Steamy Lesbian Erotica
"The Hunt," an Oyster sex story by Marjorie Jensen
“Are you sure this is the place?” Billie asked, resting her chin on top of an arm folded over the open car door. The engine idled as her brown eyes searched the leaves that were slowly overtaking the abandoned brick home. It was two stories with a door hidden behind the branch-choked porch. It didn’t leer as many haunted places do, but there was a quietly maintained, ominous presence. Billie wasn’t an expert in architecture, but she guessed the dark red bricks weren’t stacked together anytime recently.
“Eight, nine, zero, right?” Daphne, Billie’s partner, asked from the passenger seat. She looked over a map and legal pad covered with notes. Billie walked over to the gate and brushed aside overgrowth to reveal a rusted metal address plate.
“Eight, nine, zero,” she read.
“This is it.” Daphne smiled at Billie through the windshield. Billie shook her head, pushed up her glasses, and pulled the twisted bars until the gate swung open. Daphne looked at herself in the rear-view mirror, examining her newly dyed black hair. She fingered the ends that brushed her shoulders, flipping them up slightly. Billie slid behind the wheel and reached over, mussing the careful adjustments. Daphne raised an arched eyebrow under the tousled locks.
“Did you bring extra batteries for the tape recorder this time?” Billie asked as she parked in front of the house.
“Of course, love.”
They unloaded equipment onto the porch. Progress was slow. The bushes reached for their ankles and the brick steps were littered with cracks to trip them. Daphne passed on much of the heavy lifting and unlocked the door with a skeleton key she had obtained from the former inhabitant’s family. She peered through the stained glass, hesitating.
“What’s the story here?” Billie asked, nudging Daphne inside with the box full of video cameras in her arms.
“Small-town hetero couple Lynn and Adrian, no children. She was a florist, he was a partner in the local law firm.” Daphne tried the lights, and a bulb in the nearest lamp burst. She mentally ran through their flashlight and candle inventory.
“Can you help untangle these cords? I’ll be back with a monitor.” Billie set the box on an unsteady table that sat below a mirror to the right. She touched the flaking, nondescript wallpaper and felt a coldness despite the unseasonably warm autumn evening. She left Daphne in the gloomy foyer. Daphne pulled at a knot of black cords from the box and tried to work them apart. She had almost completed her task when Billie returned.
“In the living room?” Billie asked and walked in that direction after a nod from Daphne. Daphne finished undoing the last knot and followed Billie into the chilly beige living room. The furniture was dressed in a matching, tattered paisley fabric accented with light wood pieces. Books filled cases along two of the walls. Billie adjusted the monitor on the coffee table. She rose and wiped her forehead with the sleeve of her flannel.
“Cords?”
“Oh,” Daphne said and walked back to the table in the foyer. The cords were once again tangled. She brought them to Billie in that state.
“Well, we’re in for one hell of a night. What happened with Lynn and Adrian?” Billie took a turn at unknotting.
“Lynn was having an affair with a girl that worked at a deli across the street from her florist shop.” Daphne tried various lights to see if they worked. One did. She left it on even though the night had not fully descended.
“A girl!” Billie feigned shock as she joined electronics with the lifelines of plugs and wires. Daphne sneered and sat on the couch, tucking her legs under the petals of her long skirt.
“So, as one might imagine, Adrian killed the women in a fit of rage and then offed himself.”
“Was there a lot of blood?”
Daphne produced a folder containing photos of the crime scene. Billie thought about asking where she got the photos, but decided against it. The lover’s throat had been quickly slit in the bedroom, presumably after being discovered mid-tryst. Lynn had been stabbed in the master bathroom. While she slowly bled to death, Adrian joined her in a bath and slit his wrists.
“Wait,” Daphne said, “she kind of looks like you.”
“The lover? You think?”
Daphne studied the photo next to her Billie's face. Both women had cropped, dark hair, large, round eyes, and a few freckles adorning the nose.
“So, we focus upstairs? Bedroom and master bath? You coming up there with me, pretty girl?” Billie asked.
“Of course,” Daphne said.
The women returned to the foyer and discovered that one box was now mysteriously in the dining room. They exchanged glances before carrying video cameras and tripods upstairs.
Neglect emanated from the bloodstain still in the bedroom’s thick carpet. A light breeze blew through window shutters, causing them to swing on their hinges; the breeze felt arctic. The four-poster bed was invasive; red satin covers and pillows took up almost the entire room. A dresser was squeezed against one wall, a nightstand on the other.
They set one camera was at the edge of the carpet stain, the other in the door of the bathroom. The bathroom was unbearably cold. Daphne noticed the sea-patterned tiles and claw-footed tub, but she didn’t want stay any longer than absolutely necessary. The bedroom and bathroom had a malevolent, icy air that crept into the lungs and permeated the body. The numbing sensation was almost painful. It stifled thought and emotions. The soul felt squeezed into a corner of the psyche and not at home in the body. Despite having successfully ghost hunted for about two years, both women were spooked and shaken.
When all the appropriate adjustments had been made, Billie and Daphne curled up downstairs under a blanket on the largest piece of living room furniture. Their monitor showed a split screen of the two live camera feeds. Tape recorders had also been placed with the video cameras.
“We should have brought popcorn,” Billie said. Daphne laughed and shivered. Billie closed her arms around the black-haired femme and tried to warm her. Suddenly, one side of the split screen turned to static. The women traded a look that rendered words superfluous.
“I’ll check it out. Something must have happened with the camera,” Billie said.
“I think I should come.”
“I think you should stay. I’ll be right back.” Billie kissed Daphne’s full lips, untwined her legs from the blanket, and walked up the stairs with a heavy flashlight. Night had now fallen completely and she edged towards the bedroom. She could see the video camera’s red light near the end of the bed. She crept further into the room to see that the bathroom camera had been knocked over.
“Shit.”
She crouched, shining the powerful flashlight beam on the camera. It didn’t appear to be broken. After resetting the tripod and camera, she made sure the red light was on.
Billie turned to leave and was surprised to see Daphne. Billie’s heart began beating after a momentary pause.
“Daph, I didn’t hear you,” she breathlessly said, resting a hand on her breast.
Daphne didn’t answer.
“Daphne?”
Daphne reached out and pulled Billie to her, roughly, one hand behind Billie's head, the other around the waist. She kissed Billie aggressively, not with the fluttering, teasing tongue motions that Billie had grown to love. When Daphne bit Billie’s tongue, Billie pulled away.
“Hey.”
In response to the rejection, Daphne pushed Billie onto the bed. Billie half-heartedly struggled when Daphne straddled her. Daphne sucked and bit harder than Billie was accustomed to; in fact, Daphne had rarely topped Billie, and never this completely. Billie was both frightened and excited -- a mixture of emotions that had become familiar when ghost hunting. Her flashlight lay on the floor, illuminating the bloodstain. Daphne held Billie’s blindly groping hands down, and pushed Billie’s knees apart with her skirt-clad ones. She rubbed her body along her partner’s curves.
Hungry, San Francisco, 1999, by Phyllis Christopher (print available at ObsessionArt.com)“Are you…packing?” Billie asked at the sensation of something hard against her. She tried to look, but was pushed back down. Daphne ripped Billie’s jeans off and roughly sucked at her. Billie moaned in spite of her confusion. She was terrified and very wet. Daphne moved up Billie to kiss her neck, and Billie felt penetrated by something unfamiliar. It was cold, as if ice, but without a burn. As encompassing as the very air, it permeated her whole being; but at the same time, it felt solid as it pushed into her. Billie’s soul felt dislodged from her body. Her head spun. She had no choice but to succumb to the feeling.
After Billie was completely spent, Daphne released her. Billie was unable to do anything but drift into sleep.
Billie's dreams were quickly punctuated with violent images of having her throat slit. She sat straight up, fully awake, and found that she was alone. She hurriedly covered her freezing limbs with the roughly discarded clothes.
“Daphne,” she called out, and took the stairs two at a time.
Daphne was back under the blanket on the couch, and looked bleary-eyed, disoriented.
“What happened?” She rubbed at the corner of one eye.
“What happened? Are you serious?”
Daphne blinked twice.
“You really are serious.” Billie sat on the couch and put her head in her hands. Daphne rubbed her back.
“Are you okay? I must have fallen asleep. How did I fall asleep? I remember the camera went out.”
“And then you came upstairs.”
“What?” Daphne threw up her arms.
“You fucked me.” Billie took Daphne's hands.
“What?”
“It didn’t feel like you. In any way.”
Daphne started to turn pale.
“I don’t…”
“I don’t know either,” Billie cut her off. “It was almost like…”
Billie and Daphne simply looked at one another for a moment.
“…like I was him? Adrian?” Daphne paused. “You’ve never been with a man.”
“It was so cold. And unnatural. Beyond silicone toys, beyond vibrators, beyond glass dildos. Something…else.” Billie saw Daphne’s blossoming fear. “But it was still you. I saw you.”
“Did you like it?”
“I…we have to get out of here. Let’s get the equipment in the morning.”
“Billie.”
“I’m serious. I have to get out.” Billie pulled Daphne off the couch and towards the door. Daphne didn’t resist.
“All right. Let’s get out.”
Originally published August 2010