The Mammoth Book of Lesbian Erotica (29 page)

The window was wide open but the heat from the summer sun was still oppressive. “Would you like a drink?” I asked, feeling very thirsty.

“Mmm, yes please. Something cold.”

I opened the fridge, the waft of chilled air very welcome. “Apple and mango juice?”

“Great.”

“I’ll put plenty of ice in it.”

She took it gratefully and sipped. A drop of the golden juice ran down her mouth, and I traced its journey down her chin and graceful neck, onto her chest down to that deep crevice again. She
noticed where I was looking and held me in her warm brown eyes for a while, giving a playful smile.

“So how long have you been here? And why are you moving? Not because of some creepy neighbour from hell?”

I laughed. “No, the neighbours are lovely and I’m not just saying that. An elderly lady lives one side and a young couple on the other. All pleasant people. I’ve been here
three years and I shall miss the place, but needs must. What about you?”

“I’ve been sharing a house with a couple of friends, which was fun at first, but now it’s time to find my own place.” She’d finished her drink already and I downed
mine, aware that I was still thirsty.

“Well, best show you the rest of the flat. The bathroom’s there. Again, small but well designed. Power shower, sink, loo. Bath, of course.”

“I like that it’s all white. Clean and bright.”

She was standing close enough to touch, the smell of her sweat mixed with a citrus scent, a heady mixture. I wondered if it was her shower gel – orange blossom, or satsuma or grapefruit.
Ripe fruit. I was thinking of those damned breasts again. Stop it, Kat, I told myself.

“And this is the bedroom.” My tongue lingered on the word and I hoped she didn’t notice.

She seemed impressed. “It’s very spacious.”

“Big enough.” I found myself imagining her spreadeagled on my queen-size bed. I felt like a bitch on heat.

She noticed the big framed photos on the wall immediately. “Is that you?”

I nodded, blushing slightly. “I used to do fetish modelling.”

“They’re gorgeous. You look so sexy. I love the shiny boots. Those killer heels!”

She looked at me, intrigued and I wondered what she was thinking.

“Through here is the lounge,” I continued, sweating. “I think it’s a good size.”

Her eyes scanned the room, taking in the plasma screen TV, expensive hi-fi system, pink leather sofa, pink blinds, polished wooden floor, pink fluffy rug.

“I know pink isn’t to everyone’s taste, but it’s my favourite colour,” I explained.

“Hey, I like pink.” She paused, considering her next sentence. “But I didn’t expect to see one of those in here.”

“I wondered when you’d say something. You can hardly miss it, I suppose. And no, it’s not here to hold up the ceiling, as the gas man apparently thought.”

She giggled. “I bet. It’s very shiny.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll take it down before I leave. If there are any marks on the ceiling they’ll be made good.”

“Are you a pole dancer then?”

“No. Yes. Sort of.”

“Do you dance in clubs?”

“I have done, in the past. But I teach it mainly.”

“Wow.”

“I’m setting up a mini studio in my new house, with two new poles and mirrors. It’ll look great. I have lots of clients.”

“I can imagine. I bet you look amazing on that pole.” She added, “You could show me.”

I hesitated, not expecting this.

“I’d love to see you dance,” she continued. “Go on. Please.”

It was hard to refuse that sultry voice.

“I have to warm up first.”

“Would have thought we were both hot enough already,” she joked.

I put some music on and messed about round the pole, feeling unexpectedly self-conscious. I was wearing tiny shorts and a T-shirt, my feet bare.

“I want to see something spectacular,” she said.

“Quite demanding, aren’t you? So you want to see some pole tricks? Okay, I’ll give you tricks.” I slipped on my six-inch PVC platform heels and pulled my T-shirt over my
head to reveal my cherry-red polka dot bikini top. I then grabbed the pole and deftly executed a sequence of spins before gracefully throwing myself upside down on the pole and hanging by one
ankle, at which point my breasts fell out of my bikini top as I knew they would. We both laughed.

“Very impressive,” she said and I wondered if she meant the tricks. “I wish I could do that.”

“What, get your tits out?”

Now it was her turn to blush. “I meant the pole dancing.”

“Anyone can learn, with practice.”

“I doubt that.”

“I’ll show you.”

Firmly, I took her right hand and placed it on the pole. “Feel how smooth it is. Now, place your left hand there, about chest height. Lift your outside leg and swing it round the pole,
hooking on. Then bring your left leg round to meet it.”

She looked dubious but followed my instructions and successfully managed to do a basic move. “Hey, I did it.” She was thrilled.

“I told you, didn’t I? Want to try it again? Imagine you have an audience.”

“I don’t have to imagine, do I?”

She repeated the spin, more confidently this time. The track had switched from upbeat house to haunting sexy Goldfrapp.

“That’s very good. Shall I show you another trick?”

“I’d rather watch you instead,” she replied, twisting a strand of auburn hair around her finger.

“A private dance then?”

She nodded.

I started to move sinuously around the pole, pivoting, circling, spinning, caressing the pole with my legs, my hands, rubbing my body against it, dancing for her. She was captivated as I climbed
and inverted, the moves flowing seamlessly into each other. I ran my fingers through my long black hair, down my face, my body, pushing my firm breasts together, my hips snaking. Slowly and
gradually, I slipped my bikini straps off my shoulders, keeping my breasts covered, teasing. Finally, while still sitting on the pole, I let my bikini top fall to my waist, revealing my brown
nipples, which were already hard. All the time, I retained eye contact with Lisa, noting her expressions, her reactions to the impromptu show she was getting. I slid down the pole and continued the
dance, unhooking my bikini top. But instead of tossing it to the floor, I stepped towards her and in a quick movement, wrapped it around Lisa’s wrists, tying it securely. She gasped, and
while she was deciding how to respond, I pinned them above her head and fastened them to the pole.

“What are you doing?” she murmured, her voice strangely distant.

“What does it look like?” I buried my mouth in her soft auburn hair. “I’m seducing you.”

I could feel her heart beating faster, her breathing more rapid now. But she made no attempt to pull free. My fingers found the knot of her halter neck top and swiftly undid it, letting it drop
on to the polished floor. She groaned as my hungry mouth found her erect nipples, licking and teasing and sucking while my right hand travelled down her satin skin and unzipped her skirt, letting
that, too, fall to the floor.

“No knickers,” I remarked. “You are a naughty girl.”

My fingers hovered, tracing ever decreasing circles on her soft belly, down, inexorably, to her smooth, shaved pussy. Slowly. Very slowly, making her wait, teasing her. When, eventually, I
exerted the lightest fingertip pressure on her clit, she cried out, as if it was a jolt of electricity. To stifle the sound, I covered her open mouth with mine, kissing her hard, using my tongue.
At first, she let me kiss her, simply received the pleasure, but soon she was returning my attention, tentatively at first, then greedier until her passion matched my own. We consumed each other,
our sweat mingling, our breasts glistening and sliding together, until we were melting. She pushed her eager wet pussy into my hand as far as she could, her body writhing, hands straining, but I
wasn’t ready to untie her. Yet. I continued to tantalize her helpless juicy clit, muffling her groans and whimpers with my left hand now, lowering my head to nibble and nip her exposed
breasts as she wriggled and arched, so close to coming. When I felt her muscles tensing, I took my fingers away and she bit my hand, squealing with frustration.

“Bitch,” she muttered, her eyes wide and needy.

I smiled. “Want more?” Before she could reply, I pushed her legs apart and knelt down between them, tonguing her delicious pussy, tasting her, breathing in her essence whilst
tantalizing her clit with my right thumb and forefinger. Within seconds, she’d exploded, screaming and bucking, my mouth still clamped on her, my hands now clutching her lovely peachy bum
cheeks.

She sighed. “About the pole,” she murmured dreamily. “When I move in, you don’t need to take it down.”

“Why’s that?” I replied, wondering whether to untie her before or after I made her come again.

She gave me a cheeky grin. “I like shiny things.”

Vavoom

Jay Lawrence

“Oh, that does feel good. Please don’t stop!”

Warm fingers massaged the nape of my neck, kneading and circling in small, firm movements. I felt my tension melt away. The girl laughed.

“Some people come here just for this alone.”

“That wouldn’t surprise me, Kara!”

Tepid water coursed over the crown of my head.

“Could you make it hotter?”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thank you, sweetie.”

Smooth, lightly scented skin brushed my cheek as the girl reached forward to adjust the faucet behind my head. It had to be at least six months since I’d been in for a haircut. I felt
almost guilty, cringing inwardly as Kara raised a perfect eyebrow at my split ends. What a gorgeous girl she was, though. A perfect figure. Large, firm breasts and smooth, round hips. She usually
wore skin-tight jeans and a loose-necked style of top, so that you could admire her cleavage when she bent to squirt the shampoo onto your hair. I envied her hair, a lush curling waist-length mass
that varied in hue from dazzling auburn to jet black, depending on Kara’s mood du jour.

“So, what can I do for you today, Mrs B?”

God, she made me feel like a senior citizen. OK, so I wasn’t twenty-something like Kara, but I wasn’t ready for the scrapyard yet. I gave my usual response.

“Just trim it to shoulder length, cut me a wispy fringe and add as much volume as you can, please.”

“You’re sure you don’t want to try something new?”

I stared longingly at the deep crevasse of golden skin before my eyes. Kara’s breasts wobbled as she briskly massaged the shampoo through my saturated locks. I had an intense urge to reach
up and squeeze them. Her fiance was a lucky guy. I sighed softly.

“Any suggestions?”

It’s not always wise to give your stylist free rein but I felt in the mood for taking a chance. Kara started to rinse off the suds, the water nice and hot, just the way I like it.

“Well, what about going a bit shorter than your regular style and adding some colour? It doesn’t have to be permanent, so if you don’t like it, it’ll wash out over a few
shampoos.”

The young girl looked down at me with an appraising eye.

“You actually have quite a bit of red in your natural shade, so I’d suggest a light auburn tint. I think you’ll love it and it’ll really bring out those lovely blue
eyes.”

I blushed. God help me, I actually went as red as the hue the stylist proposed!

“Are you sure the water isn’t too warm, Mrs B? You’ve gone rather pink.”

“It’s just perfect, thank you, Kara. And I think I’ll go with your ideas.”

The heat in my cheeks intensified as the girl applied a dollop of conditioner and smoothed it sensuously over my squeaky-clean tresses. I looked blissfully up into a rather concerned pair of
green eyes.

“You’re not having a hot flash, are you, Mrs B? Would you like a glass of water?”

I stiffened.

“I haven’t reached that stage of life yet, Kara. I’m just fine.”

It was the young girl’s turn to colour.

“Oops! Foot in mouth disease. But it does happen to women in their thirties, you know. My cousin . . .”

“Light auburn, you say? Can I see a shade chart?”

It was rude of me to interrupt but I’ve battled raging hormones for nearly three decades and the novelty of the topic has long since worn off. Kara entered obedient servant mode and
fetched me a chart. I sat up as she swathed my head and shoulders in a towel and vigorously rubbed me dry. A dizzying selection of coloured hair swatches greeted my curious eye. How on earth could
I select the right one for me?

“I think I’m going to need some help. I don’t want anything too bright.”

We left the basin and headed for the big swivel chair in front of the gilt-edged mirror. As usual, I tried to avoid my reflection in the glass. It’s not that I’m ugly – far
from it, or so I’ve been told – but the bright overhead light is so unflattering. Kara flipped through the hair samples with a critical gaze. Finally, she selected one.

“I think we should try Vavoom!”

I laughed.

“Well, it certainly has a wonderful name. Let’s have a look.”

Kara laid the swatch against my cheek, nodded in satisfaction, then showed me the soft light auburn strands. Suddenly, I felt a surge of excitement, a sense of new and thrilling potentials
opening up at the hint of a tint. A change of hair colour is like that, if it’s a well selected choice.

“I think I’ll take you in the back, Mrs B. The beautician doesn’t have a client right now and it’s much more relaxing than the main salon.”

Slightly surprised, I let the stylist lead me, draped in my plastic cape and towel, through a warren of cubicles to a small pink room with a state of the art reclining chair. Kara closed the
door and, to my vague concern, locked it behind us. She smiled reassuringly.

“Don’t want us to be disturbed. You’re rather tense, Mrs B. I’d like to offer you a special relaxing treatment free of charge. I’ll do your hair too, of course. But
first, I want to try out some special techniques I’ve been learning at home.”

I realized my mouth was hanging open like a fish and promptly closed it. Kara handed me a thick towelling robe and gestured to a screen.