Best Lesbian Erotica 2014

BIRTHDAY BUTCH Teresa Noelle Roberts

I’d love to say JT and I met at a seedy bar, like characters in a’50s pulp novel with a cheesy title along the lines of Women in the Shadows or Cruel Female Lusts. Actually a mutual friend introduced us, and I don’t think Edgar imagined that we’d hook up. He just knew that JT was looking for someone who’d tend bar at her birthday party and I do a bit of bartending. People seem to enjoy having a tiny slip of a woman in a slinky vintage cocktail dress and high, high heels mixing them drinks. It’s eye candy for those who like pretty ladies, retro fun for everyone, and I make a mean cosmo and pull a perfect pint of Guinness if I do say so myself.

As soon as I met JT, something pinged my radar—not my gaydar, because Edgar had already mentioned we were both dykes, but the other radar, the one that found women who might particularly fancy a woman like me, a woman who looked like she was all sweet curves, but knew how to bring a submissive type to her knees. JT was big, buff and loud—and absolutely gorgeous—but I sensed something else, something that wanted to stop, if only for a little while, being so damn tough. I think she sensed the steel inside my fragile trappings, even if she wasn’t sure, initially, what to make of the combination.

Even before I did the smoldering yet arrogant sideways glance, even before I crossed my legs in a way that showed off my Cuban-heeled stockings, hellishly high heels and kitten-with-a-whip tattoo on my calf, JT looked me up and down stealthily, yet wouldn’t meet my eyes. She held my hand a little too long when she shook it, yet stood farther away than I’d expect a big, good-looking butch to do with a pretty femme. Especially not when I’d made a point of mentioning I wasn’t dating anyone as soon as I saw her big brown eyes, strong arms and mischievous smile.

It was a smile that seemed less confident around me than it did around other people.

Some women might have found that discouraging.

I found it promising.

There’s cool distance, the kind you maintain as a barrier between you and someone you don’t particularly like.

And then there’s hot distance, which is what happens when you like someone a lot, but are baffled by what you’re feeling and aren’t ready to act on it.

This was hot distance.

And I intended to close it.

I watched JT with other women as I served drinks at her birthday party. She flirted. She danced close, even with women who were definitely part of a couple. Hell, she danced close with guys, including Edgar, who was there with his husband. She hugged and smooched and grabbed butts. She laughed a lot, deep and sexy and hearty, the way I like to see a woman laugh. Especially when she’s big and strong, with hands that could span my waist (if I’m wearing a corset).

But not with me. With me, it was all shy glances from downcast eyes and the kind of “pleases” and “thank yous” and gentle good behavior that would make a churchgoing grandma proud.

It made me giddy, as if I’d been drinking just enough champagne for the bubbles to get to me.

Maybe she wasn’t sure how to treat someone who was essentially the hired help for the night, but could just as easily have been a party guest. But I didn’t think so. I ventured a guess that she’d read something in my body language, my carriage, the way I walked in my heels as strong and confident as she did in her Docs, and it touched some part of her that wanted a small, soft woman who could make her feel small and soft herself. She wasn’t sure how to go about courting a domme in a pretty vintage dress, though, especially when we hadn’t met at a munch for kinksters or a play party, and it made her adorably shy.

Certainly she made a lot of excuses to fetch drinks for her friends and visit the bar again to half-talk to me, to not quite meet my eyes. And I took advantage of those visits to brush my hand against hers, to lean forward so she could look at my cleavage (and then look away again, a telltale red on her cheeks), to lead her shamelessly into flirtation despite her best efforts to remain polite and respectful.

JT was definitely intrigued, but I thought it might take more than one night to get her to take the bait. After all, we’d just met, and through Edgar, lovingly dubbed Cottage Cheese Boy because he was milder than vanilla.

Then a couple of drunk, rowdy bois decided to do my work for me. After the cake was cut, but before the presents were opened, the cry went up, led by one particular couple, “Time for JT’s birthday spanking!”

I stopped washing glasses and leaned on the bar to watch the show.

JT started out protesting, squirming and doing all the things you’re supposed to do when overenthusiastic, tipsy friends decide to smack your ass in public.

In the midst of her struggles JT glanced over at me.

Very slowly, very deliberately, I winked and nodded.

Her eyes widened. Her struggles continued, but less emphatically and, at least to my eyes, less believably.

Since everyone else was watching JT and her friends roughhousing, I leaned forward and cupped my breasts so they spilled out of the neckline of the strapless dress I wore. A quick flash of nipple and they were back in my dress, but I think I made the point: get spanked and you might get these.

JT licked her lips and relaxed visibly.

The slighter of the bois grabbed her wrists and pushed her forward, pinning her wrists down to the table so her butt stuck out. Seconds later, the other laid a good whack on her ass.

JT’s body stiffened and she yelped.

On the second whack, though, she sagged, yielding.

I clenched. That moment when a strong woman surrenders, even if someone else provoked it, is always delicious to see.

She turned toward me again, her eyes wide and stricken, her mouth slightly open. I could tell she was breathing heavily.

For the entire time she was being spanked—first fairly seriously by the bois who’d instigated it, then a playful smack or two from most of the guests—she kept her face turned toward me, letting me watch each expression that passed over her face. Playful amusement changed to panic, and panic changed to a delicious mixture of panic and arousal. The arousal grew as her friends continued to torment her and the panic eased back to nervousness or self-consciousness, but never fled altogether.

Caught in the heat, I squirmed and rubbed my slick lips against my lace panties. I wanted to order everyone else away, strip off JT’s jeans and continue spanking her properly, catching the sweet spot where thighs curved up into ass, lingering after each stroke to let the pain morph to pleasure, then pinching the reddened, tender flesh to morph pleasure back to pain. Wanted to fuck her senseless once she’d been thoroughly spanked, or perch on the table, thighs open, fist my hands in her hair and force her—not because she’d need to be forced but because it would be fun for both of us—to lick me to orgasm.

The gathering grew more raucous as the guests cheered and laughed and counted loudly, even though the count had long since exceeded JT’s possible age.

Some of the other guests must have noticed how she trembled and gasped, how her hands clenched and unclenched on the table, how she cocked her ass toward the spanking hands.

But she was still turned toward me, so only I got to watch as her face flushed and her eyes widened. Got to see the astonished need blossom on her handsome face.

Got to see her mouth at me, “Please.”

I nodded almost curtly, though I melted on the inside from a combination of lust and tenderness. I doubt anyone noticed. But JT did.

Her eyes closed, then opened again in astonishment. She screamed in perfect silence as the orgasm unleashed itself. Her gaze locked into mine and I shared an echo of every tremor she felt.

Even though it was presumptuous, given that nothing had happened other than some significant eye contact, I yielded to the impulse to mouth, “Mine.”

This time she couldn’t hide the gasp or the convulsion.

Most of her friends began to chuckle, except for the ones who were too busy kissing and groping their dates, turned on by the unexpected show.

I’m 99 percent sure the instigators would have been happy to have their wickedly fun way with her, either later or right there in the middle of the party. And under other circumstances, JT might have let them—they were a good-looking pair, both lean and leggy with small, perky breasts and short, sexily messy hair. Instead, she laughed and let the couple engulf her in a hug. Then she smacked both their asses with all the strength in her body. JT’s not a small girl, so they both yelped and jumped back. “Let’s see,” JT said loudly, in a voice that sounded only slightly shaky and maybe only because I was listening for that telltale postorgasmic quiver, “Mackenzie’s birthday’s in June and Laura’s is in October. Lots of time to plot and scheme. Wait for it, guys. Just wait for it.”

A number of the guests chimed in, offering to help with the plot—evidently Mackenzie and Laura instigated all kinds of amusing trouble for their friends. It’s possible the tables could have turned right then, if JT hadn’t proclaimed loudly, “After that, I need a drink,” shook off her friends, and headed to the bar.

She moved with a sexy butch swagger, but her face was soft and eager as she approached me. She ordered a dirty martini, so I could take a little time fussing over it. “Dirty martini for a dirty girl,” I whispered as I pretended to look for the jar of olives. “You came, didn’t you?”

She nodded, her face once again flushed. “Twice. But only because I was looking at you. Playing rough makes me wet, but it’s never enough to get me off. Not until you told me to come tonight.” Her voice, already soft, dropped even lower, to a quiet burr that vibrated my clit.

“Do you have plans for after the party?” Before she could answer, before she could even open her mouth again, I said, “Change them. I can give you a birthday treat you’ll really like. But only if you’re good.”

She nodded, her face gone vacant with desire.

“One dirty martini for the birthday girl,” I said teasingly loudly, handing her the drink and shooing her away with a wink and a mouthed “later.”

I don’t know if she’d planned to hook up with one of the other guests. But she managed to encourage everyone out the door just after midnight, although a number of the guests had drifted off in twos and threes right after the spanking, in search of privacy or maybe opportunities for their own bit of exhibitionism.

JT was at the bar as soon as the last women were out the door. “You’ll still have to pay me until two o’clock,” I said as dryly and calmly as I could.

“You’re worth it.” She chuckled throatily.

She stopped when I stalked around the bar and sidled up close to her.

Even with my four-inch heels, she was a few inches taller than I am—so I grabbed the back of her hair and pulled her down to me.

“First order,” I breathed. “Kiss me. Kiss me like you mean it. You may hug me, but no touching me otherwise yet. Right now, I’m interested in a good kiss.”

Those strong, muscled arms were around me before I finished talking, and her lips closed on mine.

I didn’t taste gin and olives—I don’t think she ever drank that dirty martini. I tasted a little butter-and-sugar goodness from the birthday-cake frosting that lingered at the corners of her mouth.

Then I tasted only her, and that was headier than any drink.

JT held me close, almost lifting me off the floor. It was more forceful than I’d normally want a sub to be until we knew each other well, but forceful or not, she was trembling with need and nerves and being so close to her let me enjoy that. She kissed me like she meant it, all right, but stayed one nanosecond behind me, letting me set the pace. Her body was fire hot and her hands shook and I could tell she wanted to grind against my thigh, caress the bounty of my breasts, raise my satin skirt to check out my garter belt and tiny (and very wet) lace panties.

She didn’t, though.

Nor did she hesitate when I pulled away and told her to strip. In fact, her clothes came off so fast I’m surprised she didn’t break her bootlaces or rip the buttons off her shirt.

She wasn’t wearing a bra.

Her body was so beautiful I had to look away and bark, “Fold your clothes and put them on the chair. I can’t abide slobs,” so I didn’t abandon all my lovely kinky notions and start exploring every inch of that strong, curvy lusciousness. (I hoped to do that at some point, because I’d enjoy it—I’m a greedy domme and I like to play with my girls in every possible way. Just not yet.)

Her eyes widened, but she obeyed without saying anything but “Yes… Ma’am.” She hesitated then, “Should I call you Ma’am? Mistress?”

I smiled then, a predatory smile that should have showed fangs. “Tina will do—but I like the way you think. Now turn for me. Let me look at you.”

“Yes, Tina.”

She didn’t know what to do with her hands and stumbled over her own feet turning around. But she was grinning like she was high, and moisture glistened on her strong thighs, and her ass, formerly concealed by comfortably loose jeans, was round and perfect enough to make Jennifer Lopez green with envy—and still slightly pink from the earlier spanking.

I stalked over and dug my short, elegantly red nails into that perfect curve. She flinched, then sighed with pleasure. I nudged her thighs apart, stroked at her wet sex until her hips began to work of their own accord and her breath came in little gasps. Then I said, “No. Not until I tell you. And don’t say a word, not unless it’s to say ‘red’ because you want me to stop.”

I felt her body stiffen, but she obeyed.

Obeyed as I continued to stroke her slick, swollen clit and insinuate my fingers into the drenched pussy.

Obeyed as I bent her over the couch and spanked her ass just as I’d imagined earlier, until it was so red it was almost glowing. Tears of excitement flowed down her thighs, and tears of frustration hung in her eyes when I pulled her up for a rough kiss, but she still obeyed. Obeyed when I grabbed her abandoned belt and snapped it against that beautiful reddened ass.

At that, she flinched away, then arched back, seeking more. She sucked her breath in on a hiss and let it out with a moan, but she didn’t speak.

And even though her pussy was as wet as any I’d seen, and twitched visibly with each smack of the belt, she didn’t come.

Not until I grabbed one end of the belt in each hand and laid it across her throat, applying no pressure, but letting her know I could. “Come,” I ordered. “Come now.”

And she did, with a cry that shook a smaller orgasm loose in me.

Suddenly unsteady in my heels, I dropped the belt and plopped down onto the couch, encouraging JT to follow. I ended up with her lying across my lap, her face zoned out and tear streaked and blissful.

It took a while before either of us said anything. Finally she spoke in a small, soft, floaty voice, “What may I do for you, Tina?”

“The mind boggles. I can think of all sorts of delicious things. But right now, just lie here with me and catch your breath.”

Then I grabbed her nipple and gave it a twisting pinch. “Oh yeah… and you could come again. Now.”

And she did, arching her back and scrambling against the couch as pleasure claimed her. “Wha… the… hell,” she gasped out. “I’ve never come from something like that.”

“Never had someone tell you to, either, I bet.”

When she shook her head, I laughed and said, “Oh, JT, we are going to have so much fun.”

And then I kissed her, letting her taste the remnants of my lipstick, letting her feel me claiming her the way a butch like her needed to be claimed.