs. She pressed her heels into the carpeted floor, rolled her chair back, allowed easy access. Her pin skirt was quickly pulled high over her thighs. She slipped a finger inside her waiting sex, then flung her head back and sighed as it penetrated inside, deep and hard. Her mind raced – she imagined bending a girl over the photocopier, pulling her skirt up over her buttocks and . . . and she was instantly brought back to reality by a loud cough from the other side of the office. She opened her eyes and met the terrifying glare of her manager.
The musty smells of the hallway were so familiar to Joanna Reid that, even if she were blindfolded, she would have known precisely where she was. Joanna was filled with the usual sense of dread as she took her plastic seat in the circle of chairs. She stared intently at the floor, and waited. She did not raise her eyes until she heard the familiar words, the words she heard every Tuesday night at seven o’clock prompt.
“Hello, my name is Amy, and I am a sex addict.”
Initially, Joanna was instructed to attend the meetings by her manager, after he had discovered her in the office, frilly pink panties laid on the floor, finger between her legs. Joanna had broken down in tears, confessed that she could not help herself, that she fucking craved sex, all day, every day. Her manager, a straight sort (when he was not drinking), always impeccably dressed in a dire gray suit, had wiped the steam from his glasses, placed a plastic folder over his lap to hide his obvious erection, and informed Joanna that the first stage of recovery was accepting that she had a problem.
Six weeks later, and she was still attending. It had become her lifeline, something she depended on. And it was working. It had been thirty-three dull days and counting since she had last masturbated in public, since that wonderful explosive orgasm on the back of the thirty-nine bus.
Joanna was woken from her daydream by a late arrival. She checked her watch: 19.15. Nobody turned up late for a meeting; it was an unwritten rule. Joanna looked up with casual interest, but, instantly, her attention veered right off the Richter scale. Most of the group members were surprisingly dull and unattractive. She wondered how some of them had ever had sex in the first place, let alone become addicted. The new arrival, however, could not have been more different. She wore blue faded jeans, which highlighted a tight little arse, and a cropped top, which exposed just a few tantalizing inches of midriff. Flame-red hair nestled deliciously between her creamy, firm breasts. The girl must have been mid-twenties at most.
Joanna listened as the rest of the group droned on about their dull sexual urges, but it became background noise. She kept eyeing the new girl, who appeared to be completely oblivious to her attentions. The girl crossed and uncrossed her long legs and listened intently to what the others were saying. Joanna checked her watch. The session would be over soon, and then she had another long evening fighting her destructive urges to look forward to.
“Anyone else have any contributions?”
Silence followed. The group started to gather their belongings.
“I have a contribution.”
Joanna put her handbag back down. It was the girl with the red hair. Now, she definitely wanted to hear what she had to say.
Usually, newcomers were nervous and emotional. They stared at the floor, spoke quietly, or fought back the tears. There was none of this with the new girl. She was at ease. She spoke clearly and with confidence. “Hello, my name is Nicole and I am new to the group.”
“Hello, Nicole, welcome to the group,” they said in unison.
“I just wanted to tell you about a sexual experience I had last night,” she enthusiastically began. “I phoned one of those chat lines, started talking to a girl about general everyday things, you know, about the weather and all that shit. It was obvious that this girl was turned on,” she said, casually twirling a stray hair with her finger, “that she had other things on her mind, if you know what I mean. I just couldn’t stop myself. We started talking about positions, locations, all sorts. My imagination went into overdrive and, before I knew it, I was lying on the bed naked, with a dildo inside me, and I was coming like a fucking train, over and over again.”
The room fell silent. Usually, the members described (in long, painful detail) their struggles fighting this terrible “disease”. The new girl, on the other hand, sounded like she had enjoyed every moment. For Joanna, this was incredibly horny.
“I just can’t get enough,” she said, shrugging her slender shoulders, as if by way of explanation.
“Thank you for your contribution,” Peter, the chair, said awkwardly. “It is wonderful to have contributions from new arrivals.”
The group usually stayed for a cup of tea and a chat afterwards, but Joanna just wanted to get home. It seemed that Nicole did too. She said goodnight and then was out of the door, seemingly heading in the same direction as Joanna. The streets were busy as usual, and Nicole walked at a fast pace, dodging in and out of the passing pedestrians. Joanna stayed ten to fifteen paces behind, her eyes intently following the rhythmic movements of the pert little buttocks in the tight jeans. The girl was heading for the tube station, and it quickly became apparent that she was catching the same line as Joanna.
It was crowded (as always) but Joanna managed to secure a seat, sheltered behind the glass divider by the exit. Nicole joined the masses standing up. Passengers stared at their newspapers, the advertising boards, at anything but anybody else. Joanna was the exception. She watched Nicole from behind the glass. Nicole held onto a yellow supporting pole with her left hand. Nobody else noticed, but her legs were slightly parted, and her crotch pressed firmly against the pole. She subtly bent and straightened her knees just a few inches so that she rubbed up and down the long thick pole. Joanna put her hand to her mouth to stifle a surprised gasp.
Nicole was using the pole to turn herself on, right in the middle of the crowded tube.
Joanna could see that Nicole’s pale skin was reddening. A hot flush spread across her chest. Joanna pictured her clit stiffening as it rubbed against the hard pole. Nicole had closed her eyes now. The train shuddered and vibrated as it came to another stop. Her grip on the pole tightened. Nicole opened her eyes, took a deep breath, moved as if to leave the train. Only, just before she got off, she turned to Joanna and smiled.
Joanna shuddered. Nicole had must have known all along that she had been watching.
The train passed Joanna’s stop. There was no way that she was getting off; no way that she was going straight home. Joanna had lost her fight long ago. She got off at Soho and went straight to her favorite gay bar. It did not take long to find what she was looking for. With her curvy figure and olive complexion, Joanna satisfied most sexual desires. Now, though, she was desperate to satisfy her own. She located a tall, hungry-looking blonde, led her straight to the darkest, most secluded corner of the bar, took hold of her hand and thrust it underneath her own skirt. Within moments, Joanna was biting into the girl’s neck, stifling desperate moans, and reaching a thunderous, explosive orgasm.
For the next seven days, Nicole occupied Joanna’s mind at all times. The thoughts were far from pure, far from innocent. With great effort, Joanna managed to restrain from acting
on them. Tuesday came and, for the first time ever, Joanna looked forward to the meeting.
Nicole again arrived late. She wore a little denim skirt and black leather boots, which fell just short of her knees. Again, she showed no apparent interest in Joanna. There was not even a hint of recognition. Again, she sat quietly and listened intently to what the group had to say.
“Are there any more contributions?” Peter asked.
This time, an air of expectancy filled the room. Heads did not turn, but eyes definitely glanced in Nicole’s direction. There was another pause, a few moments of silence. And then Nicole spoke.
“I would like to tell people about my experience on Saturday afternoon,” she began. Now, heads did turn. “There are loads of different floors and corridors where I work. It’s a bit of a maze.” Nicole gestured theatrically with her hands. “It was mid-afternoon, and a quiet period. I could hear the clicking of high heels on the tiled floor behind me. I glanced over my shoulder and glimpsed the most wonderful pair of legs: long and lean and shapely. They took my breath away, to be honest with you. I’m sure that the heat started burning between my legs right there and then, just imagining those perfect pins wrapped tight around my neck.”
Nicole did not even attempt to hide the mischievous smile on her face as she remembered the incident. “Anyway,” she continued. “I took all different turnings, even went up flights of stairs, and still I could hear the heels clicking behind me. My mind raced, like, way out of fucking control. I guessed the girl must have been following me.”
There was a pause. Nicole looked around the room, as if looking for a reaction. When there was none, she continued. “Anyway, finally, it stopped. I looked around, and the legs had gone. For a moment, I was a bit gutted. By now I was horny as fuck, I can tell you. So I found the first room that was vacant, and I frigged myself, like a woman completely out of freaking control. I squirted all over my hands, all over the desk, fucking everywhere. I felt guilty that I had been such a horny little slut in work, right in the middle of the day, but on the other hand, it felt fucking amazing.”
The Mammoth Book of Lesbian Erotic Stories Page 28