Lesbian Erotica
"Tantric Tail Spin" a sex story by J Brooke
TEN ‘til TWO, AM, morning, night passed again like a demonic coal mine fetus trying to rip its way out of the womb of dawn, black before light, thank fucking god, place almost closed, I'm spent, exhausted, I just want to go home.
I like my gig, bartender girl job here at Jimmy's, chic bar, eatery, West side, Big Apple, beautiful people, models, actors, Wall Street ghouls, wasps, vanilla, lawyers and mortician types and a guy or two dealing X, coke, pot, party treats for the elite.
Lots of bi-curious girl’s break dancing during their last three minutes of fame, before their trust funds kick in. Before Vassar, Bryn Maur and some kinda Pakistani prearranged hookup, with an old Maine money momma’s boy, as some Ivy League silver spoon throws the gold band on her finger, imprisoning her in a Country club life of banality for a lifetime, secret days fucking the tennis pro, that's another fucking story.
I'm Katherine, Kate to the regulars, college degree, failed actress, French major smart, filled with glib, blond, 5 foot 7, freckles, red hair, luck of the tragic Irish fucks, small nose, green eyes, men like um, my strong point.
Too many 160 pounds, my weak point, yeah I know, I can't compete, especially at this level, a few too many Crispy Crème Cuddle Cakes late at night.
I like to eat, so the fuck what, especially when I'm depressed. I've been that-a-way lots lately, cause I'm 35 today, a red headed, bisexual whore monger, throw your legs to the ceiling, rug burn, barking, clawing, screaming, thrashing, weeping, semen guzzling cluster fuck goddess, who's starting to look like my crazy old aunt Harriet.
But that doesn't change my sex drive, the carnal thoughts, the internals, how my cunt dampens like I got a garden nozzle crammed in it, each time, every time, I see some sparkling tinsel girl, no matter how dumb she is. My plumbing is plumbed for sex, and I just can't seem to get any play lately, especially at this female black-widow-eating-their-young-yuppie-fucking-bar.
I would love to hate her stunning guts, her, slinky, cosmic eyes, sexy, beautiful Jill, there, the Preying Mantis Model Beauty, alone, at the end of the bar, but I can’t.
She's a non bitch, heart of gold, sweet, real, my girl pal, fuck, she can't help it she was born a shimmering snow fox, glistening ice flaked hair, eyes, bullet cordite blue, tall, hereditary like a swaying strand of kelp in the azure Med Sea, crippling beautiful.
Hangin' with her I feel like I'm one of those Arctic sea lions, belching, bloating trying to beat a dolphin at a swimming meet, yet, always there, and I love her, she's never attiduded me, no game, no fuck you I just met this guy or girl shit, me first, she's always a jake kid, not a mean bone in her stunning bod.
She's stalling out, ‘cause it’s my birthday and I'd fall on my knees, beg her to fuck me, kiss me, stick her head in my cunt and tell me what’s going down in there, but I don't want to mess it up. Girls draw to her, can’t resist her, like she’s a bisexual oxygen bottle and they just got booted from the fucking NASA space machine, that fucker that roars out of Florida, like her, a flaming flame thrower of fire.
I'm bi, of course, turned years back, leaning towards lesbo—love, soft, intimate, vicious, sex, orgasmic gardening, dildos and lies are in play.
"Wow, and who is that?" I whisper as one of the sexiest stylists in the world just walked in the door. She's tall, tragic thin, not an infant, my guess about mid 30's, crimson super short red hair, like me, all the bells and whistles, small nose, freckles, cheekbones pushing towards the ceiling, fucking green eyes so clear they look like sea water, wide on her face, eyebrows so pale they assimilate into her skin.
Christ she's enameled into a black man's suit, Armani, my guess, green body skin tight crew, matches her eyes, showing those collar bones, and men's black leather tie ups. Christ, in flat's she must be six foot, maybe 120, fucking genetics, I hate that cruel word.
She looks a little butch, why the fuck not, but amazing, sexual, smart, sure, confident, exotic. She's one of those deep impact bitches, like an asteroid just detonated through the plate glass, wreaking havoc in a window shattering fire ball of flames, and she's everything that I am not and never will be. Mind-fuck anyways, she'll see Jill lolling down there in her natural state of Amazon lollipop loveliness and think I'm one of those bent back Baboons that just escaped from the zoo and go for the sweet mango, leaving the banana behind her.
There it is, why am I not surprised, Jill's blue eye balls mating to green eye balls, goddess to queen, the fire haired cunt of course can't resist the sucking black hole that Jill is, who can, maybe Ray Charles, not because he's blind, but ‘cause he's stoned dead.
More smiles, coquettish demon princesses reorganizing the cosmic balance of the earth, their earth, exchanges of knowing, a reunion of equals, tiny, small facial features, that makes beauty beautiful. Why mate with a sub species when you can fuck an extraterrestrial so exquisite and exotic that she can make those guys with the guts hanging over their dicks, running jack hammers, weep? Jill's so totally cosmic stunning, fuck, I hate her, not really, it's not her fault. It’s just the rules of the game. Apes mate with apes, queens with queens.
Then to my surprise she shuns Jill like one of those Amish women, slinks to the bar, smiles at me and whispers to me in French, and how does she know I adore everything French, even speak it a bit. Are the stars aligned tonight for me? Don’t know. Wow, I can't rip my eyes away from her plumb lips as she purrs.
"Bon soir, pourrais j'avoir un Pernod ? Et également pourrais-je dire que vous avez des beaux yeux."
I have to blink a few times, for the bitch just pouted out a request for a Pernod and in the same breath, that has an aroma of a field of flowers to it, told me that my eyes were beautiful, what the fuck is that all about?
Scrambling, for her lips are so pale and full and the freckles on her nose are so damn cute, I reach back to Yale, and dig my French back out of my brain as I reply in my best Francophile fake sexy girl accent.
"Oui naturellement, merci, j’aime votre costume."
Oh, just great, I'm an idiot, why did I tell her I liked her suit instead of whispering back to her that I would love to swallow those freckles wherever they might lead, hopefully down that long white neck, past her tiny breasts and to her cunt, which I can only imagine how fucking beautiful it would be.
Surprised, for she has no attitude, she seems to be melting right before me as she giggles, opens those emerald eyes wider, and seems to look directly through my bottle green eyes, seemingly able to see my brain spark plugging. It's like she knows exactly what I am thinking. This makes me blush, which draws a smile to a mouth I simply can't take my wired eyes off of.
Reaching forward, she takes my hand and just lays her fingers on it as if it belonged there all along as she whispers to me again.
"Merci, vous êtes très belle."
I can feel her skin, on my skin, were both white as paper, but of course she’s a flawless Goddess, and well, I'm me, and I just can't get the French right, my mind feels like a car wreck, burning, flames consuming it, internally melting. I can't get a handle on what is going on here, so I do my best, asking her if she speaks English, fuck I'm an idiot, who cares what she speaks.
"Merci, parlez-vous Anglais ? Mon français est si mauvais."
She smiles, I feel like wetting my pants, and then she squeezes my hand, smiles again, her teeth look like perfect white bullets from some kind of human hand gun zeroed in on my forehead. Then she purrs to me in a broken accent that cripples me, for the bitch is still holding on to my hand, and won't let go, not that I even remotely want her to.
Then out of the corner of my eye I see doom approaching. Jill, like an assassin, like some kind of female loaded magnum is standing next to the other ET, and I know failure when I see it. She looks at our connected freckles on the bar top, smiles at me, whips out a classic retreat, smiles, which hurts my eyes it’s so cosmic.
"You know, it’s late, I’ve been partying for days, I have to scoot, hope you don't mind. Love ya, call ya tomorrow. Happy birthday.” She turns on a three-inch heel, clicks out of the bar, fuck, I adore that doll.
Back to Frenchie, woman, girl, extraterrestrial, whatever the fuck she is. In an accent from a Fellini flick, she mumbo jumbos me about something, “Jess visiting ma chérie, vas lonely, saw the neurotic neon, me, and thought some sweetness, zee know darling.” And that's all it takes, as she leans in, doesn't ask, and kisses me on my lips, ZINGO, I'm in love.
I'm smart, don't need a piano to fall on my noggin to tell me I'm into something weird, but undeniable here. Why, when, where, I don't bother to ask, nothing makes sense and I don't want it to.
I whip the bar closed, record time, grab my coat, hit the lights, move to her slink, am embarrassed, I'm overweight, she doesn't notice, takes my hand and together we skip out of the bar. She fucking owns me and I know it, she knows it, and God, which I finally believe in, fucking knows it.
Black Mercedes, parked in front, stretched and lean like her, she's a real gentleman, opens the door for me, no subway tokens needed tonight. I smile, blush, she leans down, kisses me, closes the door, cruises around, enters, slams her door, fires up the Benz and we’re gone, whipping through morning non-traffic, my heart dancing out of my throat.
Hand on my knee, she smiles. Where are we going? What are we doing? Are they going to find my mutilated body in Jersey in the morning, a Barbie Doll crammed in my cunt, me mumbling gibberish about some red head chick I just met from the flick Avatar? Who gives a fuck, as long as we’re going there together.
Central Park, Tavern on the Green, Plaza strung of light jewels across the strand, perfect. I don't belong on this turf, I simply don't care.
Like Michael Schumacher, she racks into the curb, parks, valets alerted, know her and love her and are filled with glee, smiles, and envy, and jealousy. I'm her pick tonight, and ain't I just such a lucky girl and don't they fucking know it.
Elevator music, the Velvet Fog, she's close, peering into my eyes, kissing me now, pressing close, whispering in French to me, nibbling on my ear, I'm a melting ball of dizzy, shaking from so many neurons being displaced, I almost start stuttering in tongues, but I don't. I'm waiting for Edith Pilaf to kick me in the head and wake me from this amazing dream, but no French Cabaret singer wakes me, I'm so wet I'm thinking of that goddamn garden hose again.
Door opens, she leads to me to her suite. Open door, more pouts of French, broken English too, “jess a moment darling,” DARLING? The old guise, something a little bit more comfortable, Lauren Bacall stuff. “Please, be zee darling, an aperitif.” Cognac at the bar, near the zillions of vases of flowers and elegance of the room, someone loves her, adores her, why fucking not? I obey, what the fuck else am I going to do? If she asked me to kill Putin, I would find some way to do it.
Pour one for me and one for her, clink, clink, clink, ice cubes the color of her eyebrows, as I turn, gasp, she's naked, head to toe. That is definitely something more comfortable, oh Christ, to late for God now, that white skin, laser cunt, so pallid she simply is a singular color, translucent, ghostly, a living Moonstone, I can see the light transposed through her slender body. She has to be an alien, a dream, but that look in her green eyes, tells me she's for real, very fucking real, why me?
She glides, tiny feet, is standing before me, takes the Cognac, sips, I sip, she seems to be purring, takes my glass, sets both on the teak bar, turns, moves and sways before me. Thankfully, no wind, no breeze for she is so string like and thin and as leaves falling from a tree, she might be deconstructed by the slightest breeze, that is how frail she appears.
No words, just two sets of burning eyes, turns, hand and hand, girlfriends now, inside me, my heart cries. She leads me across the Persian rugs, past the fine art and cut crystal chandelier, into the bedroom we go, I do not protest, Christ, I can hardly breathe. I feel soiled from a twelve hour shift, well, how in the hell did I ever know I was going to end up swaddled in the white feathered wings of an angel? Is this happening?
Mind reader, mind fucker, crystal ball girl, she understands, so into the bathroom we go. Classic, massive brown marble tub, gold double spigots stick out of the tiled wall, one high, one low, sets me down, unties my boots, strips me naked like a foil sweet candy treat, one of those sweets you find on your pillow. Except she's not made of chocolate rings, but of skin, blood, gold, red ribbon hair, saliva, heat, and pretty perfect feminine things.
My eyes, like lug nuts, stare at her perfect shaved cunt, she notices, I blush, I forgot to shave, she smiles, doesn't seem to mind, helps me struggle to my feet. I sway, am fizzed out, naked now, she wraps her arms around me. I forget to brush my teeth.
Down, down she goes, fingers probing, I know I'm gushing, drenched, I'm fat, she seems not to notice, finds my clitoris, presses gently, I am ready to erupt from my skin.
Her fingers wrap around my butt, moves around like a white eel, squeeze. I groan, groan again, I feel her lips on mine, her warm breath, her skin is like satin, so thin, barely wrapped around her muscles and bones, I have never felt anything so beautiful in my life.
Kisses again, her breathing is swelling, one more kiss, then an adjustment to new steaming water, throwing steam out, beading on her white skin. She turns, smiles at me, curls a finger to my eyes, I obey, I'd lose twenty pounds if she asked me to, have my lips sewn together if that would make her happy. I'd do anything, everything, just to receive one more kiss, one more touch, one more pungent gasp of breath cruising from those lips, warming my neck, burning my soul as they did.
Shower adjustments time, aiming the water tendrils away, as she sets me down, then like a prank filled kid, sprays me, head to unpedicured toes, giggle, giggle, silly me. Now, water and sex brings giggles from her, so playful, so cute, so fucking dangerous, and then she is kneeling before me, soap, razor, smiles, mischief in her eyes, and I can't seem to breathe, my eyes, simply cannot blink, she soaps me, leans in, kisses me, mumbles something, she could be speaking Mandarin, can’t focus my hearing, I'm fair like her anyways, so then she shaves every hair from my cunt liked she owns it, which she does.
Bath time doesn't seem to be on her mind, she stands, I gasp seeing the space between her thighs, she's one of those girls, so thin nothing touches, ribs, hip bones, collarbones, cunt like a white diamond I saw once in the window at Tiffany’s. I can see veins pushing against her white skin, I almost orgasm just peeking from her toe to her face, I’ve never seen anything so marvelous before.
Adjusting the spray, she kneels before me, green alien eyes just inches away, pouting, white teeth biting those lips, pink tongue edged and pulsing, she wraps her fingers around the back of my head, pulls me in, lights a kiss along my lips. Tongues on tongues, lips on lips, gentle, probing, breathing increasing, she is not rough, there are girls like that, maybe in my fucking dreams. Everything about her , miniature, hands, fingers, tongue, body, except her eyes and so full lips, they’re perfect, the kisses go on and on as does her fingers along my spine and rump.
My breasts are large, one of the good things left from the younger me, she has none, almost, as they meet, press bodies against bodies, and then, as if she knows, she moves away, not far, takes a breast, touches it sweetly, I moan like the bitch in heat I am. I see her body shudder, me shudder, she takes a nipple between her lips, presses, closes her eyes, grips it nice, with her teeth, pain, hurt, pleasure, my body trembles as a semi orgasm ripples through it.
We’re in suspended animation, for some moments, she breaks away, kisses me again, and with fingers like kite tails, she turns me, so now I'm on my fat hands and knees, I feel my belly, the folds creasing, I'm never comfortable with my body, but she is, I love her for that whoever the fuck she is.
I've had rough sex before, and liked the carnal stages of it, but she is different. She is slow, gentle, almost sweet, kind and now I feel her soaped hands washing my back, my butt, my anus, a single finger, I begin to shake, moan, she moans, I have never been so clean. Then I feel pressure, her fingers pressed against the opening of my vagina.
I gulp, wheeze, my back arches as it tingles in pleasure as she pushes her fingers into me, to the knuckles. Oh my God I whisper, glad there is water, mine and the shower everywhere masking my orgasm as I bow my chin to my collarbones, almost weeping from her touch.
Time moves right along, as she uses her lips, tongue and fingers on me, deep, not so deep and I orgasm and then at its epicenter, she simply slides her tiny fist inside of me and it is so gentle, I begin to dream as I feel it deep. I orgasm again, tears and unfamiliar sounds spilling from my throat and past my vibrato lips.
Releasing me, she pulls her fist from my cunt, turns me and seeing that I am weeping, she crawls upon my knees, straddles me, wraps her legs around my waist, then her hands around my head, as my arms wrap around her body. Kisses, lips, tongues again, steam and water blasting everywhere around us as her tongue plunges deep into my mouth, seeking I presume, wanting I hope, as my tongue mates with hers and we kiss for what in my mind is forever.
Totally in charge, she morphs, breaks away, stands, I gasp again, for the whiteness of her body almost hurts my eyes as she extends tendril fingers to me, which I take as she helps me struggle to my feet, holds me so I do not collapse, then waits. She is a patient Queen Bitch, so caring I do not know if I could ever be with a callous man again, for a man’s skin from this moment on would always feel as sand paper silhouetted against the memory of her skin.
She leads me naked from the shower, and there it looms, the bedroom which she leads me into. I am for the moment a Goddess, a selected pleasure prize for a Queen so elegant, so mesmerizing, so sexual I still don't believe any of it is real, but on the bed now, she nears, sits, leans in, kisses me. Yes it is real, so very fucking real.
Veronika in Colour 02 by Stephen Perry available at ObsessionArt.com
Morning moves for hours as if the clock has no memory, numbers etched within its face, and then as she orgasms me over and over, in every way thought possible and impossible, it is time for the fairy tale to end.
It is still, quiet, New York dark outside, as she leads me to the door, stands naked, looks into my eyes and smiles, as she whispers to me "Merci ma chérie, tu es si belle."
My body feels like a noodle, weak, renewed, exhausted, she leans in and kisses me, I respond, then she is pulled from me, I assume by some stellar lunar force. No offer of a phone number exchange, no mention of marriage, no mention of another fluid exchange, or an encore of her small fist plunged deep into me. Just a smile, a knowing look on her face that this was a one time deal, two hungry girls feeding needs, whatever those sex, eclectic needs were, at the moment, at this moment and she knows it, and I know it, and I guess the bubble head aliens waiting for in the space machine know it.
I smile, she smiles, I think I see a single tear spilling down a high cheekbone, but it is just my imagination I assume, as I move past the door, glance at her naked body one last time, walk through the door and as it closes, I am happy, feel beautiful, renewed, know that this is a moment of my life I will cherish forever. It is what it was, renewal of my heart and soul.
THE FRENCH women, born in Paris, near Place Monge, the flower stalls, cafes, the Seine, Left Bank, moves naked barefoot across the Bukhara, many things on her mind. At the bar she clinks ice cubes, clink, clink, clink into a goblet of crystal, pours golden agate Remy Martin into the stout glass, sips, dreams, knows many things, sip’s again.
"Thank you, Dominique, it was beautiful."
The voice like a slice of fog drifts into her delicate ear, she turns, smiles, sees a naked Jill, her equal yet toned in naked hues of bronze and blond gazing at her as if a hunger has gripped her soul.
Dominique, a French creature of greatness of heart, sexuality and compassion sways across the room, stands before her lover, touches her tiny face, smiles, there are tears cascading down her face. The world has found its axis again, once again, two nude oddities of unquestionable inner and outer skeletal bodies and minds embrace, stand and hold. It is a moment, for they love one another, for that moment, for within such beauty there is always only moments, and then they kiss, as Jill laces her aquiline face within the cleft of her girlfriend’s neck, as the woman with flaming hair whispers into her lover’s ear.
"No my darling, it vas you that vas so beautiful, I love you so."
Embraces, tears, kisses, smiles, breathing whacked, then a turn, and hand and hand they retreat to their own passions, knowing in their hearts that they gave of one another to make a simple girl happy and this was their birthday gift to a friend. And what more is there in life than friends?
Originally published January 2011