The Mammoth Book of Lesbian Erotica (17 page)

“Then she said, ‘And it’s going to happen again tomorrow.’ So, to coin a phrase, ‘I want what she’s having.’ ”

The other two chimed in: “Me, too.”

“Okay,” I said, “but it doesn’t come cheap.”

All together they said: “We’ll pay.”

“How much?”

“Up to you.”

“Twenty-five?”

“Twenty-five, plus you spread the word.”

Sarah grinned. “If we’re half as blissed out as Amanda, we’ll tell the world. Well, the females. The men, as well – if they’re lucky.”

“No. Not the men. Show but don’t tell. I don’t want them knocking on my door accusing me of god knows what. If any of them do, I’ll triple your bills. Agreed?”

They looked at each other and shrugged: “What’s to tell?”

“Good. Who’s on first?” They rolled their eyes, eager beavers but scared. “Come on, decide.”

Sarah broke the ice, “Me. Tomorrow morning at ten okay?”

I grinned: “It’s a date.”

“What about us?” wailed the other two.

“You tell me.”

“We’ll come separately the day after tomorrow and the day after that. At ten.”

“It’s a date.” I waved them out, poured a drink and drank a toast. “To women, god bless ’em. And to the birth of a nice little earner that makes everybody
happy.”

Ruth, Roses and Revolvers

Lori Selke

Ruth couched the roses, dark as bloodstains, in the great glass vase that filled out the center of her dark cherry-wood dining table. She’d received the vase, tinted to a
shade of midnight blue, as a present at her second wedding. Her second of three, so far.

Ruth wore black every day, out of deference to her husbands, all deceased. It set off her honey-blonde hair, her lips rouged to match the roses perfectly.

Her current live-in lover, Lina, came out of the kitchen carrying two fine china plates. She smiled when she saw Ruth arranging the blossoms with her white-gloved fingers.

Lina was broad-shouldered, toffee-coloured, with thick black hair she kept pulled back and slicked down. Her heavy black brows always looked like they were halfway to a scowl, but her generous
mouth and her eyes, always alert, offset that impression. She had stripped off her shirt, leaving exposed her ribbed white undershirt, but had stayed in her uniform pants, the ones with the stripe
down the leg and the belt with its leather holster.

“Another admirer?” Lina asked, nodding at the bouquet on the table. “Isn’t it a little soon?”

“The proper mourning period for a dead husband is a year,” Ruth said, soft as silk.

“Not that that’s stopped you before.” Lina smirked. Ruth smiled and shook her head, but didn’t reply further.

Ruth had met Lina at the funeral of her last husband; Lina had been working as a security guard at the cemetery. It had been a whirlwind affair; soon enough, they were making love every night in
Ruth’s marriage bed, and within three months, Lina was moving into the tasteful but richly appointed house Ruth had inherited in the will.

They never discussed Ruth’s former spouses, or the circumstances of their deaths. The centrepiece of Ruth’s dresser was a small display stand that held three diamond wedding rings,
each stacked above the other. Her closet held nothing but the most tasteful of mourning clothes.

But Lina seemed no more than amused by the attentions that other men had attempted to pay Ruth since they’d met. The small gifts, the awkward, respectful gestures of flirting and wooing.
The cool reception Ruth always responded with. Lina had never bought Ruth a ring, or any other jewel; her dresser was already strewn with tokens from her former husbands, and Lina’s small
salary could never approach the riches they’d endowed her with. But Ruth was anything but cool to the ministrations of Lina’s strong, bold hands.

“There wasn’t a card,” Ruth confessed over dinner. “I don’t know who sent them.”

Lina nodded, her mouth full of garlicky pasta.

“But they’re just lovely, aren’t they?” Ruth continued, reaching up to stroke the petals with her fingertips. “Love’s blood and baby’s breath. It
doesn’t matter who sent them, I don’t care.”

“Your food’s getting cold,” Lina said. Ruth obediently lifted a forkful of the pasta and its fragrant tomato sauce to her mouth.

“This is delicious,” she said.

“I made your favourite,” Lina said with a wicked smile. “Pasta Puttanesca. Whore’s delight.” Both women chuckled.

“I’m no whore,” Ruth said.

“There’s no such thing, though, as Coquette’s pasta,” Lina replied, and Ruth giggled, hand demurely placed over her mouth.

A moment later, Ruth said, “You know, our anniversary is coming up.”

Lina raised an eyebrow.

“Our half-year anniversary.” Ruth dabbed at the corner of her mouth with her napkin. “It’s been almost six months since you moved in.”

Lina smiled. “How could I forget?” she said.

“I don’t know,” Ruth said, setting her lips in a mock-pout. “Maybe I should be concerned.” She cocked her head and failed to suppress a small smile.

“About what?” Lina asked.

Ruth shrugged with a slow, fluid roll of her shoulders. “I don’t know. Maybe you’re having an affair.”

“You’re the one who’s getting flowers,” Lina said.

Ruth smirked. “Touché,” she said. “So what are we going to do for our anniversary?”

“Whatever you like, baby,” Lina said.

“Anything?” Ruth asked, coy.

Lina nodded. “Name it.”

Ruth put a finger to her cheek, thinking. “So many choices. I’ll have to get back to you on that. But remember,” she said, aiming a finger at her lover, “you owe
me.”

“You’re not eating,” Lina said.

“It’s delicious,” Ruth assured her. “I’m not hungry. Not for food, anyway.” And she stood to clear her plate, hips swaying in her black crepe dress as she
stepped into the kitchen.

Lina left her plate on the table and followed Ruth upstairs to the bed.

Ruth arranged herself on the bed, still dressed. Lina sat on the edge of the bed, one arm braced between Ruth’s parted thighs. She kissed Ruth once on the lips, then at
the juncture of her neck and shoulder.

Ruth lifted her fine-boned hands to Lina’s belt. Quickly, she pulled it free, taking the leather holster that Lina wore with it. She cupped this to her chest.

“What are you doing?” Lina asked.

Ruth smiled like a child with candy and unsnapped the holster. “I’ve never touched your gun before,” she said. “Yet you wear it to bed every night.” She hefted
Lina’s gun in her hand. Its barrel was narrower than she’d expected, the body heavier.

Lina had stopped undressing. “Put that down,” she said quietly.

Ruth glanced up at her lover, wrapped her hand around the grip, and rubbed the black barrel along her own thigh. She rubbed the dark metal suggestively, wiggling her ass on the bed’s
comforter.

“I’ve never held an automatic,” she said. “My first husband, Anthony, he owned the first gun I ever got a good look at. He was a collector. He liked old-fashioned guns,
war relics, revolvers.”

“Put that down,” Lina said, more sternly.

“What’s wrong?” Ruth asked, a mocking tone in her voice. “Scared for me? Don’t trust me?” She giggled a little, to herself. “Anthony didn’t like
it when I played with his toys, either.” And she pointed the gun at Lina’s chest.

“It’s loaded,” Lina said, still in the same soft tone. “It’s not a toy.”

Ruth laughed lightly and placed the butt of the gun in her crotch. “Do you like it better this way?” she said, wiggling her ass suggestively, stroking the barrel with her hand.
“Don’t you think it’s sexy? What’s it’s name, baby?” she asked.

“It’s a Beretta,” Lina replied.

Ruth scowled down at the gun in her hand. “I thought Berettas were tiny ladies’ guns,” she said.

Lina shook her head and actually smiled. “Not this one. Now come on. Put it down.”

“Come sit in my lap,” Ruth said.

Lina said nothing. Instead, she reached out slowly, wrapped her hand around the barrel of the gun, and pulled. After a moment, Ruth’s grip slackened. Lina placed the Beretta on the
nightstand next to the bed. Before Ruth could close her legs, Lina replaced the piece with her hand, the heel of her palm pressed against Ruth’s lace-concealed mons. Ruth gasped in surprise,
clamped her legs shut, and leaned forward to kiss her lover on the forehead. Lina withdrew her hand, moving it slow enough to tantalize and no more. She pulled off her white ribbed undershirt and
tossed it aside.

“You like it that I have secret admirers, don’t you?” Ruth said, her fingers trailing along Lina’s collarbone, circling her breast.

“Yeah, baby, it turns me on. All those men, wanting you. And I’m the one who’s got you.”

Ruth shifted, straightening her back and pushing her chest out. Lina began to unfasten the buttons of Ruth’s dress, still nuzzling at her neck.

“You’re not jealous?” Ruth asked.

“What’s there to be jealous of?” Lina said, putting a hand on Ruth’s collarbone.

Ruth smiled above Lina’s black hair, and bent to kiss the crown of her head. “They’re rich.”

“You’re rich,” Lina said.

“We’re rich,” Ruth corrected, smiling, and nibbled at Lina’s ear.

Lina kissed her way down into the cleavage of Ruth’s bra.

“You know how I got rich, don’t you?” Ruth whispered and buried her mouth in her lover’s hair.

Lina reached up to cup Ruth’s satin-covered breasts in her hands. “You fucked them to death?” She teased, and kissed Ruth without waiting for a reply, until both were
breathless.

But when the kiss broke, Ruth shook her head, and pulled Lina’s hands away from her breasts. Lina kissed her again, lightly and then slipped her hand under the hem of Ruth’s skirt;
Lina’s palm slid along the curve of her thigh to the top of Ruth’s stockings. Where it stopped. “I think I know,” Lina said, looking Ruth in the eye. “I think
I’ve always known.” And she plunged her hand past the lace edge of Ruth’s panties, into the hidden moistness beneath. Ruth gasped. Lina manipulated Ruth’s clit roughly,
mercilessly, but for only a moment before withdrawing.

“Do you want me to tell you?” Ruth said, almost in a whisper.

“Is it confession time?” Lina asked. “Do you need a priest?” She put her hands to Ruth’s breast again, playing roughly with her nipples through the fabric.

“I’m not Catholic,” Ruth panted.

“I am,” Lina said, and Ruth giggled and put a hand over her mouth.

Lina peeled back each finger, one by one, kissing the tips. “If you won’t tell me,” she said, “Then I’ll tell you. I know exactly what you did. I know exactly how
wicked you are.” She sat back on her haunches. “Take off your bra.”

Ruth complied, slipping the black lace off her pale shoulders.

“Now turn over.”

Ruth drew up her knees and rolled over so that she crouched upon her knees. Lina reached up between her legs and roughly removed Ruth’s panties. Ruth gasped and pushed her butt back toward
Lina. Her pussy was pink and moist, haloed by hair just a shade darker than that which was still artfully arranged on Ruth’s head.

Lina leaned into her lover, placing her knee against Ruth’s groin. “I know all about you, don’t I?” She whispered, putting a hand in Ruth’s hair and pulling her
head back. Ruth moaned, rubbing her crotch against Lina’s knee.

Lina swiftly replaced her knee with a hand, plunging inside Ruth’s ready cunt. She fucked Ruth hard and swift, all the time talking in her ear, wrapping her hand in her hair, speaking
between clenched teeth.

“Your husbands all loved you; you were so dutiful, so devoted, so beautiful, such a good lay. A good fuck.” Lina punctuated her words with a jerk of her hand. “So pretty, so
demure. They never noticed that funny taste in their morning coffee. The erratic beat of their hearts was the result of lust’s flush, not the poison you’d been slipping them for
months.”

Under Lina’s insistent ministrations, Ruth began to make low, rough sounds of passion, of assent.

“You’re a black widow, a professional mourner. Sweet like the sugar you used to hide the bitter taste of your calculated plots. Your husbands were old, in poor health; nobody would
suspect. Am I right? Am I?”

Ruth’s voice began to rise into one long, orgasmic wail.

“You can tell me. You can tell me anything. I don’t mind. There’s nothing for me to be afraid of. I’m not some rich sucker, I’m not in any danger.” Lina bent
her head to whisper right in Ruth’s ear; her hand left Ruth’s hair, now in utter disarray, and slipped to her white, unblemished neck, stroking it slowly. “I admire you, in fact.
You’re smart, and you’re set for life. That’s sexy. That turns me on.” And Lina buried her hand in Ruth’s eager cunt, braced her other hand against her shoulder, and
pumped with all her might. Ruth was shaking her head, her cry broken into a series of full-throated pants as her cunt clutched at Lina’s expert hand, dousing it with her juices.

“That’s right,” Lina cooed. “I know all your secrets. I know how you got your money, and I know how to make you come like none of those rich bastards ever could. Am I
right?”

Ruth gasped out “Yes,” and collapsed to the bed, pulling Lina on top of her, her hand still between them, lodged in Ruth’s flush pussy.

“God,” Ruth said after a moment.

“God’s got nothing to do with it,” Lina said. “You’re not Catholic, remember?” She slipped her hand from between Ruth’s thighs and wiped it on the
pillowcase.

Ruth smiled sleepily. “But you are.”

Lina shrugged and rolled off Ruth’s back. Ruth , in response, turned over on her side and faced her lover. Lina kissed her on the forehead. “You’re absolved,” was all she
said. Ruth’s eyes were already drooping; she reached to Lina for one long, final kiss before slipping into a blissful post-coital doze.

Lina propped herself up on one elbow and watched her lover’s breathing slow, until she was sure that Ruth was asleep. Carefully, she rolled off the bed and approached the nightstand.

She picked up her Beretta, hefted it once in her hand before wrapping both hands around the grip. She pointed the barrel at Ruth’s sternum.

She turned her head before she fired.