Say Please: Lesbian BDSM Erotica (8 page)
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
“Se llama Angel?”
I ask sweetly. You see her practiced nonchalant smirk melt for a second from across the room when this blonde femme pronounces her name correctly.
I ask sweetly. You see her practiced nonchalant smirk melt for a second from across the room when this blonde femme pronounces her name correctly.
You feel it rising in you as you watch me lean into her and laugh at her jokes. When I incline my head toward her to give her my ear so she can whisper in it, I look at you to make sure you’re seeing me. You watch me draw her in. I move my body just right so you know my skirt hikes up my thigh; you can’t see but you know from the angle of my body that my garter’s showing. That mixture of troubled and turned on is roiling inside you, making you a little harder, a little angry, pulling that tension in your body until you see me lean in and reach my hand around her head. The second you see my short, dark nails touch her neck, you’re up and moving.
“Hi.” Your voice is tight and in an instant, everything’s obvious.
Angel looks between us and then decides to start with you: “Can I help you, man?” I smile at you under my skin, just a touch of mirth, and you can feel my heat as you put your hand on my shoulder.
“Well,” you start, weighing how far you’re willing to go, “yeah, you probably can. Here’s the thing with this femme of mine.” You look me up and down, your gaze appraising, proprietary. You step over to talk to Angel. I’m out of hearing range now but I’ve done my part, so I’m waiting, watching, seeing how much bait you’re going to take.
“Come on.” You grab my upper arm and pull me up out of my seat. You steer me firmly toward the door and I’m momentarily disappointed. Then I see Angel following not far behind, and a flash of heat hits me and my cunt starts dripping. My high heels hit the floor steadily as I saunter, keeping my pace just slow enough that you have to pull me along. When we get to the alley, the cold air breathes relief around me and I smell the salt-tinged night fog start to fall.
“Stand here.” You spin me facing you and push me against the cold brick wall. The throbbing music inside comes through the mortar and touches my pulsing, steaming skin.
Angel strolls up, looks me up and down as I lean, breathless, shoulders on the wall. “So,” she says to you. “She’s yours, but she likes to hit on other guys, is that right?”
You raise your chin in a short backwards nod. “Yeah, seems that way.” I dart my eyes between you, unsure what’s going to happen but hoping, straining against my rising fear, the desire to break the spell and start running.
You look directly at me. “So, I think she needs a lesson in how to behave. You wanna help me teach her, man?” Angel looks me up and down and licks her lips. The red embroidered roses on her black button-up look like they’re dripping, bleeding, soaking everything around them, and I feel moisture running down my thighs. You pull your joint out of your vest pocket and light it, dragging off it slowly. You raise your eyebrows and extend your hand to Angel, who takes a hit.
“Why don’t you see how excited it makes her to go out without me and get other guys’ attention?” you say to Angel. She steps toward me and grabs my waist, keeps one hand there as she brings the other to my neck and sweeps my hair out of the way.
“She’s got goose bumps,” Angel reports from right up close so I can feel her hot breath on my ear.
“Slut,” you say languidly. “Her nipples are probably hard, too.” Angel’s right hand moves deftly over my collarbone, down my neckline. She reaches into my low-cut dress and rubs her fingers gently over my bra.
“I dunno, man, it’s hard to tell through her bra, you know?” Angel says.
“Well, take one of her tits out, then. She won’t care, she’s been showing herself off to everyone. What’s one more rough night in an alley, right, babe?” Your voice is sure enough that Angel takes your direction. Your tone has that challenge for me in it: How long can I take it? How long can I trust you and let you play with me this way, just a big, expensive toy that you show off?
Angel slides her smooth right hand down my chest and into the cup of my bra. She pulls the weight of my breast up and my strap slides down my shoulder at the same time, so the front of my dress falls and allows you to see my white skin and pink nipple completely bare. The cold air hits my goose-bumped skin and I almost moan because of the throbbing in my cunt. Angel circles my nipple with her thumb.
“Yeah, her nipple’s hard. She’s turned on, man. This girl is begging for it.” You exhale a puff of smoke. My head lolls back against the wall; I’m trying desperately not to scream. Trying to keep it together as her practiced thumb teases my cold, hard nipple.
“Yeah, she’s in heat.” You shrug. “She’s always like that. I’ll bet her pussy’s slick and the tops of those stockings are soaked, too. You should find out.”
Angel’s hand remains on my nipple and I think for a second she’s lost her nerve. Then I remember she has another hand, as I feel her left slide down my body and run up my stocking-covered thigh. I shudder as her hand slides from my outer thigh to the inside, where my legs are touching.
“Shit, she’s so hot I can feel her before I even get close,” Angel tells you.
“Baby,” you say. I look into your eyes. “Baby, spread your legs. Let her see how much it turns you on to get everyone’s attention.” I move my foot to the side so that my legs make an A shape.
“Haha, man, she moved and it all fell into my hand. You weren’t kidding. This girl is so, so wet.”
“I know,” you say, looking right at me, mocking. “She’s got a sweet pussy, too. You should feel her.”
Angel looks right at me and smiles. “Mmm, baby. You got a sweet little pussy for me, huh? I know it’s sweet ’cause I’ve been smelling you all night. You want me to touch it?” I am practically ready to drop my weight into Angel’s strong, sure hand, I’m so desperate for some friction. You look at me, warning me not to speak. I plead with my eyes and keep silent.
“Touch her, she can take it,” you say. Angel moves her hand slowly and rubs my vulva with the lips still closed, letting all my wet, silky skin run over itself and sending shards of sharp wanting up my spine. She taps my closed pussy just hard enough, and I gasp. Her fingers part my lips and run up and down all of my sensitive folds, and her thumb keeps circling my nipple until her first finger joins it. She pinches hard and her fingers slide inside me. Two, then three she thrusts and I open easily, throbbing, soaking her hand to the wrist. She looks up at me, bright-eyed, and suddenly her bravado is mostly gone except for that little bit that laces her naked lust.
I’m watching you as she’s pinning me to the wall with the hand that’s on my breast. Your cheeks are flushed and you’ve begun rubbing your cock absently, watching my pupils dilate and my mouth chew my lips together in order to keep quiet. You read my face and know her hand is working me over, that I’m so turned on and so close that I need a shuddering orgasm or three to relieve all this tension. As Angel thrusts into me, your eyes never leave mine.
I’m starting to ride Angel’s hand hard now, waiting, wanting to come, needing my release, needing it to rip through my clamped throat and tight muscles.
Your voice is low, controlled, but loud enough to break the spell. “So what do you think?”
Angel steps back, disengages from me. Her face changes as she returns to herself, collecting her machismo and spreading it back over her face. Smirk. She brings her hand to her mouth. “Yeah, man,” she says, her breath measured, with effort. “Sweet girl you have here.” I’m throbbing, wanting to grab her hand and force it back to my cunt, needing to come with all my body’s force.
“Make her clean your hand for you,” you say. Angel brings her hand close to my mouth and I suck my taste off her fingers, one by one, acidic and sweet, sharp and salty. The taste of your mouth when you’ve made me scream, the taste of my own fingers when I’ve been coming all night long alone thinking of you. Angel pulls her hand away and offers you her right hand from my breast. You shake it, and the two of you seem to share a little self-satisfied moment of butchy brotherly affection as I pull my dress back up. When I lift my head, she’s gone. You step heavily closer to me and grab my hair, kiss me hard.
I start to whimper, “Baby, make me come, I need to come, please baby why you tease me like that, please…” You back up.
“I know you want to come, baby. Maybe later.” You take my upper arm and lead me to the car. You bend your head after I’m seated in the passenger side and grab my pussy as I fasten my seat belt. Your breath is hot on my ear, and full of growl and promise: “Let’s get you home.”
BLACK HANKY
Sassafras Lowry
H
y left the femmes at the club and took me home instead. The decision surprised hym a whole lot more than it did me. See, hy was raised up a Southern gentlemanly sort of butch. The kind of butch that opened doors, buys dinner, and always brings flowers on a date. The sort of butch who was looking for a wife who would make sure hy had a cold glass of sweet tea waiting when hy got home from work. Hy didn’t bring me flowers. I wasn’t going to be anyone’s wife.
y left the femmes at the club and took me home instead. The decision surprised hym a whole lot more than it did me. See, hy was raised up a Southern gentlemanly sort of butch. The kind of butch that opened doors, buys dinner, and always brings flowers on a date. The sort of butch who was looking for a wife who would make sure hy had a cold glass of sweet tea waiting when hy got home from work. Hy didn’t bring me flowers. I wasn’t going to be anyone’s wife.
We made our escape while the girls were in the bathroom and drove in silence. I’d played with other tops before. Butches I’d puppy-dog followed out of social justice and political meetings. They were northern city butches with silicone cocks and floggers made from expensive leather. Butches with St. Andrew’s Crosses in their basements and eye bolts in the ceiling. Hy was different, rougher. Here there was no posturing or pageantry, just connection, just sex, just power.
We went into hys darkened house and passed the closed doors of hys roommates. I was grateful for the privilege of avoiding small talk. Hy closed the door behind us and clicked on the exposed bulb. I tried to take in my surroundings, the cardboard movie cutout of James Dean, the signed Indigo Girls posters, but I felt boot meet flesh and my knees buckled, leaving me on the floor in front of hym. Black hanky swiftly pulled from my back right pocket and the room plunged into darkness. “You think you have a right to flag black, boi? We’ll see about that.”
My knees buckled, mind flooding with playback videos of all the times I’d pushed past my breaking point as a high school athlete. The physical therapy that restored full range of motion but could only do so much. My knees are no longer designed for kneeling, but I wanted to give hym this. Pushed past the edge of pain, the stabbing pain transitioned to hot burning. Pushing past the pain would be worth it for one head pat, for one “good boi.”
No sooner had I settled into the burn of my knees than I felt hys boot at my back, pushing me forward face first into the dirty bedroom carpet. The synthetic fibers scratched my face and did little to cushion the blow as I collided with the floor. Still blindfolded, I forced my breathing to quiet so I could listen for hym, trying and failing to anticipate where hys next move would come from. My hands were ripped from where they casually lay at my sides behind my back and cinched tight with rope, boot still pressed firmly into my spine. I knew the clean work shirt I’d chosen for the occasion of going out tonight now bore the outline of hys muddy right boot. Thoughts of when I’d next be able to do laundry left my mind as hy scruffed me, fingers digging into the short hairs at the back of my neck, pulling me back to my knees.
Hys breath hot on my face, I was pulled into a rough bruise of a kiss my lips would feel for days. Hys hands slipped flat-palmed down across my chest. Caught between pushing into hym and pulling away, I held my breath as hy with frightening gentleness undid shirt buttons, untucked my undershirt, and reached beneath. Hys lips again found me as hy pulled me to hym and undid the Ace bandage holding my chest down. I wanted to protest but didn’t want this to end. Hy grabbed my left nipple hard as I heard the metallic unzipping of hys fly, and my jaw was forced to make room for hys delicious cock.
“What do you say, boi?”
“Thank you.”
“Thank you,
what
?”
what
?”
“Thank you, Daddy!”
“Good boi.”
Smiling around hys cock, I stuffed back a giggle of amusement that we’d both hard-packed tonight. For a butch who said hy never fagged, hy sure seemed into this. I thought of making a smart comment to that effect but could already feel the red welt of a palm against my face and thought better of the insubordination fantasy.
Grabbing my shirt collar, hy pulled me up onto hys unmade bed. Hys other hand fumbled with my belt buckle and zipper. I was left stripped of pants and boxers, with only my harness and boots left as armor. Nakedness feeling all the more profound as I felt hym press into me, binder and shirt intact, cock protruding through the fly of hys jeans. Hy bit my shoulders and I bucked up against hym, reaching out in blindfolded darkness. I wanted to wrestle, wanted to fight, but I was so deep into this I could make little more than a feeble attempt.
Hy was on top of me now, pushing me into the mattress and kneading the tense muscles in my back. I must have relaxed slightly because soon hys hand was under me, grabbing my cock and beginning to stroke, finding me hard and wet for hym. Hys other hand moved the middle strap of my harness aside and pushed hys cock in hard. I gasped and hy whispered that I better be grateful and keep quiet. Hy fucked me harder, pulled my hand down to my own cock, and I began stroking. Hy was using my harness as a handle for better leverage, getting deeper and moaning through clenched teeth with each thrust. With each thrust hy went deeper than was comfortable. My resolve broke, throat erupting in a stream of moans and “please” and “Daddy, don’t stop.”
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