Read Say Please: Lesbian BDSM Erotica Online
Authors: Sinclair Sexsmith,Miriam Zoila Perez,Wendi Kali,Rachel Kramer Bussel,Gigi Frost,BB Rydell,Amelia Thornton,Dilo Keith,Vie La Guerre,Anna Watson
Say Please: Lesbian BDSM Erotica (13 page)
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She pushed my dress up and I thrust out my thigh so she could see the stockings I had worn the whole plane ride back, just for her. She grabbed a fistful of the flesh above the tight band of my stocking and I started working my knee between her legs, rubbing against the thick fabric of her pants. She stood a little below me—I was taller than her in my heels—but she was forceful; she had me trapped against the wall, still reeling from the moment I had made impact. She loosened her grip and I faltered a little as I tried to walk away.
She was utterly composed as she led me up the narrow staircase and down the hall. The light was dim in her attic bedroom on the top floor of the house. She took me in her arms and kissed me beneath the slanted ceiling, everything in her room comfortable and close. She turned on some music and I went to sit on the bed, wondering if I should take my high heels off or leave them on. I waited for her. She usually told me what to do.
“Hi baby,” she said when she walked over to the bed. She was looking at me, drinking me in; there was such appreciation in her eyes. I spread my knees and she leaned down to kiss me, standing between my legs at the edge of the bed. She cupped my face, caressed my neck, and smoothed my hair.
Then she eased my body back until I was lying on the bed. She moved my legs further apart. I felt shy but she said, “It’s okay, I just want to look at you.” She pulled my dress to my hips and reached up to give my tits one hard squeeze over my clothes. Then she knelt between my legs. She ran her hands across the slippery silk of my stockings. She pressed the flat of her palm against my pubic mound, pressing in and then hooking one finger beneath the waistband of my panties, sliding them along my skin.
The panties were a fancy pair she’d never seen before, covered in scalloped French lace. But she wasn’t admiring the panties; she was pulling them off, down past my knees, easing them over my shiny heels. Then she spread my thighs and looked right at my naked flesh, my little pink pussy completely shaved and soft. I felt hot between my legs just knowing she was looking at me. She leaned forward and spread my lips, staring longer than I felt comfortable with.
“God, your pussy is fucking beautiful,” she said, putting me at ease. I felt her hot breath and the downy fuzz on her chin. The first brush of her lips made me shiver. She started tracing my folds with her tongue, refamiliarizing herself with their topography.
I let out a girlish moan; it had been weeks since I felt such an intimate touch, and the pleasure was exquisite. Her tongue dipped slightly into my opening, gently feeling out its borders. She pressed one finger inside me as her tongue moved to my clit and began to work more intentionally. I extended my arms out along the bed and grabbed fistfuls of the covers, pressing her head with my thighs, my eyes squeezed shut. I felt the rush of orgasm seep through me, making me melt down into the bed. I tried to look at her, waiting for her head to pop up, but she just kept licking and pleasuring me. I came again almost at once, this time in a short burst. A bead of sweat trailed down my inner thigh. She did not move, she held her position, dutifully attending to my pussy. I came a third time, my legs quaking. She held my ankles and pressed my feet down on the floor. I dug my fingers into my own hair and scratched at my scalp, experiencing two more climaxes in rapid succession, completely crazy from coming so hard and so fast.
She stood up and we both lay down on the bed, holding one another. Even after giving me so much pleasure, she looked at me with gratitude. “You just made me come five times!” I said, still reeling.
“Well, I needed to show you how much I missed you. You know, to make up for lost time.” I giggled and nuzzled my face into hers. My hands explored the broadness of her chest and squeezed the wide expanses of her arms. She undressed me and took off most of her clothes. She lay on top of me and I buried my whole face in her tits. She kissed my neck and I ran my hands down her back, letting my nails trail down her sides. I liked the weight of her on top of me; I felt blissed out and full of love.
Then I looked up and saw a change in her eye, some darkness clouding over the sparkling green. “Were you a good girl when you were gone, baby?” I instantly felt small and nervous; I couldn’t find my voice.
I thought back to the time I had spent away from her in my hometown. I missed her, I stayed in touch, but I wasn’t exactly beyond reproach. A few days in my father’s house and I was itching to get out. I couldn’t stand the closed in feeling and the conversations I overheard through the walls. I felt myself slipping into old patterns reminiscent of teen angst and rebellion. I needed to be around other queers. I caught the train down to the city and found my high school friends. Pretty soon we were gathered around a mirror primping, gossiping, and drinking wine. Then we all headed out together to a dance party.
I really had the best intentions, but it’s hard not to attract attention at party when you’re full of anxious energy and all dressed up. Call it the curse of the lonely femme. My friends were on the dance floor, and I was sitting at the bar by myself. Most of the dykes in the room were androgynous hipster types with choppy haircuts, clad head to toe in haphazard thrift-store finds. Not really my style. I was so caught up watching my friends across the dance floor and nursing my drink that I didn’t notice the only cute butch in the place had sidled up next to me.
“Hey, you look bored,” she said. “Are you from out of town?” She was leaning right into me, shoving her hands in the back pockets of her jeans. Her moves were bold, her half smile full of swagger. I let her refill my drink. It burned in my throat and my cheeks flushed red as she stared at me. She was practically licking her lips.
Pretty soon my friends were over the party and told me they wanted to leave. I leaned over to the butch and spoke directly into her ear: “Hey, I gotta go.”
“Let me walk you to the streetcar.” She held the door for me and we walked across the street to the stop. She put her arms on my shoulders and pressed me firmly against the safety glass of the shelter. I was caught off guard and still warmed up from the free drink and flirtation. She bent down to kiss me, and her breath tasted like whiskey. My girlfriend doesn’t drink. Actually, this butch was nothing like my girlfriend; she was kind of tall, lanky, and old school. The strangeness of this new girl on the street was turning me on, kissing her seemed seedy and indecorous. She started feeling me up and squeezing my tits through my clothes. In that instant, the streetcar clambered up.
I managed to find my voice, but only a tiny sound emanated from inside me. “I missed you so much, Daddy. I promise I was good.”
“Daddy missed you, too, baby girl,” she snarled. “But I also know what a brat you can be, how much attention you need. We have to get you back in line.” It was like she could read my surreptitious thoughts and see my indiscretion. I tried to banish the remembrance of that anonymous stolen kiss on the street. She flipped me over onto my stomach and spread my legs wide. She started kissing my back, which tickled and made me squirm.
“Hold still,” she commanded. She peeled my stockings off one at a time and used them to tie my hands to the metal railing of the headboard.
Then she kissed the cheeks of my ass. She grabbed a handful of each cheek and squeezed it hard, then lightly ran her hand over it again. The flesh was jumping under her touch, feeling fine-tuned and electric. She brought her hand down with a stinging slap. She kept slapping one side of my ass until it burned, and then she moved down to my inner thigh.
“This ass is mine,” she said. She leaned down and licked my pussy between my legs from the back; it was still so sensitive from before that I gasped. “You think just anybody can give you what you need?” She slapped me again, harder and harder, and I started to cry out. I wanted to be good for her, to take everything she gave, but I couldn’t hold it in, I shrieked from the sting of it. “You need it, little brat, you need me to keep you in line, and I know you have been missing this. You little slut.”
“I’m only
your
slut,” I screamed. I didn’t want her to stop, but my legs were twitching and flinching away from the blows, so she let up.
your
slut,” I screamed. I didn’t want her to stop, but my legs were twitching and flinching away from the blows, so she let up.
She untied my wrists. They were covered in red marks; my hands pulsed as the blood rushed back. My fine stockings were stretched out and ruined; she tossed them crumpled on the floor. She flipped me over and then walked away from the bed. I was shivering and naked, my face twisted to the side. When she came back she was tightening the leather straps of her harness around her thick thighs. She kissed my face and I relaxed. Her lips were comforting; I brushed her shaggy hair to the side and cradled her head.
“I’m going to fuck you,” she said, and I actually heard myself whimper with longing, “but first you’re gonna suck Daddy’s dick.”
She straddled me and eased her cock between my lips; I was straining to take her into me, the fleshy silicone hardness of her cock in my mouth. My mouth was watering and I used the wetness to take in more of her, grasping the base and guiding more length inside. “Oh, that’s a good girl, suck on Daddy’s dick.” The cries caught in my throat as she pushed in harder and harder. She was so deep in the back of my throat I was gagging and short of breath; she pulled my hair and kept thrusting in and out, fucking my face and using me. “Look how you love that cock, you fucking little slut.” Suddenly she pulled out and slapped her dick against my face, flinging my own hot spit across my cheek. My eyes sutured shut, my eyebrows clamped together, my face was covered in spit and seeping tears. She felt my pussy and it was soaking wet. She held her dripping cock in her fist and pressed it into me. It felt huge.
I hadn’t been fucked in so long I didn’t know if I could take it. “It’s too much!” I gasped.
“Relax,” she said “You’re a good girl, you can take it, take all of this dick. It’s big and hard because of you.” I started rocking my hips to meet her and felt more of her length and strength. She kissed me and then pushed down on my neck so firmly I couldn’t breathe.
When she let go, I caught my breath and wailed, “I want you to touch me.” I loved getting fucked with the dick, but I needed the friction of her inside me. I needed to feel her hand bearing down and bringing the maximum contact that I could stand. She pulled out and reached over to grab some lube. My pussy was dripping wet, swollen, and throbbing. She spread me and slapped my pussy with her left hand. She flicked my clit with her thumb and forefinger, and it stung. I was grateful for the torment; my guilt was subsiding. She covered her right hand with the lube. It felt cold and slick when she eased it into me, and the coldness provided relief. She started pressing and twisting into me as I writhed on the sheets. My hips ground down. I could feel her fingers against the delicate barrier of my ass from the inside. I tried to keep my breath steady and regular. “Oh, it feels good,” I gasped.
“Your pussy’s good, baby,” she said and pressed in harder with all of her power. I could feel her flex and coil her hand, like she was grasping me from the inside, and filling me up. “You take it so well.” I started getting delirious; the preternatural noises I was making sounded hollow in my ears and far away. My nipples were hard, my tits beaded with sweat. Her whole fist was inside me, I knew it, but it seemed like something else, something more, like all of her was pounding me from the inside, obliterating me. I had been punished and now I was pure again. I started screaming, “Oh my God,” and felt a rush and surge as my pussy gushed liquid onto the bed. She pulled out and I shook and gasped for air. Her face lost its dark intensity and softened with pride.
“Thank you, I love you, I missed you so much,” I sputtered. I clung to her and rolled myself up, curling into her, pressing our bodies together. She kissed my forehead and squeezed me tight in her strong arms.
“Next time, don’t leave me, baby girl.”
I knew I wouldn’t leave her. She’d spoiled me for anybody else.
GENTLEMAN CALLER
Sossity Chiricuzio
Y
ou’ve got a job interview today and have traded in your skinny jeans for well-pressed slacks, with all the accompanying bits in place: button-down shirt, tie, and narrow belt—the subtle wingtip details on your shoes the only obvious nod to your fag sensibilities. I’m looking at you, all proper and focused, and I can’t stop thinking about how I want to sit on your lap and muss your hair while murmuring dirty suggestions into the sensitive hollow of your ear. It feels so odd to be drawn by this business drag, until I realize it’s because your gender makes it queer; your brain, perverse. You catch me out, eyeing you, and I refuse to answer your unspoken question until you promise to wear it for me later. Eyes narrowed, you nod, and I say that you look like someone who can afford some…expensive…company. Your grip on my arm, and the quirk of my grin, are all the negotiation we need.
ou’ve got a job interview today and have traded in your skinny jeans for well-pressed slacks, with all the accompanying bits in place: button-down shirt, tie, and narrow belt—the subtle wingtip details on your shoes the only obvious nod to your fag sensibilities. I’m looking at you, all proper and focused, and I can’t stop thinking about how I want to sit on your lap and muss your hair while murmuring dirty suggestions into the sensitive hollow of your ear. It feels so odd to be drawn by this business drag, until I realize it’s because your gender makes it queer; your brain, perverse. You catch me out, eyeing you, and I refuse to answer your unspoken question until you promise to wear it for me later. Eyes narrowed, you nod, and I say that you look like someone who can afford some…expensive…company. Your grip on my arm, and the quirk of my grin, are all the negotiation we need.
Evening has finally come, after hours of forced productivity and delightful anticipation, and I’m waiting in your room for you to come home. Our love of the game makes the simple gesture of your knock on the door the key to a different reality—one where you are indeed that businessman with a pocket full of cash and pent-up lust, ending a hard day’s work with a stop at your favorite house of ill repute. There’s a rumor of a new girl, and breaking them in is your especial pleasure. We stand on either side of one inch of wood and feel the energy building, crackling, until I almost expect a spark from the doorknob when I finally let you in.
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