Best Lesbian Erotica of the Year, Volume 3 Page 7

  “Thank you for calling Nine Hundred SLUT. My name is Roxy. What may I do for you tonight?”

  “Hey, you’re good,” Sammy tells me, surprised. “I like that voice.” “Thank you, baby. What’s your name? And may I call you baby?”

  “Sammy. And you may call me anything you like.”

  “Sammy,” I say, “I like your attitude. I can tell you’re a woman who knows what she wants and what Sammy wants tonight is an adventure. Sammy, I can assure you that you’ve reached the right girl.”

  “I believe I have,” Sammy replies.

  “Have you done this before, Sammy? Called us?”

  “No, I haven’t,” she answers.

  “Then you’re a virgin. You’re lucky you reached me, Sammy, because Roxy loves adventure virgins.”

  “She does? You do?” she asks.

  “I do. What kind of adventure is Sammy interested in tonight? Mound climbing? Pearl diving? Maybe you’re the kind of woman who likes water sports—”

  “Whoa, are you sure you haven’t done this before?”

  “Never you mind all that, baby. Maybe I have, maybe I haven’t. One thing I’ll tell you, Miss Roxy is here now to take care of Sammy.”

  “All right, all right. Uh, maybe pearl diving. Maybe I’d like to dive down and find your pearl.”

  “Ooo, Sammy. That sounds just lovely. Maybe my pearl is wet right now. Maybe my pearl is just waiting for a big strong tongue to find its shell and pry it open and suck it out.”

  There’s a long moment of complete silence.

  “Sammy? Did I lose you, Sammy?”

  “Uh, no. I was just . . . ”

  “Just what? Now Sammy, tell me. Do you have a finger on your pearl?”

  “Uh . . .”

  “Because if you don’t, that’s exactly what I want you to do right now. Will you do that for me, Sammy? Put your finger on your pearl?”

  “Uh, yah.”

  I hear the sound of a zipper going down.

  “Good. Now close your eyes and slip your hand between your legs and find that pearl. Because while you’re doing that I’m going to crawl up that wonderful body of yours. Do you like long hair, Sammy?”

  “Yah.”

  “That’s good because I’ve got waves and waves of long, black hair. I’m going to lean down and let my hair brush against your naked breasts. I’m going to let the strands tease your nipples until they’re hard for me. Do you think you’d like that, Sammy?”

  “Uh, yah.”

  “Now I’m going to climb up a little higher until my pussy is over your face. Can you feel my pussy hovering over your face, Sammy? Can you smell me?”

  I hear a gulp. This time she’s not drinking.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Now keep your eyes closed, Sammy, and keep those fingers working your pearl. I’m going to lower my pussy down onto your mouth. I’m going to press my pussy lips against your lips. You’re going to open your mouth and let your tongue find my pearl.”

  “Ohhh,” Sammy moans.

  “You remember what pussy tastes like, don’t you, Sammy?”

  “Umm-hmm.”

  “Sweet and salty and—”

  “Oh god,” Sammy groans. “Oh god, oh god, oh—”

  “Sammy? Sammy? You still with me, Sammy?”

  “Uh, yah,” Sammy says, her voice cracking.

  “Did you just come?” I tease.

  “I did,” she confesses in a gravelly voice.

  “That was quick, girl,” I say in my normal tone.

  I hear the sound of her zipper pulled up.

  “That was hot,” Sammy says.

  “Yes, it was.”

  And it was. I realize it was hot. Sometimes you pass on a woman because you’re not attracted to her appearance. Maybe she’s a big girl, and you have a thing for petite bodies. Maybe she has red hair and you like blondes. Maybe she’s butch and you only go for femmes. Sometimes you miss a hot encounter because your biases get in the way. Maybe an anonymous call in the dark is just what you need to be reminded that all women have the potential to be sexy as fuck.

  “It’s getting late . . . ” Sammy says, quietly.

  “Yeah, I should let you go. I’ve got four more hours until I get off work.”

  She pauses.

  “Maybe we can do this again? In person?”

  Oh hell. Why not?

  “Sure,” I say. “That might be even hotter. And maybe we can slow things down next time. Make it last a little longer.”

  “Yah,” she agrees. “Yeah, I mean. So, how about Saturday night?”

  What? And tear myself away from my solitary bar stool at Scandal’s?

  “Saturday night,” I confirm. “Call me. You’ve got my number.”

  “Yes I do,” she says.

  “Good night, Sammy.”

  “Good night, Roxy.”

  At shift’s end my agents and I log out and hang up our headsets. It’s 7:00 a.m. as the morning crew comes on to sell anonymous callers another day of adventures in the mountains. In the narrow stairwell, Angel stops me before I open the heavy exit door.

  “Did you take care of Miss Sammy?” Angel wants to know.

  I check twice, but I see nothing in her dark eyes but youthful innocence.

  “Yes, Angel,” I tell her. “I took care of Miss Sammy.”

  THE AUCTION

  R. G. Emanuelle

  Gia ambled around the room, looking at the hors d’oeuvres, the art on the walls, and the dresses on the women. Very little caught her interest, with the exception of the women.

  These ladies were turned out to the ultimate in their little black dresses, beautifully coiffed hair, and perfect makeup complete with lush false eyelashes. Legs that never seemed to end . . .

  She shook her head and took a sip of champagne. Most of these women were straight. Except that some of them weren’t. She’d heard that this fundraising auction would be quite different than others. Gentlemen were being auctioned off, but a few women were going to be auctioned off as well. To other women, which was the important part. That was the only reason Gia had agreed to come. That and the promise of booze.

  Of course, she’d never have the nerve to bid on any of them. But she wanted to watch. What kind of women would they auction off? What kind of women would bid on them? And how much?

  The auction was late getting started. Delays over this and that, she’d overheard. Who cared? She was bored and she wanted to get on with it.

  A server was making her way toward her with a tray of empty glasses. She knocked back the rest of the champagne in her glass, and placed it on the tray skillfully as it passed, without missing a beat. She picked up another glass from a table, where a bartender was filling more flutes. The bartender was a cute brunette, her longish brown hair tied back professionally. Her red vest was tight around her breasts and Gia couldn’t help tracing them with her eyes—

  Stop it! She turned around quickly. God, she was acting like a horny teenager. It was only when she’d reached a certain age that she came to believe what she’d been warned about—her hormones would explode and she’d want to fuck anything that moved.

  The music stopped and the crowd hushed down. Finally. After a good slug of her drink, she made her way toward the staging area. The large turnout meant standing room only for the bidding. That was a good strategy. The energy was higher when everyone stood.

  The mistress of ceremonies, a middle-aged socialite whose claim to fame was fundraising, stepped up to the mike, looking quite comfortable in her silver sequined evening dress and Sergio Rossi shoes.

  “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. I’m Muffy Pendleton. Welcome to this year’s charity auction. This year, we’re spicing things up. There will be bachelorettes up for bid.”

  At the sound of males voicing approval, Muffy added, “Just for the ladies, though. This is ladies’ night, after all,” she said, with a rich-bitch smile and a wag of her finger. “Yes, we are broadening our horizons, and why not? It’s especially
appropriate because half of this year’s proceeds are going to benefit homeless LGBT youth.”

  This was met with cheers and whistles.

  “All right, without further ado, let’s start the auction!”

  Whooping and hollering was soon drowned out by music.

  “Our first bachelor . . . ” Muffy went on to espouse the wonderful qualities of about six men.

  The champagne was hitting Gia hard by now, and as if her hormones weren’t fucking with her enough, the alcohol chimed in. She even looked at some of the guys with interest. A nice broad chest . . . a pretty face . . .

  Ugh, stop it!

  Worse, Muffy Pendleton was starting to look good to her. She had a nice pair of tits. Pour some tequila down her throat and she was probably wild in bed.

  Ahhhhh!

  “And now, for our Sapphic sisters in the house tonight . . . ”

  Oh, brother. Or should it be oh, sister?

  “ . . . we now present our bachelorettes.”

  Okay, here we go. Gia perked up, her little champagne haze settling down as she watched three women being auctioned off. The first one was very feminine-looking, with long blonde hair cascading down her back, and her neckline dropping so low it was more like a navel line. Gia wished she had the nerve to bid on her, because she really, really just wanted to run her tongue between and around her breasts.

  The second woman was an African American woman in a slinky dark-purple gown that hugged every curve. It had a slit all the way up to her hip. Wildly sexy. She couldn’t have been wearing a bra, judging from the protruding nipples. Very suckable.

  The third woman was the butchy type. She wore a smart Armani suit, highly polished oxford shoes, and her hair was short and slicked back. Very cool and self-assured. Her face was masculine but soft at the same time, and she had an athletic build. She could probably fuck all night.

  Oh, Christ on a cracker. Sweat began to bead on Gia’s forehead and she wiped it with her little cocktail napkin, which promptly shredded into thin, tight ropes. She looked around for a place to toss it and found a service table by the side of the room. As she went toward it, Muffy announced the fourth, and last, woman to be auctioned.

  The bachelorette walked out, a shy little smile on her face, and sauntered to center stage. Neither feminine nor masculine, but somewhere in between, she had short black hair cropped close at the sides, and wore a suit with a white shirt opened to her cleavage. Muffy spoke, but Gia heard none of it. Her stomach flipped over and turned inside out, and her pulse beat hard in her throat. She sliced her way back to the front.

  Gia’s head snapped back and forth as women bid on the bachelorette, higher and higher. The frenzy of the bidding must have penetrated her brain because, almost against her volition, her hand went up, her mouth opened, and the words “four hundred” came tumbling out.

  What the hell was she doing?

  “Four hundred. Do I hear four-fifty?” Muffy called out. “Yes, four-fifty to the lady in the back.”

  “Five,” Gia shouted. Some alien—a rich alien—had taken over her mouth.

  Gia heard “Five-fifty!” from somewhere in the back of the room. Gia suddenly found herself in a bidding war with an unknown person over a stranger. Then, Gia said, “Eight hundred.”

  Muffy waved a well-manicured finger around the audience. “Do I hear eight-fifty? No? Eight hundred to the lady in front in the smart Donna Karan suit.”

  Applause surrounded Gia as her stomach tightened and her ears rang. What had she done? She suddenly felt as if she were in a vortex—all sound muffled and all visuals blurred.

  “Winning bidders, please go to the registrar’s desk to pay for your prizes,” Muffy said, with a little too much pleasure.

  With a slight tremor in her knees, Gia made her way to the registrar. After giving her name and the auction number, she pulled her credit card out of her purse and handed it to her.

  The registrar handed back her card, along with an envelope. “In there, you’ll find instructions on how to claim your prize,” she said.

  Eww. She made it sound so tawdry. These things probably just ended up being friendly dinners, and that’s it. After all, the people being auctioned off weren’t prostitutes.

  Were they?

  No, of course not. They were nice people who put themselves in an awkward position for a good cause.

  She slipped the envelope in her purse and looked around for more champagne and food. She needed to fortify herself.

  “Congratulations.”

  Gia turned to see a redheaded woman in an expensive-looking dress and shoes that probably cost as much as her car.

  “You outbid me.”

  Oh, so this was the woman who had just forced her to sell her grandma to the pimp down the street.

  “I really wanted her. But you seemed to want her more.”

  So, she let Gia win? Why?

  “Sorry,” Gia said, not really meaning it.

  “It’s okay. I’m sure I’ll find a way for you to make it up to me.”

  What the hell did that mean?

  The unnamed woman walked away and disappeared into the crowd, and Gia went back into the main room.

  After finding and following a server holding a tray of hors d’oeuvres, she put a couple of canapés on her napkin and ate as she looked around for her prize. She didn’t see her for the rest of the night.

  Gia went home in a cab, the envelope burning a hole in her purse.

  Gia stared at the phone number in the letter from the auction. Snakes and butterflies fought a war inside her stomach as she tried to work up the nerve to call the woman she’d won.

  A snake tied itself into a knot right in the pit of her stomach and settled there while she picked up the phone and dialed. She felt like throwing up. And stupid, calling a complete stranger to set up a date that was essentially being forced upon her. This woman would go out with her not because she wanted to, but because she was obligated to. What kind of fun would she have?

  Gia began questioning the intelligence of this decision, this whole bidding thing.

  On the other hand, what was to stop two strangers from having a good time together? It happened all the time. Who knew, maybe they would hit it off. No obligation, just fun.

  What a disaster. She was about to hang up when she heard the dreaded word . . .

  “Hello?”

  “Uh . . . uh . . . H-hi. This is Gia. I won . . . I bid on . . . you know . . . the other night?”

  “Oh, yeah. Hi.” Was that amusement in her voice?

  Gia had read in the letter that the woman’s name was Jaylee Sinclair, which she hadn’t heard during the auction because she was busy being swallowed up by the universe.

  “So, you’re calling to collect on the goods,” Jaylee said.

  Gia couldn’t help but chuckle. “Yeah. Um, what’s the usual thing?”

  “Whatever you want it to be, I was told. I’ve never done this before.” She paused, then asked, “Do you want to have dinner?”

  Gia thought for a second and decided on another idea. “Well, I have another one of these fundraiser things to go to, and I could use a date. Would you go with me? Or would that be, like, the most horrendous thing you could possibly think of?”

  Jaylee chuckled. “No, not at all. You get to do with me whatever you like.”

  The sound of that suddenly made the sensations inside Gia’s belly change considerably.

  “Great. I’ll pick you up.”

  Jaylee gave Gia her address, and with promises of a good time, she hung up.

  A spark went up Gia’s spine. She had the feeling that this date was going to be interesting. A sense of anticipation began to web itself throughout her nerves, a blooming expectation of something different, exciting . . . wild.

  The fact that the event was only three days away was both a blessing and a curse. A blessing because she could go out with Jaylee before she lost her nerve, and a curse because it was too soon.

  On the night of the
ir date, she picked Jaylee up at her apartment and drove to the fundraiser. The conversation in the car was more comfortable than Gia had expected, and by the time they arrived at the venue, she felt as if she were on a real date with someone she knew. But as the valet took her key and they walked toward the front door, she reminded herself that this wasn’t a real date. It was a pretend date. She felt like a whore. No, wait, she was the john. Jesus Christ.

  Gia was uncomfortable at first. Could people see that her date had been purchased? Many of the guests had also been at the auction, so anyone who didn’t know at the beginning of the evening was sure to know by the end.

  Jaylee, however, was the epitome of cool. The looks they got didn’t seem to bother her. A serene smile stayed on her face the entire evening, even as people asked questions. Jaylee answered them politely and maintained an even demeanor and that placid smile.

  Jaylee was not only funny and charming, she had a raw sex appeal that seemed to rise from her body like an early morning mist off a river. Everyone around them felt it and turned their way as they walked around. Still, Jaylee remained cool.

  Except, every once in a while, when they stopped to sip their cocktails, or when they had made a joke and laughed, Jaylee would turn her gaze on her, softly and sympathetically. But there was something else going on behind her eyes. Something raw and primal.

  And it made Gia tremble.

  The fundraiser was like any other such party: stuffy, boring, and fifty hours too long, populated by snooty rich people who could wipe their asses with hundred-dollar bills without blinking, and sound-tracked with live piano music that would put a coked-out rock band to sleep. The same obnoxious humor, the same sanctimonious blathering and cruel gossip veiled with insincere concern for the poor protagonist of whatever shocking story they were telling.

  Jaylee must have sensed her boredom because she kept the conversation going and told jokes. After a while, she said, “Let’s get out of here.”

  “Okay.”

  Jaylee took Gia by the hand and led her out of the building. Once outside, Gia reached into her purse for her valet ticket. While they waited for the car, Gia asked, “Where are we going?”

  “To a party.”

  “This is a party.”

  “A different party. A friend of mine is having a thing. I told her I’d stop by if I could. Do you mind?”