Lesbian Lust Page 6

  “I don’t know, sometime tomorrow I think.” I felt distracted and like I had to get away from her before I changed my mind and dragged her into some corner to fuck.

  Rolling her next smoke she said, “Maybe you should go inside and get a beer, try to relax.”

  I kissed her cheek again, wiped off the trace of lipstick and got up to go inside. The woman on the low stage was playing a haunting song and crooning about lost love. I decided to give in to the downer part of my mood and sat next to Teresa, set on brooding and soaking up the music. I briefly fantasized that some handsome butch from out of town would be playing tonight and need a place to stay, but everyone was from the area, no surprises. Besides, sleeping with someone who didn’t know me when I was in this mood would be a horrible idea.

  Teresa got up to get some tea and I looked around the room to see who else was here. I saw Teresa get in line and out of the corner of my eye saw her grinning and waving at someone behind me. I craned my neck to see who she was waving at and the bottom fell out of my stomach.

  “Bren! What the fuck are you doing here?”

  She chuckled softly and shook her head. “Such language out of such a pretty mouth. Come back here and say hi to me.”

  I rose and stumbled to her seat, trying to decide in my muddled brain whether I wanted to make a scene and throw myself on her lap. I settled for sitting down next to her as close to her body as I could get. She wrapped her arms around me and I buried my face in her neck.

  “Did you miss me, angel?” Her words were husky with tenderness and suddenly I wanted to break down and sob.

  She leaned in close to kiss my lips but some bratty, angstridden part of me said, “Don’t fuck up my lipstick.”

  She gave me a look of utter disgust and rolled her eyes. “Baby, I’m your butch. If I fuck up your lipstick, it will be intentional.” Then she leaned in and kissed me so sweetly it made my connective tissue dissolve, and all my bones clattered to the floor.

  Leaning back, she licked her lips, erasing any sign of my lipstick, regarded me and said, “Perfect.”

  “Darling, do you really want to stay for the rest of this show?” I ran my hand along her collarbone just under her shirt. I wanted to be next to her bare skin so bad.

  “Uh-uh, you?” She was smiling at me like she had followed all my frustrated thoughts that day.

  “No.” I shook my head emphatically.

  “We could go to the bar and get a drink.” Her knowing smile was infuriating as her fingers traced lightly across my jaw. She was fucking with me and I wasn’t in the mood.

  I leaned close to her ear and dug my nails into her neck. “I want you to bring me home, beat my ass, fuck me and then suck my pussy till I come in your mouth.” Call me bossy, but I had to show her my need was serious.

  In one smooth movement she stood up, reached for my hand and said, “Shall we?” I let myself be guided out the door.

  I caught a glimpse of Hawk on my way out. She was standing with her primary lover, an older butch named Toni, and she flashed me a sweet knowing smile seeing me leave on Bren’s arm. It’s funny having bottom solidarity with someone you top. It can be mind-boggling, the complexities of identity, desire, and where they intersect in alternative relationships. It can make you pull your hair out in frustration, make your heart break from all kinds of nasty feelings as we try to rewrite the horrible stories we were raised with. But when it works, when the puzzle clicks together, when everyone involved feels respected and taken care of, it can create a kind of triumph that leaves you high for years.

  I blew Hawk a kiss.

  Bren was all nonchalant warmth on the walk home, telling me about her trip, asking what I’d been up to. I would have been fooled, except I knew her, and I could feel the tension coiled in her muscles, emanating off her body. Damn, she was smooth though.

  We walked in the door and she asked, innocently, “Is Em home?”

  “No, Em’s still—” I said, right before she grabbed me and slammed me hard into the wall. I felt all my breath leave my lungs in a squeak.

  “Good, then your roommates won’t have to hear you scream.” Her voice was warm and smooth, but her eyes were hard and I could see the muscles in her jaw twitch. Her fingers were digging into my upper arms so hard they would leave bruises. I whimpered, overcome with the intensity between us, overcome by how fucking scary she got in this mode.

  Her body pressed me to the wall and she grabbed my throat, squeezing hard. “You greedy little bitch. Five minutes home and already you’re bitching at me to fuck you, suck you, beat you. You’re such a selfish little slut.”

  She looked at me out of hard eyes, breathing deep. A cruel smile twisted her lips and she slowly ran her thumb over my mouth, smearing my lipstick across my face. I felt blood rush to my cheeks and my eyes narrowed.

  “Get up to your room.” Any warmth was gone from her words, and she grabbed me roughly and threw me toward the stairway. I stumbled in my heels, and she viciously pushed me forward. The heat hit me like a wave at the top of the stairs, making it hard to breathe. She marched me over to my loft bed, which was a perfect height to bend me over.

  I was shaking and whimpering by the time she pulled my dress up and ripped my panties down the middle of my thighs. I couldn’t see her, but I could hear her trying to control her breath. Then I felt her hand on my ass and my shakes became violent. She reached between my legs and grabbed the crotch of my underwear, pulling it toward her till the lace cut into my thighs.

  “What’s the matter, baby, are you cold?” Her other hand trailed down my shaking back. She leaned down to my ear, twisting the panties in her fist, and said between clenched teeth, “Or are you just scared to get what you asked for?” She pushed up off the bed. I could hear her unbuckling her belt, sliding it from the loops. In the midst of August heat, my teeth started to chatter.

  “Tell me your safeword,” she demanded.

  “Uncle,” I stammered. So far our age play had not included uncle/niece dynamics, and uncle had always been my safeword wrestling with my brothers growing up. It was easy to remember, ingrained.

  “Do you want to use it?” she asked.

  I shook my head emphatically and felt her hand grip my hair, wrenching my head up and twisting it slightly till our eyes met.

  “I said: do you want to use it.” Her voice was calm, deadly smooth, but she punctuated her words with vicious shakes of my head.

  Through trembling jaws I said, “No, Sir.” She was definitely Sir tonight; there was none of my daddy’s tenderness in her words or actions.

  My answer was evidently accepted, because with a final shake that left me dizzy, she released my head and brought the belt down with a loud crack. No warm-up, no foreplay, she brought the leather down hard. I jumped with each hit, the pain too much, too fast, making me tense up, making it hurt more. I tried to relax into it, but despite my talk, I wasn’t all that used to all-out beatings with no preliminary. I tried to count her strokes in my head but couldn’t concentrate. I tried to breathe through my whimpers but felt like I was hyperventilating. I tried to ground myself, tried to send my energy down, and in the center of the craziness I found calm reassurance that I was getting exactly what I needed.

  “Fuck, I love beating your ass. I love how fast you welt up, how fast you start bruising. I love how your ass jiggles and shakes every time the belt hits you.” Her words were colored with passion and the exertion of the beating. She was gradually moving from the top of my ass down, her strokes overlapping. When she got to the juncture between my ass and my thighs the vibrations of each hit made my pussy burn. That’s when I realized I was wet, so wet, dripping down my thighs. My endorphins must have been kicking in because the pain was starting to feel good, different from the good of pain just for pain’s sake that I had been craving that day. I started relaxing and rocking into the hits, my whimpers transforming to moans.

  “That’s it, cunt. Rock that hot ass back for me.” She brought the belt down harder than she’d ever hit me, three times, one on top of the other, where the curve of my ass turns to leg. It ripped me out of my pleasure haze and sobs welled up in my throat. It took me a second to realize she had stopped hitting me, and I jumped when I felt her fingertips tracing my welts.

  “Oh, sweet love. I’m so lucky to have a girl like you,” she crooned. Who was she now? Was this my daddy talking? Her fingers traced down my crack and dipped between my legs to find me wet, overflowing. “Oh, fuck, baby. You liked that, didn’t you?”

  Her fingers plunged into my cunt and she pumped them in and out, fast and hard. My pussy was making hungry slurping noises around her fingers and she added another one. I was open and sucking her into me. She fucked me harder and murmured encouragement as I fucked back at her and tried to take her hand.

  “I missed this pussy so much when I was gone,” she murmured. “Did you miss my fist, baby?”

  I was moaning and fucking myself onto her four fingers. It occurred to me that she needed this as much as I did, that she had her own frustrations built up in her body that could only be released in violence, that had to be taken out on my ass and in my pussy.

  “Tell me how bad you want my fist,” she said, her fingers pumping into me. “Tell me how much you want my hand inside your pussy.”

  I felt like I could never be full enough. I felt like I wanted both her fists inside me buried up to her forearm. All I could say was, “Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me.”

  Abruptly, Bren pulled her fingers from my cunt and a sob burst from my throat. She slapped her hand down on my ass where the skin would be black and blue tomorrow. I realized my mistake, and through wracking sobs I tried to rectify it. “Please, Sir, please fuck me?”

  “Too little, too late. Come on, you can do better than that.”

  “Please, Sir,” I didn’t know if my words were intelligible through my tears; all I knew was that I needed her fist inside me and I’d babble anything to get it. “Please, Sir, I want your fist inside me so bad. Please, baby, please, Bren? You know how much I love your hand inside me, you know you make me come so hard. I love you, baby, I love the way you fuck me. I need to come with you inside me. Please make me come, please Daddy? I need your fist so bad, I need my daddy’s fist inside me.” I broke off, sobbing so hard I couldn’t talk. I barely knew what I was saying, who I was saying it to. Maybe I thought if I appealed to the multiplicity of who my lover was to me I would make my need known. There was something horrible and divine about being made to beg for what I wanted. My heart swelled along with my clit at the mix of shame and total surrender to love that it produced inside my body.

  “Tell me how much you need it.”

  I was shaking, choking on my tears. “I think I’ll die if you don’t fuck me, I need you so bad.”

  She laughed, standing there behind me, and some small animal part of me froze, recognizing a meanness in her that startled me.

  “Poor little slut, I doubt it’s that bad.” She ran her fingers over my welts, hard enough to make me shy away from her. “You’ll have to prove it. You want me to fuck you, you’ll have to work for it. Convince me.”

  Her hand was on the back of my neck, her fingers twining in my hair. Time felt strange, slowed down, then sped up, as she wrenched my head back and pulled me off the bed. I had one of those weird out-of-body perspectives, seeing myself shaking and crying, makeup smeared all over my face, staring wild eyed up at her from my sudden position on the floor. The vantage point made her look taller.

  She looked down at me in a heap at her feet, disheveled, snot running down my face, and sighed. “We can’t have this,” she said as she roughly squeezed my nose, wiping the mucus from my face and tossing it on the floor.

  I started bawling harder and she looked at me with disgust. “Look at you crying in a heap on the floor.” She nudged me with her boot. “I know I train my sluts better than that.”

  I was broken down into warring factions. There were parts that wanted to cry myself into oblivion, parts that wanted to beg for the privilege of licking her boots for hours and a sudden rebellion that was all for leaping up and decking her. Submission has always been a mixed bag for me.

  I chose the path of least resistance and arranged myself with my sore ass perched on my heels and my wrists together behind my arched back. I kept my eyes downcast, not only to complete the submissive picture, but also to hide the spark of defiance I knew was clearly visible.

  “Much better,” she said, stepping forward until my forehead rested on the rough denim of her crotch. The pulse quickened between my thighs and I moaned at being so close to her. Something in me softened and I quit fighting myself, gave up any notion of fighting her.

  Her fingers tangled themselves into my hair and she pulled my head back. “Are you ready to prove it, baby? Prove how much you want my fist?” Her voice was low and sweet, a disorienting contrast to the pain building in my scalp. “I’ll make it easy on you. Just nod your head.”

  It wasn’t easy, of course. She was holding my hair so close to the scalp that the motion was barely possible, but I did the best I could.

  “Good girl,” she purred and with her free hand, pulled down her zipper. I moaned and tried to lower my head to see what she was uncovering, but she held my head firm, forcing eye contact. “Listen, bitch, here’s the deal. You are going to suck my cunt like you want me to fuck your pussy. Satisfy me and I’ll take care of you. Understood?”

  She released her hold on my hair and I nodded, feeling the tears drying on my face. “Yes, please,” I said, feeling calm for the first time in days.

  She smiled down at me and pushed her jeans and briefs off her hips. “Pull these down for me, will you?”

  I was quick to oblige and groaned as the smell of her hit me. Her hands cupped my head and I got a quick view of her glistening thighs and swollen clit as she guided my mouth onto her.

  It was all pretense, all a game. She knew I would lick her to orgasm anytime, anywhere. It was something I begged for, drooled for, a service I would perform at the slightest hint that she wanted me. The mind fuck was for her more than me, the psychological domination broken into the right code words to navigate the traps in her head, make it safe for her to drop her pants. But I would be lying if I said it didn’t make me hot as fuck, if I denied the aching pulse in my clit as she pulled my face into her cunt and rocked herself back and forth between my lips, running the show. Nothing is ever simple; it’s never only what it is on the face of the thing. Our insides were spread wide inside a room of mirrors, reflecting ourselves back to each other over and over, a writhing mass of pink and red organs.

  I moaned into her cunt, vibrating sound off her clit. She was breathing heavily above me, groaning deep in her throat as she pulled my face into her. I lapped at the shaft of her clit, first avoiding the sensitive head, circling around it, then sucked it into my mouth and licked her with fast stokes, using the very point of my tongue.

  Her hands tightened on my head and her hips stilled, holding me exactly where she wanted me. I felt the tension building in her abdomen, felt her muscles quiver and begin to shake. A moan starting deep in the pit of her stomach escaped her as her hips jerked forward against my mouth. I increased the pressure of my lips around her clit, pressed her hard with the flat of my tongue, felt her gush down my chin as she came in my mouth. Her body lurched forward and she bent over as the contractions rolled through her.

  As she relaxed I kissed her, nuzzled her pubic hair, ran my hands over her shaky thighs. She straightened her body and took a deep breath, gently pulled my face away from her cunt and looked down at me. “I love you so fucking much,” she said, and I knew she was Bren now, just Bren, and I was just me, her girl.

  She pulled me up and led me over to the bed, stripping me of my clothing as we went. Gently, she pushed me back onto the loft. The sheets felt surprisingly cool against the heat of my newly beaten skin. I spread my legs wide for her, showing her how wet I was for her. The time for begging had passed, but I looked up at my love’s face and said, “Please, baby? I want you to fuck me so bad.”

  She crawled up on the bed with me. I tugged at her shirt and gave her a pleading look. She pulled the shirt over her head and threw it on the floor. I ran my hands over her bound chest and tugged at the fastenings, unwrapped her like the only present I had ever wanted. She kissed my lips softly, slipping her tongue into my mouth, her hand trailing my jaw, pulling me toward her. Her other hand went between my spread thighs and her fingers pressed at my opening.

  My blood pressure spiked and I groaned through gritted teeth, “Yes, please, baby, please fuck me, please.”

  She grinned down at me and thrust three fingers inside my pussy, pumping me hard, no longer making me wait. She felt so fucking good, and I told her so. I thrust my hips, raised them up off the bed to meet her hand, and she added another finger. I felt full and like I would never be full, never have enough of her inside me.

  She held her mouth right above mine, breathing my breath, breathing my moans and whimpers, running her tongue along my lips. “More, baby, please, more, I want all of you,” I said into her mouth.

  I felt the muscles at the mouth of my cunt burn as she added her thumb and pushed her knuckles against my opening. Maybe my pussy was bigger in my mind. Maybe the juice gushing from my cunt was too watery for such intense penetration. Maybe I didn’t give a fuck about any of the obstacles; I was going to take that big fucking hand of hers up into my pussy if I tore myself doing it.

  She rotated her hand, twisting, rubbing her knuckles all around my opening. I felt like I was about to black out or fly away or forget my own name.

  On cue, like she had read my mind, Bren started chanting my name, told me to give it to her. She coaxed, calling me sweetheart, sugar, darling. She demanded, calling me bitch, slut, whore. She said my name and my cunt opened up and she slid her fist inside me.

  She rocked her fist, rotated it, making me twitch and moan. I clenched my muscles around her wrist, drawing her in. She groaned deep in her throat and pumped her fist against the resistance of my tightened opening. My world narrowed to a sensation of pressure so deep and wide, pleasure and pain held in an open palm, related but separate enough to be different. My cunt was full of bittersweet and with one right move I would explode.