The Mammoth Book of Lesbian Erotica Page 3

  “Mmm,” Lynette muttered. Her voice tone was something alien and hoarse, almost feral.

  “Did you say something?” Kay asked conversationally, feeling the girl move slicker, wilder, harder, “Say that you were ready to take the rest of that paddling on your arse?”

  “Mm. Uh. Aah . . .” Lynette gasped out.

  Kay scooped more cream into the sensitive crease and stroked on, and on and on, loving the way the girl’s sore bum quivered, exulting in her little desperate moans.

  “Need to . . .” Lynette mumbled, moving harder.

  “Show control, my dear – you mustn’t come without permission,” Kay replied.

  Suddenly the clit beneath her fingers was pushed even more frantically forward and its owner cried out long and gutturally: “Aaaaaah!” There was a ten-second pause till the next rush of rapture obviously took over her bared and shamed body, “Aaaaaaaaah! Aaaaaaaaaah! Aaaaaaaaah! Aaaaaaaah! Aaaaaaah!”

  Screams over, she gave a series of little grunts, pushed her thighs tight together, then lay, prostrate, across the table. “Oh, dear,” Kay murmured. “I give you a motherly respite from your much-needed rebuke and you repay me by indulging in an unnatural act.”

  “I . . . But your fingers were . . .” Lynette muttered into the table. Kay picked up the spoon and used it four times in quick succession on the girl’s anointed rear to bring her flagging energy back. Lynette wailed and squirmed quickly away, leaving a sex-juice trail on the mahogany surface. Sheepishly she got up and took hold of her hem as if to pull her nightie down.

  “No, leave it there so that I have access to your bum whilst you make amends.”

  “Make amends? I thought I’d . . .”

  “It’s hardly fair if only one of us orgasms,” Kay said.

  “I guess,” Lynette muttered, licking her full, red lips.

  “Good girl. Now get that pretty little tongue over here and put it to use.”

  Praying that the girl would bring her satisfaction, Kay undid her army surplus trousers and pulled them completely off. Still staring challengingly at Lynette, she did the same with her crotch thong. Then she sat down in the chair and spread her legs into an expectant V.

  “I’ve never been with another woman before,” Lynette stammered.

  “Sweetheart, you just came against my fingers.”

  “But . . .”

  “You know that you want to, deep down,” Kay said.

  With a half sob, Lynette knelt before Kay and used her fingers to open up her labial lips.

  Kay smiled. “I like a fast light pressure. Put the tip of your tongue directly on my clit.” She groaned as wet tissue met wet tissue: she was almost there already. Doling out that spanking and paddling on such a fair bum had been all the foreplay she needed. Just a few flickering licks . . .

  “Up a bit, sweetheart. Make sure you get it right, or I’ll have to teach you. Have you ever had a big studded belt lashing down on your poor bare bottom? No? It’s not too late.” She tensed her thighs as the pleasure built. “You’d never be able to bear if without restraint, of course. I’d have to tie your arms and legs over the tallest stool.”

  Her groin swelled at the image. “Have to prepare your bum first with a sound slippering, then gag you so that you couldn’t beg for help or start squealing.” The familiar signal in her sex told her that she was almost there. “Or I could take you outside to the woodshed, bend you over a log, get out the whippy cane . . .”

  She heard her own half-strangled scream coming from somewhere above her head as the ecstasy flowed through her throbbing pubes in long, hot pulses. Moaning, she grabbed the blonde girl’s head and held it there to make sure she kept licking, finally slumped back in her chair.

  When she opened her eyes a moment later, Lynette was still crouching on the floor. “Stand up. Bend over. Let me look at your chastened arse, my fallen angel.”

  The girl’s lids fluttered down in embarrassment, but she obeyed. Kay stared at the bent cheeks of pain, at the wet trails of pleasure. “You can go. Your punishment is over. Obviously I’m trusting you not to transgress again.”

  “I won’t, Miss. I swear!”

  “Good girl. Then go to bed and sleep on your tummy. Tomorrow life will go on as normal.”

  “Yes, Miss Reid.” Lynette walked towards the door with unusually stiffened thighs.

  “And you can pull your nightie down.”

  The girl gingerly smoothed the pale cotton over the crimson hemispheres, “Yes, Miss. And . . . thanks.”

  The door closed. The stairs creaked. After a moment Kay heard the girl go into her room. Then silence. Slowly she got to her feet and struggled her way into her thong and army trousers, her tissues still tender from Lynette’s surprisingly eager tongue.

  She fingered the wooden spoon. When would she have a chance to use it again? There was this particularly impish twenty-year-old redhead called Jo who’d just started at the Camp as Games Mistress and who always gobbled her meals and asked for seconds. She must use up lots of calories on the playing fields . . .

  Kay smiled as she buffed the hard, punishing oval of the spoon against her spank-pinkened fingers. It was only a matter of time before Jo made an illicit midnight trip to the kitchen. She wondered how much of a thrashing a well-exercised bum could bear before it turned scarlet and its owner began to beg.

  Tyneside Ladies’ Night

  Charlotte Matthews

  It was the usual women-only night – the company doesn’t allow mixed parties – and they’d asked me to bring the whole catalogue. Now they were looking at a blow-up doll.

  “Eeh, it’s disgustin’,” said Irene, a tarty woman in a tight red dress. “All them holes!”

  “Aye,” said Jeanette, the hostess, whose skirt was too short to completely conceal the tops of her stockings. “It’s even got a hole in the, you know, the back passage. What’s that for then, Pauline?”

  “Anal intercourse,” I said.

  “She means takin’ it up the arse,” said Irene’s daughter, Karen, even tartier than her mother in the kind of micro-mini known locally as a fanny-pelmet.

  “What?” said Kathy, the quietest of the group. “You mean they . . .” She looked shocked.

  They all laughed and Rene, a rough looking woman who looked older than the rest, said, “Aye, Kathy pet, they stick their things up your bum!”

  “Eeh, I’ve never heard o’ that,” said Jeanette. She looked so shocked that they all laughed again.

  “Oh, it’s quite common,” said Karen. “Some people like it more than the other way,” and she looked meaningfully at her friend, Sharon, who blushed bright red.

  “Ah, come on,” said Karen. “You’re not so shy when you’re out with the lasses on a Friday night.”

  “That’s different,” hissed Sharon.

  “Eeh, Sharon pet,” said Jeanette. “Is that right? You let them . . . you know . . . do it from the back?”

  “Sometimes,” said Sharon, glaring at Karen.

  Kathy was fascinated. “And is it . . . does it . . . how does it feel?”

  “It feels great,” said Sharon defiantly.

  I thought it was time to step in. “It is quite common,” I said. “There’s even a special range of vibrators if you like it that way.”

  I held up the Derriere Demon, popularly known as the Arse-Bandit, a long thin vibrator with a swollen end. I switched it on and handed it to Kathy. She felt it shuddering in her hand and quickly passed it on to Sharon, who tried to appear casual, but couldn’t disguise the pink flush that appeared on her neck and chest.

  “Well, what about them little nozzles on the boobies then?” said Jeanette.

  There was a moment’s silence. “Oh, yeah, sorry,” I said. “The Doll. Forgot about her for a minute. The nozzles? They’re for squirting milk.”

  Jeanette’s mouth dropped. “Away, Pauline. You mean . . . never. I mean I know men are dirty buggers, but—”

  Rene interrupted. “I don’t know whether it’s dirty or no
t, but my Tommy used to like it.”

  We all looked at her. She was wearing a blouse that fastened at the neck, but it couldn’t hide her enormous chest. “Aye,” she said, not embarrassed in the least. “The first time I was expectin’, I had too much milk. I had to express it – that’s what they call it. And Tommy came in while I was doing it one day and he couldn’t take his eyes off us. An’ I had plenty, so I thought, why not?”

  “What? You mean you let him . . . ?”

  “Oh aye, Jeanette pet. I let him all right. And you can take it from me – when you feed a man like that you get wet, and I don’t mean from the milk.”

  “There’s no need for that,” said Irene sharply.

  “An’ every time I fell after that – an’ I’ve had seven, you know – every time I fell, me an’ Tommy would go up to the bedroom and lock the door an’ I’d get them out an’ let him suck away to his heart’s content. No harm in it. It was just me an’ him.”

  “Rene!” It was Irene again.

  “When I was really full I used to squirt it into his mouth. From right across the room.” She grabbed her enormous breasts and squeezed them. “Two jets, like little fire hoses.”

  There was silence as we all stared at Rene.

  Then Jeanette said, “I’ll put the kettle on.”

  We all relaxed.

  While Jeanette was making the tea, I put the doll away, cleared the top of the low coffee-table, and got out my box of goodies. When the first one came out – an ivory-coloured Non-Doctor – they all looked at each other and giggled. The second one – a seven-inch flesh-coloured cock with realistic balls, produced an “Oh, My God,” and some elbow-nudging. The third one, ten inches, with in-out rotating action, had Irene saying, “Eeh, never in the world,” and clutching Rene’s arm. And from then on it was a steadily mounting litany of disbelief.

  “You’re never supposed to—”

  “Where’s that thing supposed to—”

  “Jesus Christ, that’d split you in half!”

  One by one, I switched them all on and put them on the coffee-table. When Jeanette came back in, she nearly dropped the tray. Her table was covered in buzzing vibrators, all moving around under their own power, slowly converging on an enormous black dildo in the centre that hummed smoothly like a dynamo.

  “Pauline! My God! What do you do with them?”

  Everyone laughed. Jeanette blushed. “Well, you know what I mean.”

  “It’s not such a daft question,” I said. “It just needs to be put slightly differently.”

  I pressed the play button on the remote control to start the video I’d loaded earlier, and continued talking over the opening credits.

  “You see, when most women ask what something like that’s for, what they really mean is, ‘Dare I use it?’ Am I right, Jeanette?”

  Jeanette blushed deeper. The others said nothing.

  “That’s why we always show this video at these parties. It’s American, so it’s a bit over the top, but basically it’s just women – all ages, all shapes and sizes – using vibrators for the first time. If you still wonder whether you dare, just have a look at this.”

  I switched off the vibrators on the table and went to the back of the room to watch.

  The video’s not porn, it’s actually quite serious, made by a sexologist who found that most of the women who came to him with sexual problems didn’t have problems at all – their husbands did. And when he was able to get these women “in touch with their own sexuality” (I told you it was American) – usually through getting them to use a vibrator – they never looked back. So he made the video to spread the gospel to women everywhere. I said it wasn’t porn, and it isn’t, but that doesn’t mean it’s not a turn-on. The first few minutes are a bit slow: he’s explaining to this middle-aged woman – about forty, I’d say – all about his theories and how the use of vibrators is medically recommended. But then he leaves her alone in his office to try one out for the first time, and that’s when the fun begins.

  You could have heard a pin drop as they watched her look around to make sure she was completely alone, then pick up the vibrator he’d left with her. She found the little slider button straightaway and switched it on – and promptly dropped it when she felt it buzzing in her hands.

  They laughed, almost with relief I thought, and Jeanette said, “Nobody’s drunk their tea. Shall we have something a bit stronger, lasses?”

  I put the video on pause while she got the gin and sherry and Babycham out, and then pressed play again.

  The woman on the screen picked the vibrator up, and this time, after looking around again, she sat in a soft leather chair, a bit uncomfortable at first, but then relaxing and moving her backside forward so that her legs opened a bit. She took one last look at the closed door, pulled her dress up to expose her white cotton knickers, and then gingerly, as if afraid it might hurt, put the tip of the vibrator to her crotch.

  She opened her eyes wide when it made contact. Then she closed them, sprawled further down in the chair and really began to use it. She pressed it hard against her, giving a little shimmy with her hips as she did so, and began to move it up and down, turning it in her hand. Soon the dress was up around her waist and she was half lying on the chair. She kept up this low level stuff for a minute or two, then stood up suddenly and went quickly over to the door and locked it. Hurriedly, she took off her dress and slip and then pulled down her knickers and stepped out of them, revealing a thick black bush.

  Their eyes were glued to the screen as she hesitated, then removed her bra. Her breasts weren’t firm, but they were big, and they could all see that her nipples were hard.

  This was usually the moment when the tension disappeared. This woman was not young, not a model, just an ordinary housewife who’d had kids and was getting on. Her figure was good, but her body was that of a forty-year-old, and being alone, she made no attempt to try and make it look better than it was. It made them feel good. The older ones, anyway – she wasn’t too different from them.

  She went back to the chair, and this time she sprawled, lying almost flat, her hips well over the edge, her feet and knees wide apart. I heard Kathy gasp as the thick black hair parted to reveal pinky-purple lips that were clearly wet. Then they all gasped as she pressed the vibrator to those soft lips and kept pushing until the tip had disappeared. She spread her legs wider, threw her head back, and inch by inch, pushed the vibrator up inside her. When only the last inch was visible, she began to buck her hips, thrusting hard against it. Her breath was ragged now and she was really giving it six-nowt, as they say in these parts, her body moving in complete abandon. They could all see that this woman was really doing it, really pleasuring herself, not caring about anything but coming.

  And when she did come they were right there with her. She closed her legs tight, toes pointed, and pressed both hands down hard on her mound, intensifying the thrill of the rod vibrating deep inside her. Little tremors began to sweep her body and she clutched herself tighter, bucking against her own hands, thrusting her hips again and again until she suddenly went rigid, heels on the carpet, head against the back of the chair, and, body trembling and twitching, came like an avalanche.

  “Bloody Hell,” said Irene, her voice a bit shaky.

  They’d all been knocking back the drink while this had been going on. Now they got fill-ups and started on them like there was no tomorrow as they settled down to watch.

  After that introductory scene, which it was explained had been secretly filmed but only used afterwards with “the subject’s full permission”, the rest of the video took place at one of the sexologist’s workshops. In a large, thickly carpeted room, twenty naked women pleasured themselves with a variety of vibrators and other implements. There were old women with hanging tits and sparse grey bushes, and young women with tits like firm melons and hard round arses, and every other type of woman you could imagine in between. Some had shaven fannies, and the camera tended to concentrate on those, since ther
e was no hair to obscure the detail of what they were doing to themselves.

  And they all had different styles. Some just concentrated on their clits, with the vibrators standing almost upright; some slid their vibrators up and down their slits, turning them slowly as they did so; some shoved them up as far as they would go and kept on shoving; some stuck them onto hard surfaces with rubber suction cups and squatted on them, flexing their knees to move the hard cylinders up and down inside them. Some had their legs as wide apart as they’d go, some had their legs pressed tightly together. Some played with their nipples, twisting and tugging with one hand as the other controlled the vibrator, some concentrated entirely on their vaginas, using both hands. And when they came, some grunted, some panted, some squeaked and some screamed.

  I surveyed my little audience. Nobody noticed. They were all fascinated. Jeanette had sat so far forward in her chair that her skirt had ridden right up – her stocking tops and suspender straps were clearly visible. Rene was sitting well back in her chair with her heavy legs open, moving her hips every now and then as if to get more comfortable. And Karen and Sharon were biting their lips. What they wore left nothing to the imagination and their nipples were very obvious, hard little spikes pressing against the material of their tops. When the screen went dark, I said, “Well, ladies, this is the time when I suggest you try some of the goods for sale. You’ve seen what they’re for. All you’ve got to do now is pluck up your courage and try before buying.” This was directly against company policy, but I always achieved high sales so no questions were asked; and it was rare for me to even have to do any cleaning, because what they used they usually bought. “I’m game,” said Rene straightaway. “Takes no courage. I got off twice just watching.”

  “Rene!” said Jeanette.

  “Well, it’s true,” said Rene. “My knickers are soakin’. Are yours not?”

  Karen and Sharon giggled. Nobody answered.