The Mammoth Book of Lesbian Erotica (71 page)

I laughed shakily. “You certainly did that.”

Silence. We were both embarrassed, I guessed. Both unsure what to do next.

“How late are you working tonight?” I asked.

Lia gave me a faint smile. “You were the last appointment.”

“The last one, or the only one?”

She laughed and shook her head. Was that
ayes
or wo? Hardly daring to breathe, I leaned forward to kiss her. A nibble-kiss, just at the edge of her mouth. It didn’t matter, her
watching me before. This was new. This was, I thought, a little bit scary.

Lia slid her arms around my waist. Kissed me back. Tiny soft kisses that made my pulse flutter. “So,” she said, her breath tickling my face. “Are you going to the Christmas
dinner?”

Not the question I expected. I drew back, uncertain. “Are you?”

“Of course. Aunt Delores would kill me if I wasn’t there to help with the kids.” She reached up and cupped my cheek in her warm palm, studied me with bright dark eyes.
“But this year, I think I’m going to be very, very late.”

Laughing, I pulled her close and kissed her again.

Sexual Healing

Helen Highwater

Tia was abruptly ordered to sit when she entered the shrink’s office. Dr Kismet didn’t stand up or even greet her; she just looked at her over the top of her
glasses and said “Sit down,” no “please”, not even a welcoming smile. Kismet read the case notes, with the air of someone who did not want to be disturbed. Not even daring
to speak, Tia felt like a schoolgirl who had been sent to the headmistress for six full strokes of the cane.

Eventually, Kismet looked up. A petite but confident brunette, elegantly dressed in a gray business suit with a knee-length skirt, she presented a stark, harsh image to Tia. Nevertheless, there
was something mesmeric and beautiful about her.

“You were referred to me by Dr Everett,” the doctor said at last. “She says here that you are a sex addict. Is that correct?”

“Yes,” Tia confirmed.

Kismet stared at her for a long, uncomfortable time. Tia’s cheeks burned. It wasn’t simply that she was ashamed of her condition; it was the doctor’s icy, impassive stare. It
seemed rude and invasive, as if she were undressing every aspect of her mind and body and looking at her darkest secrets with a magnifying glass.

“And yet you’re only seventeen?” the doctor asked, as if suggesting she were somehow dirty and repugnant.

“Yes,” said Tia, lowering her head, both as a gesture of passivity and also with the intention of covering her blushes.

The doctor read on.

“According to this, you have never actually had sexual congress,” said the doctor “You’re a virgin?”

The question felt more like an insult. Tia nodded shyly.

“I see,” said Kismet, continuing to read on “you masturbate. On average seven times a day, according to what you told Dr Everett.”

The doctor put her file down neatly on the desk and walked around behind Tia’s seat.

“Do you feel dirty and shameful?” she asked.

Tia turned around and opened her mouth to retort. Doctor Kismet told her firmly to face the front and answer yes or no. She answered in the affirmative.

“Yes?” chided the doctor. “Yes what?”

“Excuse me?” Tia queried anxiously, turning in her chair.

“Don’t turn around. Yes, I feel . . .” Dr Kismet promted.

“Yes, I feel . . . dirty and – and shameful.” Tia managed.

The doctor congratulated her:

“Good!” She said simply. Not “Good! I know how hard that was for you”, just an economical (though ambiguous) “Good!”

Tia felt Kismet’s hair on her neck, leaning over her from behind.

“Would you like to tell me what you fantasize about?” she asked.

Tia blushed even deeper and lowered her head.

“It’s all in Dr Ev—”

The doctor interrupted her coldly.

“Tell me what you fantasize about, during these seven-a-day masturbation sessions of yours,” she commanded.

Tia breathed in deeply to calm herself. The hairs on the back of her neck were standing on end and she was beginning to realize that coming here had been a bad idea. The relationship with her
counsellor was evidently not going to work.

“I’m sorry, Doctor, I have to go,” she said politely, placing her hands on the arms of the chair to raise herself out of it.

“You’re not going anywhere,” observed Kismet, confidently. “Sit down and answer my question, please.”

Tia sat involuntarily. She was taken aback by the word “please”. Steadying her nerves, she braced herself to answer the question.

“Facesitting,” she answered. She tried to let the word slip out matter-of-factly, as though it were as humdrum as the word “knitting”.

She sat facing forward, not daring to turn around. The shrink was silent. Was she even in the room?

Tia’s heart raced, but she calmed a little when at last she heard the doctor’s footsteps pacing the floor behind her.

“Facesitting?” Kismet mused. “Is that actually a word?”

“On the web search, it is,” Tia offered, meekly.

A hand came over her shoulder, holding a copy of the Webster’s dictionary.

“And what about in here?”

Tia flicked through.

“No,” she muttered at last.

“And what about you, are you a facesittee?” the doctor pressed.

Tia shook her head.

“What is the website called?” Kismet demanded.

“There’s a few of them: uh – butt munchers, ass . . .”

“So you’re a butt muncher?”

Tia bristled angrily at the intrusive and insulting nature of the question, but her will was already broken and she felt she had to nod anyway. The doctor was close now; she could smell her
perfume strongly and hear the scratch of her pen on her notepad.

Dr Kismet returned to her seat and sat daintily upon it. She leaned on her hands upon the desk, staring deep into Tia’s eyes. Tia became lost in the deep brown eyes that fixated her so
icily. The doctor’s expression remained calm, commanding and unchanging until at last she raised an eyebrow.

“When did you first discover that you were a lesbian?” Kismet asked.

Tia had only recently discovered that the sight of a slender ankle, a classical, poised breast, the ball of a beautifully rounded bottom all turned her on. The term lesbian offended her when
applied to her own desires; these were visual, sensual images. To appreciate a sculpted sort of feminine grace was not necessarily homosexual. However, she did not appreciate the leering attentions
of the guys in high school. Little boys, she would often think. And to crave the attentions of more mature and sophisticated girls and to yearn for them to tie her down with skipping ropes in the
change room . . . well, perhaps this was little more than a fantasy. And fantasies can change as time goes by.

“I’m not . . .” she started, but the doctor killed her denial with a sharp look, “I – I started, I guess, a year ago.”

She thought for a moment and was about to supply more information when the doctor broke the silence.

“How did it make you feel?” she asked. “Were you sad? Happy?”

This was more how Tia had imagined the counselling to be, and she welcomed the chance to talk. “I was depressed. I still get a little depressed. Sometimes.”

“That’s not uncommon. Are you scared that other people might find out?”

Tia nodded. “And scared of living a lie. If this isn’t just a phase, I mean.”

“Again, not uncommon.” Kismet reassured her. “You have heard the word used as a schoolyard taunt, no doubt.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You are nearly a woman, Miss Rodriguez. Your friends have grown up. Do you really think they will treat you that way if you tell them the truth?”

Tia smiled shyly, brightening up. “I’m not ready to tell them, just yet.”

The doctor smiled supportively at her. She had gone as far as she needed to with this line of questioning; she stood up and resumed pacing the floor behind Tia.

“So, supposing I were to sit on your face,” conjectured Dr Kismet. “Supposing you were to ’munch my butt’, so to speak . . . take me through it. What would
happen?”

Tia was a little surprised at the sudden reversion of the psychoanalyst to her former coldness. “Well, I really think you’re personalizing it.” Tia protested.

“Just describe what I would do to you,” came the sharp rejoinder.

Tia shivered and tried to recount her fantasy as best she could. “Well, you would drag me by the hair into a small room and lock the door,” she said, to the doctor’s evident
approval, “then you would throw me to the floor at your feet, where you would taunt me for a while . . .”

“Would I bend you over and spank you with a hair brush?” inquired the doctor, interrupting.

Tia was puzzled. She wondered where this line of questioning was leading.

“Wh- uh- no. I never thought about it,” she said. “I probably will from now on though, I guess.”

“And then . . .” prompted Dr Kismet.

Tia thought for a moment before continuing. “And then,” she said, “you would order me to lie down on a table, and bind my hands. Then you would squat over me and gently lower
your ass down over my face.”

“And you would lick my anus, yes?” asked Kismet very matter-of-factly.

Tia nodded her head in shame. She continued facing forwards and listened to the doctor writing her notes.

“Turn around,” Dr Kismet instructed.

Tia turned around and instinctively pushed her chair backwards, on seeing her analyst. The psychiatrist was standing very close to her, with her back turned. Tia followed her calf up to her
thigh and on up to her pert buttocks.

“I told you to turn around,” said the shrink angrily. “I didn’t tell you to move away. Move further forward.”

Reluctantly, Tia moved her chair back to where it had been. She felt nervous, yet excited; the hem of Dr Kismet’s skirt was practically brushing against her face.

“Now,” said Dr Kismet authoritatively, “describe what you find so attractive about my bottom.”

Tia stared at it.

“Its . . . its shape . . . so elegant and-and firm, but soft. Like the flesh of a peach.”

The doctor turned her upper body so that she could look down on Tia. “Good!” she congratulated, before turning back around and bending over, such that her dark brown hair touched the
floor. “And now?”

Tia jerked backwards in her seat, but the doctor reprimanded her sternly. She sat up straight and looked. “It’s so perfectly curved,” she said. “So powerful, like a
thoroughbred race horse.”

Dr Kismet stood up and turned to her. “So, at the root of your fantasy, there is something much more childlike and innocent,” she suggested kindly. “After all, what little girl
doesn’t want a pony?”

Tia considered this. Her feelings of shame started to dissipate. She thanked the doctor and stood up, sensing that the appointment was finished. But Dr Kismet had something more to say. She told
Tia that she would need to see her again, to check her progress. She explained that this next visit would be quick and that she should come around to her house in the evening, rather than bothering
to reserve an appointment with the surgery.

Dr Kismet lived out in the sticks; she owned a big ranch out in the country. Tia was looking forward to meeting her again as she walked up the driveway. Seeing the front door
was open, she walked on in. There was a rudimentary reception desk in the entrance hall, manned by a dark-haired older lady. Tia looked down at the upturned hatful of twenty-dollar bills on the
desk as she told the lady her name. The lady studied her list and instructed Tia to go through the second door on the left.

As Tia entered the room, the light was switched off and she was grabbed and manhandled in the darkness. When the light came back on, she found she was on her knees, tightly bound and gagged at
the back of the room. She heard a voice from over near the door, and although she could not see who it was through the forest of legs, she instantly recognized that it was Dr Kismet.

“Ladies,” said Kismet, “welcome. You should all have her likes and dislikes in your brochures, but feel free to use her as you wish. Do not allow your faces to be shown in any
of the photographs; I don’t want the cops busting down my door in the middle of night, thank you. If you do take any photographs, you should find her address in your brochures; she is deeply
ashamed of her filthy desires, so if you threaten to post them up around her neighborhood, I’m sure she will accommodate any desires you may have in order to avoid disclosure. She is a very
dirty girl but, should she refuse any reasonable request, write it down . . . she will be dealing with me later. But for now, feast yourselves, ladies. Enjoy.”

The ladies turned around one by one to face Tia. They unclipped her ball gag and dragged her onto the psychiatrist’s couch. At the head of the mob was a lady whom Tia recognized. She was
dressed as a nasty blonde cheerleader.

“All right!” she exclaimed. “Let’s get this little slut warmed up.”

“Dr Everett!” exclaimed Tia reproachfully.

“So bite me, bitch!” said Dr Everett, nimbly straddling Tia’s face and pinning her shoulders down firmly with her knees. “I have needs!”

And then the lights went out.

The Goddess Within

Catherine Lundoff

Kerry looked over the ingredients for the love spell again. Two red candles, check. One sachet of lavender, check. Weird little packet of dried herbs that came with the
“Embrace Your Inner Love Goddess” kit that she bought last weekend, check.

She took a deep breath and picked up the directions, part of her not believing that she was even thinking about doing this. But she’d tried everything else: potlucks, singles mixers, blind
dates, being friends first. Nothing seemed to work; none of the other women that she met were as beautiful as Lena. Or as funny and smart. But it had been two years now and Lena still just thought
of her as one of her best customers at her tea shop/brew pub, the Lavender Steep and Brew. Kerry was getting desperate and that was all there was to it.

She imagined kissing Lena, feeling her warm lips open under her own. She could almost feel Lena’s big soft breasts pressed against hers. A trickle of wet warmth touched her thigh and a
pleasant ache spread itself below her belly at the thought. Not that there wasn’t a lot more to Lena than that, she reminded herself sternly, but today that was all she seemed to be able to
think about.