Free The Mammoth Book of Lesbian Erotica by Barbara Cardy Page A

made myself comfortable, sitting in the window seat so that the slanting sunlight blinded her when she looked toward me.
    “Undress for me.”
    She hesitated. She could not see the smile that briefly crossed my lips. I was glad we were going to get past any reluctance early on.
    “I won’t ask again,” I said, speaking more slowly.
    She lowered her eyes and unbuttoned her blouse, then shrugged out of it and let it drop to the floor. She was wearing a white silk camisole, her nipples outlined clearly against the fabric, and
I knew she had worn this specifically for giving me the pleasure of watching her take it off. She moved slowly, the silk shimmering as she lifted the camisole over her head, and let it drop to the
floor as well. She shook her head to rearrange her tousled hair, then reached behind her for the zipper of her skirt.
    “Not that.”
    She stopped. I took a slow sip of wine, my eyes fixed on her body. Watching me for confirmation, she reached behind and took off the half-bra that had been proffering up her breasts to me so
wantonly. All defiance gone, her cheeks were red with the first blush of shame, and her eyes were on the floor.
    I took another sip of wine, then set the glass down. “Turn around and kneel on the edge of the bed.”
    She did as I told her, teetering a bit to keep her balance on the deep, yielding mattress. I came up behind her and ran my hands across her belly, and then her breasts. My fingers were cold from
the wine glass, but that wasn’t the reason she shivered at my touch. She leaned back, her head resting on my shoulder.
    “What was the name of the last woman who fucked you?”
    “What?” She seemed genuinely surprised by the question.
    My hands trailed from her breasts, over her hips, and slowly up her back to her shoulders, increasing the pressure until I bent her forward. She braced herself on the mattress with her
hands.
    “The name of the last woman who fucked you,” I said, in a tone that made clear she would pay later for making me repeat myself.
    “Sylvia.”
    I bent over her, tangling my fingers in her hair, making my hands into fists that pulled hard and held tight. “So ’Sylvia’ is going to be your safety word. Say it and
I’ll stop.” I leaned in close to her ear and whispered, “But then you go back to Sylvia.”
    She nodded and I stood up behind her. “Feet on the floor, elbows on the bed,” I said evenly, then turned away, confident that she would do as she was told. I went back to the window
seat, which concealed a lid, opening to a large cubbyhole beneath.
    I knew that she was curious. I had seen her looking around when I first came into the room, which was empty except for the bed – a large four-poster sitting high off the ground, affording
no cover for anything to be hidden beneath. Other than that, there was nothing. No furniture, no art hung on the walls, no carpet over the hardwood floors – simply the bed, which faced two
windows and a door leading out onto the captain’s walk. Because of the heat, I had opened the heavy outside door, and from time to time, a breeze knocked the lighter screen door gently
against the frame. Long, sheer, white curtains billowed around the windows.
    I knew she had imagined I would take her in a dungeon of some sort, and I enjoyed her unease as she wondered what else she might have been wrong about.
    I pulled out a riding crop – black, the whip made of dark purple leather, the thick handle of latex ridged to ensure a good grip – or a hard fuck.
    I crossed the room to her. She had her feet on the floor, elbows on the bed. I held the riding crop so she could see it out of the corner of her eye. “Spread your legs wider.”
    She did, stretching them as far apart as her tight skirt would allow. I trailed my fingers lightly over the fabric as it followed the perfect curve of her ass. The first lash with the crop was
hard, the sound like a firecracker in the still afternoon. She cried out, more from