The Mammoth Book of Lesbian Erotica (30 page)

“If you’ll just take off your clothes and put this robe on. This is all right with you, isn’t it, Mrs B? You do have time?”

“Yes, I suppose so, but tell me – what does this treatment involve?”

The young woman smiled.

“If you don’t mind, Mrs B, I’d like that to remain a surprise. I just know you’ll find it very helpful. Relaxing.”

Hmm. There was something about the way the girl was looking at me. Had she sensed my desire to lavish attention on her luscious boobs? Surely not. I was imagining things. I stepped behind the
pretty floral screen and took off my clothes, feeling as nervy and awkward as a patient at a gynaecology clinic. The luxurious robe allayed my fears, however; super-thick, baby soft and lightly
rose scented. Lovely. I crept out from behind the screen and lay down on the long leatherette chair. Kara appeared to be fiddling with some kind of electronic box. She turned off the bright
overhead light, leaving just a soft pink glow from a silk shaded lamp. Mmm, I was already beginning to relax, with the comfortable seat and the gentle, perfumed atmosphere. The stylist leaned over
me and I realized, with a sudden shock, that she was unwrapping the towelling robe.

“I just want to see. Don’t worry, Mrs B. Please relax. This is going to be wonderful, I promise.”

I held my breath as Kara exposed my naked torso. I have a very average kind of body, a bit plump around the tummy and hips. Quite large breasts of the soft and wobbly variety. Remembering that I
had shaved my pussy the night before, I blushed again, glancing furtively down at my round pink Mound of Venus. The stylist turned to the little electronic box. A soft hum commenced as she turned a
dial. Then she picked up what seemed to be a round-headed massaging device, attached to the box by a curly cord.

“You see, Mrs B, there is more than one kind of Vavoom. This is number two.”

Kara leaned over me, her boobies bulging almost in my face. I relaxed, deciding to enjoy the joyous vista sans guilt. After all, what did I have left to hide? The young woman applied the
vibrating massage head to my shoulders. The moment the soft rubber cushion met my flesh it was as if we were intimately connected, Kara and I. Her breasts jiggled perfectly in time with the tiny
circular motions her hand performed upon my yielding skin. It felt divine and I told her so. She smiled in satisfaction.

“I just knew you’d love it, Mrs B.”

Soft, springy curls of russet hair brushed my nipples and I felt a tiny drop of love-juice ease its way over my plump, nude labia. Kara was going to drive me crazy with this therapy of hers. I
wanted to open my thighs to her. I was desperate for her to lower her crimson lips to nuzzle my clit. Suddenly, it occurred to me that she had asked me to lie face-up and, surely, such a massage
would normally be done in the reverse position. Hmmm. Maybe there was more to the young lady than met the eye . . .

The whirring rubber cushion completed its shoulder-loosening task and headed south. I gasped as the buzzing sensation edged its way to the outer limits of my right breast. Was she really going
to give me such an intimate massage?

“Breast massage is becoming quite popular these days. Stimulating the circulation seems to ease the symptoms of PMS. Would you like to try it, Mrs B?”

I swallowed hard and almost squeaked out an affirmative response. Would Kara gossip about me in the staff room? That lesbian pervert Mrs Bright. Well, too bad. She had started it! My right boob
began to wobble outrageously, ecstatic sensations coursing through my blissed-out bod. It was too much. How could the girl keep a straight face; I wondered, as I watched the stylist carefully apply
the massage-head to my large pink tits. It resembled a jelly in an earthquake. Carefully, Kara cupped my breast in her free hand, holding it gently as she moved the rubber cushion round and round.
My nipples stood to attention, fully erect. My pussy was slick, creamy, juicy. I lay in an agony of ecstasy, a helpless victim to the pretty girl with the electronic box.

“I think I’ll turn it up a bit. You do seem to be benefiting, Mrs B.”

I bit my lip as the buzz intensified and Kara switched to my other breast. Instead of moving around the chair, she leaned further over me, almost tipping her bountiful cleavage into my face. I
decided that she was a sadist and was on the verge of telling her so, when she paused to reach for a large pink bottle labelled “Crème de Aphrodite”. With a flick of her wrist
she squirted a copious dollop of divinely scented mousse onto my chest and began to massage it all over my tit. I couldn’t help myself. I had an orgasm. I tried to suppress it, really I did,
but I might as well have attempted to stop the tide. I glanced up at the stylist, feeling desperately guilty as the inner contractions ebbed away. Had she noticed? Smooth warm fingers kneaded my
melony mounds, spreading the lovely moisturizing mousse. My boobs glistened. Kara looked pleased.

“I think you’re going to see a big improvement, Mrs B. Now, just turn over and I’ll do your other side.”

I eased myself out of the loosened robe and lay back down on my front. The smooth warm fingers rested on the small of my back.

“Don’t think I didn’t notice what happened then, Mrs B.”

I felt my face grow scarlet and was quite pleased that it was hidden from the girl. Her hand began to caress my buttocks and I moaned softly.

“I should spank you, shouldn’t I? Would you like it if I did?”

I was hearing things. I had to be hallucinating. The electronic pulsing had fried my nervous system and addled my brain. I ground my hips against the warm soft surface of the leatherette chair.
Almost involuntarily, I pushed my big plump bottom up towards the stylist’s hand. I adore being spanked. But I’d never been spanked by another woman.

“Naughty, Mrs B!”

Kara’s voice was mildly taunting, very amused. Suddenly, she brought the palm of her hand down smartly against the sensitive under-shelf of my naked rear. I yelped, more from surprise than
pain. It was deliciously stingy.

“Having an orgasm in the beauty salon!”

The stingy sensation repeated itself. I squirmed, parting my thighs and beginning to make fucking motions on the chair. I desperately needed further release. Kara began to spank me quite hard,
one hand on my back, the other slapping my wobbling buttocks fast and sharp.

“I’ll expect a decent tip after this session!”

I mumbled promises of generosity into the chair. I was coming again. My bottom felt hot and happy. It was way too long since I’d last been spanked. As my second orgasm began to break, the
young girl pushed her heated fingers deep inside my pulsing cunt.

“Is that better, Mrs B? I bet that feels good. Turn over again and we’ll finish your treatment.”

I let her take me to a third and final high, her deft, strong fingers spreading my copious juice around and about my swollen clit. I was like putty in the young woman’s hands. She could do
anything with me. This was therapy indeed. I lay well-oiled and gasping like a fish out of water, as Kara wrapped me in a heated towel.

“I trust I can put you down for a monthly session, Mrs B?”

The minx. We hadn’t even started on my new hairstyle. I’d need to take out a loan to pay my salon bills if the girl kept this up. A monthly session? Why, I’d have a daily one
if I could afford it . . .

“So, that was ’Vavoom 2’.”

Kara laughed.

“Just wait ’til we do your hair. You’re going to be a new woman!”

I eased myself up from the oily chair. I could have happily stayed there all day, so deep was my sense of relaxation.

“That’s wonderful, Kara. Well, I suppose I did need a bit of a lift!”

The young woman gestured to the floral screen.

“Just get back into your clothes and we’ll head into the salon for your colour and cut.”

I limped over to the screen, having a bit of trouble regaining the use of my legs. She was potent stuff, Miss Kara. Stifling a giggle, I wondered if it would be safe to ask her for a bikini wax
. . .

Flight Risk

Carmel Lockyer

The bar was so elegant I could have been in Manhattan or Paris. Only the monitors showing arrivals and departures revealed the truth.

Heads turned when I walked in. The Versace skirt – split to the thigh – was one reason. The shiny, black, stiletto-heels were another. I’d had my hair stubble cut and bleached
platinum blonde, it was ultra-short with the design of a Celtic knot razored into the back above the nape. I looked dangerous and I knew it. I sat at a table, letting the skirt slide away from my
hip, revealing my burgundy hold-up stockings. I smiled at a couple of men who clearly thought their airport wet dreams had come true, and something in my smile made them look away nervously.

I lifted my spritzer so I could watch a pretty girl over the top. A very pretty girl. She was wandering around the airport, introducing herself to upscale female travellers, talking to them for
a few minutes, and then presenting them with an envelope. The whole process had a vaguely oriental feel to it – from the golden, Oriental-style tunic she was wearing, with its wide pale,
green sash – to the deferential bow with which she said goodbye. She wasn’t Oriental, though. She was small enough, and her long black hair could give that impression from the back, but
her tiny, up-tilted nose and freckles destroyed the illusion. She had long legs, slender but well-muscled, the kind of legs that grip tenaciously.

I let her catch me looking at her, before lowering my eyes to her small, high breasts. She blushed.

I beckoned her over.

“You’re selling something,” I said.

She nodded.

“Why don’t you try and sell it to me,” I invited.

She went into her sales routine as if on auto-pilot. Had I heard of Venus Spas, she asked?

No, I hadn’t.

They were the most exclusive, the most cosseting, the most female-centered experience available to a woman, she said.

I snorted, to let her know I doubted the accuracy of that claim. She faltered a second before recovering.

A visit to a Venus Spa would make any woman’s holiday or business trip complete. The stress of flight delays could be eased away right here, in the mini-spa attached to the departure
lounge. Alternatively, the Venus Spa at my destination or stopover point would soothe away travel weariness and send me out as fresh as a rose. She grinned at me, no doubt thinking I was the kind
of rose that was mainly thorns. I grinned back. She raised an eyebrow. I shook my head.

“I’m not the spa type,” I said, and watched her face become smooth and blank with disappointment. She was working on commission, I thought.

“But I’ll buy you a drink in your lunch break,” I added.

She blushed again. “I’m off for an hour at 12:30,” she muttered, before skittering off to try and sell her spa experience to somebody else. I sat back – I had seventeen
minutes to wait.

I saw her hand her envelopes to another kimono-wearing girl, so I stood, throwing back my drink and strode across the airport to gather her up. Her daffodil-yellow ballet pumps barely touched
the ground, I moved so fast.

“Where are we going?” she asked. “Aren’t we having a drink here?”

I replied by bundling her into a taxi. The journey was swift and silent. Several times she looked up and began to speak, but fell silent. I hustled her through the lobby of a chain hotel and
pushed my card key into the bedroom door.

“Look . . .” she said, but I put my hand over her mouth and held it there while I eased her into the room.

She gave up all pretence of resistance. Her dark eyes got darker and she licked her lips invitingly. She swayed towards me, until her hips and breasts brushed mine. I felt tiny electric shocks
where our flesh touched, and those little sparks moved through me like fire, making me hot, making me wet, making me want to come.

I put my arms round her, grabbing the ends of that stupid sash. “I’m wondering if this thing is long enough to tie you to the mattress,” I said. Immediately, she lay down on
the narrow single bed.

Decisions, decisions. Should I tie her hands and leave her legs free, or tie her legs and leave her hands free? If I tied her hands I would be able to push her legs open and tease her with my
tongue – that would be great, but I’d only be able to see her up close. If I tied her legs though, I could pin her arms with one of mine while I hand-fucked her – and I would have
a great full-length view as she came.

“Bev?” she said. “I’ve got to be back in an hour.”

It broke the mood. I glared.

“Sorry!” she said. “Sorry, Bev. I mean – sorry.”

I swatted at her with one end of the silk and she grabbed it, pulling me down to kiss me. I lifted her right arm above her head, tying the apple-colored material to her wrist, before reaching
behind the headboard with the fabric, and knotting it round her left wrist.

“Now I’ll teach you a lesson, Anna,” I said.

I stepped back from the bed slowly, and turned in a circle, letting her get a good look at me.

“Do I look good?” I asked, knowing I did.

“You look gorgeous,” she replied. “Where did you get those amazing clothes?”

“Dress agency – I hired the entire outfit,” I said, kneeling on the bed, pushing her feet up and to one side, so she was curled like a baby. Under the kimono she was naked, and
I paused to look at my favorite view.

Anna’s slim hips hid a surprise – she had a lush vagina, with gorgeously ripe plum-shaded lips. And she was so receptive that if I brushed my hand over her thick pubes, she would
moan and thrust her hips upwards. At first I’d thought she was faking it, but no, she really was so hair-trigger, the slightest touch would get her writhing and hot. A dirty girl, a very
dirty girl indeed.

I held her ankles with one hand, and dragged the fingers of my other hand across her tight, high buttocks. She thrashed her head, her hands pulling on the silk bindings. She was going to pay
dearly for breaking the spell of my carefully choreographed scenario. I glanced at my watch, letting her see me do it, before sliding one finger inside her.