Monday, May 9, 2011
THE MAMMOTH BOOK OF LESBIAN EROTICA
Paperback: 576 pages
Publisher: Running Press (September 7, 2007)
Includes "Gone Fishing" by Chrissie Bentley
She was everything he’d described in her e-mails… mid-40s, good-looking, well-rounded, tall. Her voice was soft, as though every word was a precious commodity to be drawn out of her with the most exquisite tenderness… and that is how she fucked me (yes, that was everything she said it was, as well); calmly and deliberately, her face and her fingertips flowing across my body, everywhere at once and one place in particular, testing and teasing my flesh before settling down to one spot for a moment and then, tantalizingly, flying away to caress some place else.
Now I was crouching over her, my breasts just inches from her mouth. Sheelagh reached up, squeezed and then pinched each nipple, not hard, but just enough. Her tongue darted out and brushed them. I know what I was thinking, but I think I murmured it too, because she was sucking at it now, my nipple and a sizeable portion of my tit sinking into her mouth.
I held her to me, willing her to draw even more of me in, feeling her hands shift to my back and then down to my ass, stroking and squeezing my cheeks as a finger traced lightly between them. I felt the first stirrings of a distant orgasm, as she released my nipple from between her lips and we hung unmoving for a moment, as I wondered what next.
Sheelagh decided, grasping my hips and hauling me up, my pussy firm to her face. But I wasn’t going to let her have all the fun. Deftly I flipped, parted her legs and gazed down at her slit. She’d shaved and I wished I had – although she didn’t seem to care, as gentle fingers parted my lips and a tongue traced slowly up and down before nudging my clitoris for the first time, an electric shock that shook my entire frame.
I tried to concentrate on what lay before me, the sweet pink slit, the swollen clit that peeked out at me. But it was impossible. Her tongue was dancing between my legs and my body was completely out of my control. Her breathing was hard, her movements insistent and her rhythm was unchanging, even as I bucked my own hips, urging her to pick up the pace, bring me to the orgasm that was shuddering just on the other side of bunker-busting.
“Faster,” I hissed, and she raised her head. “Not yet. You’ve teased me with your stories for months. Now it’s my turn.” And she shortened her strokes, her hands pushing down on my hips until I could barely move them, but increasing the warm pressure of her tongue, so that every breath I took had a sharp, audible edge of pleasure; an edge that only heightened her determination to keep me dangling – which she did. I had never known anybody to be so painstaking, so patient, so totally in control of her own body that, even with a hellcat screaming seven shades of lust beneath her, she simply stretched the ecstasy out even further.
Finally I came… there wasn’t a power on earth that could have stopped me; and, as I writhed in the uncontrollable spasms of my own joy, I felt Sheelagh, too, pause… plunge… and then cry out as her lust blew up inside her.
We lay silent, shattered, sticky with sweat, and I think we must have slept. It looked darker when I opened my eyes, and Sheelagh now lay dead weight across me. I squirmed out from beneath her and crept to the bathroom. She hadn’t moved when I returned and, for a moment, I stood there, wondering what to do… which of the two or three thoughts that were now racing through my mind I should act on first? But before I could move, she opened her eyes and smiled. “We really need to make a move. I have that reception this evening, remember? You will come along, won’t you?”
“Why not?” I threw on the clothes I’d arrived in, then headed back to my own room to shower and change. Half an hour later, she was guiding her hired car around the snaking bends that led towards the ocean, and the row of exclusive waterfront homes that were dotted along the coastline. “Dinner,” she promised me, “alcohol, some tremendous people – you’ll love Debbie and Mandy… and then, your choice. I can call you a cab back to the hotel… or else, we fish.” I laughed. “I’ll let you know.”
For readers devoted (or addicted) to erotic fiction, here is a welcome British twist on the genre. Though an uneven collection, The Mammoth Book of Lesbian Erotica is nevertheless large enough to contain some real gems from writers around the world. The strongest work comes from the British contributors, such as Emma Donoghue and Stella Duffy, among others. "Sweet Violet," by Ruby Vise, is a classic tale of first love. In Mary Gerideau's "Marvin the Mouse," on the other hand, a stifling mouse suit is the scene of a literally steamy encounter. Be warned, though: several of the pieces are protoerotic rather than the graphic fare readers have become accustomed to. Nina Rapi's "Josie's Restrooms" purports to be the transcript of a toilet attendant's video diary, with a lot of bragging and a bawdy business plan but no real sex scene. And the two-part story that brackets the collection, Daphne Adams's "I Married Madam," reads like the opening pages of an Edwardian novel: promising characters, interesting settings, lively dialogue, but precious little action. Happily, however, there's also a lot of humor in the collection, and even some slapstick, as when the heroine of Karlyn Lotney's "Clash of the Titans" accidentally grabs a bottle of sex-toy cleaner instead of lube and watches in horror as bubbles pour out of her demanding new lover. New meaning for a romantic "bit of the bubbly." --Regina Marler --
This all-new volume of lesbian erotica brings together a dazzling selection of new fiction from around the world. Here are 50 short stories from a still-growing genre, most of which have been specially commissioned. The writing covers the emotional spectrum, from intimate reminiscences and intensely personal experiences, to wild confessions and magical encounters. Contributors include Chrissie Bentley, Fae Gordon, Lindy Edwards, L. S. Bell, J. Barfoot, Vav Garnek, Georgina Taylor, Anna Smith, Deva Shore, Cynthia Richards, Elsbeth Potter, L. C. Jordan, and Elizabeth Cage.
About the Author
Barbara Cardy is an experienced editor of erotica, and also publishes the bi-monthly erotica collection The Hot Spot. She lives in Brighton, UK.
Posted by Jenny Swallows at 5:16 AM