The Mammoth Book of Lesbian Erotica (27 page)

Edith, and Kevin, had kissed their way right down to my clit, leaving me to discover that one of the . . . things, about this whole . . . thing, was that it was strange not to be able to move,
or grab her hair, or touch her in return. I’d always felt that if I didn’t reciprocate in some way it would feel awfully cold and strange for the poor thing, but she didn’t
actually seem to mind concentrating on me at all.

The handcuffs gave me permission to just lie back and enjoy it. In fact, they
insisted that
I just lie back and enjoy it. So I did. After all, it wasn’t my fault. There wasn’t
a thing I could do except shut my eyes and just
feel,
every move seeming magnified, thrumming through me like the buzzing heat of the vibrator.

Just when I was right on the edge of orgasm, Edith stopped. I couldn’t even protest, I was so caught up in it. All I could do was lie there and watch, as Edith lifted the vibrator between
her own legs, and teased, and teased, and came, with a muffled shout, and collapsed on the bed.

I didn’t even wonder until a moment later how the hell Kevin could get off by inverting his own cock.

“Now that Kevin has finished fucking himself, could he finish fucking me?” I asked politely. “After all, I’m a little tied up at the moment.”

“Sorry,” said Edith. It had to be Edith – Kevin wouldn’t have said sorry. She levered herself to her knees with a ladylike half-sigh, half-groan. “I really feel
like a bit of a sleep now, you know.”

“You’re a woman. Not a bloke. You don’t go to sleep immediately you come. So perform your villainous duty.”

So she picked up the vibrator, leered at me, and touched it to my clit, and damn me if I didn’t come at once.

“Can’t get the virgins these days,” muttered Kevin. “Nowadays, they’re
all
easy.”

I was too busy enjoying coming to reply to that.
Something
about the scene, unconvincing male villain or bondage or not, had evidently got to me, because there was a hot glow all the way
through me and I couldn’t breathe. Until a moment or two later, when I could do nothing
but
breathe.

Both of us were lying there limply but happily.

“Actually, since I’m Edith as well as Kevin, I could probably manage to do it more than once. Where did we put that strap-on?” said my girlfriend, regaining a little more of
her energy.

“Oh, over there somewhere,” I said, pointing vaguely with my chin and forgetting what a dangerous thing this was to do when Edith couldn’t see properly.

She set out, blithely enough, for ’over there somewhere’, and promptly ran headlong into the little table her glasses were on.

“Fuck,” said Edith, as her glasses folded gracefully to the carpet. She stopped dead, and I heard something else – something small – fall off the table as well. Small,
like the key to the handcuffs I was wearing.

“Fuck,” said I.

“Sorry,” Edith said in a very small voice. That was definitely Edith and not Kevin.

“I want to cuddle you,” I said, “but you’re still a twit.”

“Well, you can’t cuddle me yet. If I move an
inch
I’m likely to tread on something very important.”

“And if you break your glasses you won’t be able to find the key.” I strained, but I couldn’t get into a position where I could see the glasses. I could see the
key,
though, which wasn’t a fuck of a lot of use because the only person who could
reach
the key was Edith, and she couldn’t.

“I could try talking you through it,” I said.

“I still might stand on my glasses. And I don’t know where my spare pair are. I mean, if I had my glasses I could find them.”

Eventually, after very carefully inching forward, little step after little step, she nudged the glasses with her foot, retrieved them with a cry of triumph, and fell on the key.

She came back to me clutching the key in her hot little hand. I said,
“Don’t
practise seeing whether the villain can get the handcuffs
undone
without his
glasses.”

She sighed. “Somehow I don’t really feel like seeing if Kevin can get it up twice in one night. I think that’s broken the mood slightly.”

“And danced up and down on it,” I said, as she released me. “But what has he got in mind for tomorrow? He has to throw the bound and gagged heroine out of sight into the
wardrobe, because somebody might be coming.”

Oh no, I thought. A gleam of authorial interest was sparkling in Edith’s eyes. “Probably that big wardrobe over there – but it wouldn’t be over there. For this story to
work it would have to be in that other corner,” she said.

If I didn’t love you I’d swing for you, my girl,
I thought, as I got up and helped her manhandle the wardrobe.

“OK, that will remind you,” I said, panting. “Can we do the rest of this tomorrow?”

There are advantages to living with a writer. You get woken up at four o’clock in the morning while they want someone to block out a story idea, and they
really
need
someone to help work out whether all the bits fit together, and it can go from mystery to steamy romance in an instant.

I’m very public-spirited, me.

The neighbours probably didn’t appreciate us moving the wardrobe, but it was all in the cause of art. Honestly.

Peering Through the Crack

Eva Hore

“Hi, Sheila, it’s just me,” I said, bursting through the front door. I was running late for a dinner date with my sister, Christine.

I stopped dead in my tracks as I spied her coming out of the bathroom. I’d never seen her looking so hot. She nervously brushed a few wisps of hair that had escaped from beneath a towel
that was twisted into a turban on her head, clearly unnerved that I’d seen what she was wearing.

“I . . . er . . . I didn’t expect you home so early,” she stuttered.

I couldn’t keep my eyes off her stunning figure. She was wearing a red and black teddy underneath her robe. It was open, revealing her amazing body. She had beautiful ebony skin and the
red complemented her, turning her into a vibrant vamp.

“I forgot something,” I said, still staring at her breasts.

She pulled the robe tight around her body and rushed into her bedroom. I stood there looking after her. In the twelve months we’d shared this apartment, not once had I seen her go out on a
date, yet these last five Fridays, whenever I got home, she was never here and didn’t arrive back until Sunday morning.

When I’d asked her where she’d been, she just said she’d been out with some old schoolfriends. I suggested she bring them around here one Friday. I said I’d love to meet
them but she just ignored me.

I was a snoop by nature and the fact that she had that sexy teddy on didn’t fool me. Normally she dressed very conservatively. She was a librarian and, believe me, usually she looked the
part. Hair pulled up in a bun, horn-rimmed glasses. She looked and acted like a mouse.

On the weekends prior she would just bum around in track-suits and sloppy clothes. She always had her nose in a book. I must admit I didn’t have much time for her, always busy with my own
life. I had no idea she was so horny looking.

She was seeing someone, but who? And why the secrecy?

“See you,” she yelled, as she passed my door.

I felt so alone when she left. I lay on my bed thinking about her. Dinner with Christine now seemed such a chore whereas before I was looking forward to it.

“Can we skip dinner?” I asked my sister Christine when she answered her phone.

“Yeah, why?” she said.

“Oh, I just don’t feel like it that’s all,” I said.

“You okay?” she asked.

“Yeah, it’s just that . . . it’s . . .”

Christine knew I had a crush on Sheila. She’d already told me to either tell her or get over it.

“It’s what?” she pried.

“It’s Sheila. She’s going out again tonight and I caught her coming out of the bathroom wearing a very sexy teddy,” I blurted out.

“So what! Leave the girl alone. You have to get over this obsession you have with her,” she said.

“I’m not obsessing. I’m just curious. Don’t you think it’s strange, her spending all those weekends away and not telling me anything?”

“I think you’re strange. She doesn’t have to tell you anything. You’re not her mother. Don’t bug her about it. It’s her own business. I’ve got another
call. I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” she said hanging up.

I rolled over burying my face in the pillow. I didn’t care what she said. I wanted to know what she was up to. Many thoughts and scenarios rushed through my mind. I lay there thinking
hard, wondering where she was and what she was up to.

I imagined that I’d followed her out, watched as she ran down the steps, her long hair trailing after her. She’d hop into a cab and her coat would ride up so I’d be able to see
the tops of her stockings. Stockings meant suspenders and suspenders meant no ugly panty hose.

I’d keep my distance as the taxi sped through the quiet streets. It would stop in a seedy part of town where there were old warehouses. I’d cut my lights and idle along, just like in
the movies. When she knocks on a door someone wearing a dark robe will answer it.

I can’t see what the person looks like as the light from inside the room shadows his face. She slips inside and I’m left to wonder what to do next. I decide to cruise by slowly; my
lights still off and park just around the corner of the building.

What would happen next?

Faint music would be coming from inside. There are windows but they are too high for me to see into. Skirting around the back I’d find an old milk crate. I take it with me back to a window
and balance carefully on it. I’m able to peer inside, just between the crack of the curtain.

This room is a dinning room. A huge wooden table dominates the room with large ornate chairs that could seat about twenty people. Nothing at all mysterious about this room, quite boring actually
and then I see someone walk past the room so I’d pull back on instinct, become more interested and grab my crate and go to the other side.

Can’t have my fantasy too boring. I’d have to make it more exciting.

This room would be nothing like the other. This one is decked out with what looks like thick and luxurious carpet, with deep mahogany furniture and plush red velvet covers. There is a huge
chair, more like a throne, placed at the centre of one of the walls. Small tables and armchairs are scattered about the room.

Large wooden posts are attached to the ceiling at the same end as the throne and there is a crate or cage with wooden bars nearby, an array of whips adorn the wall and in a glass cabinet I spy
dildos, vibrators and other interesting toys.

Yes, that gives it a definite intriguing atmosphere.

Voices alert me to the doorway. Sheila is leading the way, wearing a long purple robe. As she walks the gown parts and underneath I see she is still wearing the sexy teddy and definitely
stockings and suspenders. Her hair is draped around her like a shawl. Even from this distance I’ll be able to see she has her face beautifully made up and as she heads for the throne, others
will enter the room. All will be women.

Sheila will be the only one in purple. She’ll stand out, look special. Some will be in black, some red and two girls will sit at Sheila’s feet wearing white tunics, white see through
tunics. I’ll peer harder, nearly topple off the crate to see if either of them are wearing underwear.

They won’t! Dark nipples will stand out like beacons as the girls cross their legs to sit on the floor. Most of the armchairs will be taken up. Waitresses, dressed only in a short apron
and nothing else, their breasts swaying as they walk will enter as well as two men wearing tight leather pants and no shirts. They’ll stand on either side of the girls who are at
Sheila’s feet, their arms crossed, muscles flexed.

My pussy throbs as I plan which way to go from here.

I’d be intrigued for many reasons. Firstly, that Sheila would be the head of anything as she is normally such a mouse. Secondly, that women would dominate this room. They’d have to
be part of some sort of association, which definitely has nothing to do with the library association. Thirdly, naked female waitresses will serve drinks to women who slap them on the arse or pinch
their breasts. They’ll be so submissive that they show no reaction.

My hand steals down to my pussy and I feel the heat emanating from there and I smile. This is the randiest I’ve felt for ages.

I can’t hear what is being said, the walls would obviously be sound proofed to keep away nosy people like me and I can’t even imagine what they would say anyway. The two men will
walk from the room and minutes later come back, both holding the arm of a beautiful young woman who they stand her in front of Sheila.

I need to add some drama to this.

Some sort of heated argument will ensue and their body language will be tense. The woman will struggle to move away but the men will hold her firmly in their grasp. Sheila will approach the
woman, look her up and down as though she is for sale. One of the girls who had been at her feet will hand her a cushion. Something will be resting on it.

It will be a knife.

Sheila will run the blunt edge of the knife down the side of the girl’s face, over her neck and the swell of her breasts. Then down and under her shirt where with one quick upward motion
she’ll slice off the buttons and the shirt will fall open. The two men will rip it from her arms and discarded it onto the floor.

I really should get into this sort of stuff; it’s definitely a turn on.

Now they’ll hold her arms more firmly as she begins to struggle. I’ll watch mesmerized, as the knife moves under her bra straps and slices through them. Her bra will fall forward
exposing a luscious pair of breasts. Now Sheila will trace the knife around her nipples before lowering her head to suck one into her mouth.

She’ll laugh while the girl struggles against the men. One of the girls in the white tunic will remove the woman’s skirt until she is standing in only her panties and cut up bra. Her
gorgeous breasts will be heaving as she continues to struggle.