The Mammoth Book of Lesbian Erotica (7 page)

“No, the pleasure was all mine,” smiled Sue, opening her eyes and taking a deep, steadying breath.

Clare walked round to the next aisle and got her and Kerry’s clothes. “Well, I think it’s been a pretty good day at work,” she grinned as she returned and began to undo
the strap-on, enjoying the sensations as the smaller dildo slipped from her still pulsating vagina.

“Good, but exhausting,” agreed Sue as she gathered her clothes up and used her last reserves of energy to begin dressing.

Soon the three of them were back in their work uniforms, though the odd trace of dust here and there were clues as to their stockroom antics. They went to the stairs and headed up to the shop
floor.

The next morning Sue was doing a stock take. She stood along one of the store’s aisles holding a clipboard as she made a note of how many of each type of sketch pad were on the shop floor.
She picked a piece of grey fluff from her black skirt and then looked at her watch, the time passing slowly.

“Sue, can you come up to the office, please?” called Miss Sear.

Sue turned to see the manageress standing at the back door with a serious look on her slightly tanned face.

“Call down to the stock-room and get one of the other girls to come up and look after the shop. It’s time for your three-month assessment,” she added before vanishing from
sight, the sound of her black high heels audible on the concrete stairs as the door slowly swung shut.

Sue’s pulse quickened slightly as she continued to stare at the rear of the shop. She’d been told about the three-month trial period and just hoped she’d made a good enough
impression. She couldn’t think of any reason Miss Sear would want to let her go.

Shaking her head to clear her thoughts, Sue quickly put the clipboard on the counter and went to the rear of the store.

“Kerry? Clare?” she called down the stairs.

After a slight pause the two women appeared from below, both brushing dust from their clothes and looking a little flushed.

“Miss Sear asked if one of you could watch the shop floor while I go up and see her.”

“She wants you in the office?” asked Clare.

Sue nodded as her co-workers stopped before her. “It’s my three-month assessment.”

Kerry squeezed her arm. “You’ll be fine.”

Sue forced a smile and began to ascend to the next floor where the cloakroom, staffroom, and office were located. Reaching the short, bland corridor, she walked to the far end.

Standing before the door marked “Miss Sear, Manageress”, Sue composed herself and took a deep breath before knocking three times.

“Enter,” came the muffled response.

Sue took hold of the handle and opened the door, finding Miss Sear seated behind her desk with elbows resting on the top and fingers steepled before her slightly angular face.

“Please take a seat,” instructed her superior.

Sue nervously sat on the black chair opposite Miss Sear.

“So, how are you finding it here?” Miss Sear studied her newest member of staff, leaning forward a little.

“Fine, thank you, Miss Sear,” Sue replied after a slight hesitation.

“It’s Vivienne,” said the older woman, “and I think you should know I had more than one security camera installed.” She paused for a moment, studying Sue’s
expression, and then turned to a small TV monitor to the left, pressing the ’play’ button on a video recorder beneath it.

Sue swallowed hard as she saw the recording of her watching Kerry and Clare in the stock-room, hand down her knickers as she masturbated. Her cheeks became red and hot as Miss Sear continued to
watch for a moment and then turned to her.

“I had it installed in the stock-room just in case a potential thief sneaked down while the staff were otherwise occupied.”

“I . . . ,” began Sue.

Miss Sear held up her right hand to silence her member of staff. “There’s no need for explanations.” She slowly stood and walked around the desk.

Sue’s gaze followed the other woman’s movements as she were hypnotized. She glanced back at the screen where the soundless images were now of her, Kerry, and Clare having sex with
the double ended strap-on.

She looked up at Vivienne as the manageress undid her navy skirt and let it fall to the floor. Miss Sear wasn’t wearing any underwear and Sue looked at the clean shaven lips protruding
between her legs, the distinct smell of arousal in the air.

“Lick me,” ordered Miss Sear, her voice hushed.

Sue looked up into the other woman’s dark eyes, hesitating a moment before slowly leaning forward.

Vivienne felt Sue’s breath on her skin and then the sensation of her tongue gently pushing between her lips. She closed her dark eyes, her spine tingling as she ran her fingers through
Sue’s long, black hair.

Sue breathed deeply the older woman’s scent and felt herself becoming wet as she tasted Vivienne. Her tongue flicked the hooded clitoris and she felt the manageress quiver. She raised her
right hand and held Vivienne open with her fingers, moving her tongue to the inviting hole as her thumb rubbed at the clitoris.

Tongue delving inside, she savoured the taste. Her left hand slid up Miss Sear’s smooth and slightly rounded stomach, vanished beneath her cream blouse and sought out her breasts. She
stroked their lower curves softly and then her fingertips circled the left nipple, finding it stiff and ready for her attentions.

Vivienne let out a sigh as Sue’s tongue began to dart in and out of her, then circled within her with deliberate slowness, thumb continuously toying with her clitoris.

Moving so that she could sit on the edge of her desk, Vivienne opened her legs wide and Sue’s tongue delved deeper, nose pressed against the fleshy lips, chin moist with her wetness.

As she once again pushed in and out of her manageress, Sue felt Vivienne tense and then tremble, a stifled moan escaping from the older woman’s lips. She slowed the movements of her
tongue, licking gently the length of Vivienne’s vagina.

“Stand,” ordered Sue’s superior in a hoarse whisper.

Sue slowly rose and Vivienne slipped off the desk and stood before her. They embraced and their lips pressed tightly together, tongues writhing as lust and passion took over.

Their hands scrambled to undo buttons and soon their blouses were discarded. Vivienne reached behind Sue and undid the clasp of her bra, which fell away from her small breasts. Briefly looking
deeply into Sue’s eyes, Miss Sear bent forward and took an erect nipple between her lips, gently nipping it with her teeth as her right hand toyed roughly with the other breast.

Sue ran her fingertips down the older woman’s back, her eyes closed as a hand slid down her stomach, muscles jumping beneath the soft touch. She inhaled sharply as two fingers entered her,
probed as deeply as they could, touching interior walls and filling her with desire.

She bowed her head and kissed Vivienne’s neck, bit her earlobes as her heart raced. Her fingers moved to explore the other woman and they masturbated each other with growing vigour.

Their lips met once again, bodies pressed close. Sue’s palm pressed against the shaven mound between Vivienne’s legs as her fingers pushed in and out, the older woman’s fingers
mirroring the same movements as they climbed towards the height and heat of ecstasy.

Breathing heavy, hands exploring, bodies close, and the air filled with their scent, Sue and Vivienne were caught up in the intensity of the moment. Their spare hands stroked and grasped with
growing urgency, fingers of their other hands moving in and out, in and out.

Sue let out a long, low moan of intense pleasure as she came, Vivienne following only moments later. Their fingers slowing, they collapsed to the floor together and lay down in each
other’s arms.

When she opened her eyes, Sue found Vivienne staring at her. “Did I pass my staff assessment?” she asked quietly.

“With flying colours,” replied Vivienne. “But I might have to give you another assessment tomorrow.”

They chuckled as they held each other close and enjoyed the gently fading sensations of orgasm.

“I have something to admit,” said Vivienne with a hint of nervousness.

Sue looked into her eyes with genuine concern. “What’s wrong?”

“It wasn’t just Kerry’s idea to get you down into the stockroom for some extra fun. I saw your first encounter on the security monitor and talked to Kerry about it.”
Vivienne sighed. “It was a way to get you up here and . . .” She paused. “I’m sorry.”

Sue stared at her as she took in her words. “I’m glad you did it. I’ve been fantasizing about this ever since I first met you.”

“Really?” responded Vivienne in surprise.

“Really,” replied Sue as she leant forward and kissed the older woman tenderly. “Anyway, I’ve always wanted to star in my own erotic movie,” she added.

The two women smiled and laughed. They held each other close in the small office. Slowly their bodies became aroused once more and their lips pressed close. A beam of sunlight shone upon their
nakedness as they entwined on the floor in the heat of passion, lost to the world, but found in each other.

“Please”

Linda Suzuki

I never liked teaching in spring. Classroom windows are open, sounds of games played on the quad drift in with smells of new mown grass and apple blossoms – no teacher
has material to compete with that. So when the dean invited me to teach a class for the spring semester, I turned her down – saying (honestly enough) that my research left me no time.

A week or so later, I was at a department happy hour, standing with a group of colleagues when someone asked this question: If you could teach any class – any subject, any structure
– what would you teach?

The answer came to me easily because I’d thought about it so many times, and it came out of my mouth easily because I’d had a few glasses of wine. “History of Erotic
Fiction,” I said, much to the delight of the rest. Only then did I notice that the dean had come up behind me in time to hear.

“How serious are you?” she asked, smiling. And before I could answer, asked, “Serious enough to teach it this spring?”

She had called my bluff, called it in front of a half dozen other professors, and everyone was looking at me, waiting for my answer.

I restricted the class to seniors, on the theory that the students would be over 21 and I would have to field fewer irate phone calls from parents. I also restricted the class
to language-arts majors, to keep out the football players, frat boys, and other voyeurs. On the first day of class, I had ten students – the maximum number I had agreed to take.

The syllabus was straightforward. We began with cave paintings, then pulled back the curtains on successive eras, surveying the erotic fiction that was one of the few human constants across
continents and cultures. Grades were based on weekly papers that were due at the beginning of Monday’s class. Each paper consisted of over one thousand words of erotic fiction written in the
style of the culture we had studied the previous week. (With one exception: The week we studied cave paintings, I had the class create their own symbols and tell an erotic story with finger paints
– flattened cardboard boxes standing in for our cave walls.)

It was hard to say who enjoyed the class more – the students or me. The debates were lively, the questions challenging. The students were all good writers, some even rising to excellent
– and one was extraordinary.

Her name was Sloane. I had seen her around the department, but didn’t remember having had her in a class before. And I would have remembered. Whenever she walked through the door, I always
expected everyone in the room to stop talking. She was the most beautiful woman any of us was ever likely to see in person – who for some reason, had enrolled anonymously at our college,
disguising herself behind nerdy glasses, her hair in a careless ponytail. But regardless of what disguises she wore, she could not hide those high cheekbones, green eyes gazing up at me from behind
thick lashes, full lips that slipped into a daring smile at the slightest provocation. On the first day of class, she caught me staring at her – and looked so willing in return – that I
had to make a conscious effort not to look in her direction at all, or else I’d lose track of what I was talking about.

Perhaps it was because she was so beautiful that I expected so little from her. But what I got – week after week – was easily the best work in the class.

Unique among her peers, Sloane wrote all her stories in the first person. There was no distance between the author and the actions of her protagonist as she fucked her way through the centuries.
After the first few papers, Sloane’s work began to read like a time-travelling novel, with breathtaking references to her heroine’s past and future sexual encounters. With each
successive chapter, Sloane gave herself completely to some new fetish – but despite her well documented orgasmic satisfaction, left no doubt that she had not found that special something she
was looking for. By process of elimination, I began to get a clearer – and more arousing – picture of what that something might be.

At first, Sloane’s heroine was fucked by both men and women, but as the weeks passed, she was taken increasingly by women alone. It began to dawn on me only then that Sloane might be
queer. (Internalized homophobia, I chided myself, to assume that no woman as beautiful as Sloane could be a dyke.)

But it was not just that Sloane’s fiction was well written, it was not just that she could write to any time or any style, it was that her work was truly erotic. After the first week, I
started saving her paper until last and would grade it in bed, just before I switched off the light – letting her words intertwine with my own fantasies, barely able to scribble my critique
before reaching between my legs to satisfy the need her words never failed to create.

I had been teaching then for about 15 years, and this was the first time I had ever read a student’s work for my own pleasure. I delighted in handing out the graded papers each week,
perpetually turned on by my secret, watching Sloane out of the corner of my eye. Did she have any idea how many times I’d gotten off on her words, or how often my fantasy as I came included
her naked body, stretched beneath mine in total submission?