Literary Fiction

How It Started

By Mary Anne Mohanraj
Dec 11, 2018 · 3,228 words · 12 minutes


From the author: Erotic Fiction


When a hot new dyke moves to Berkeley, you’ve only got a tiny window of time in which to make your move. If you don’t move quick, she’ll be snapped up by someone else, and you’ll be left alone in your bed — wet fingers for company, waxing the saddle and wishing for love.
It was late at the Calyx, past midnight, and the floor was packed with couples, hip to hip, breast to breast. But she was dancing alone, shimmying to the beat with a circle of space around her, head thrown back and sweat dripping off her body. She was so fine — skin like toasted coconut, lips dark and lush. A tight white tank over huge breasts; god, each one looked bigger than my head. Curving belly. Hips that moved in deep, wide circles, like she was fucking the air. No one I’d seen before. I didn’t know why no one was making a move on her, but I wasn’t going to wait to find out.

I let my body move to the music, let it carry me over to her. We were dancing alone, a foot or so apart, and then a little closer, a little closer still. That’s when her eyes opened — dark green. Yum — I’ve got a thing for green eyes. She smiled at me, slow and lazy, and I slid closer, just an inch or two away from those glorious breasts. Dancing hard, sweat flicking off me as I shook my ass, arms up in the air, arching my back and hoping my breasts looked bigger than they were. Our sweat mingling in the air, falling to the floor, the whole place hot and damp with horny cunts writhing to the music. She opened her mouth a little then, and I almost just went for it, almost dove in for the kind of hot wet kiss that could convince a girl that she wanted to go home with me tonight, that I could show her the best time she’d ever seen. And that’s when she said it.

"I have a girlfriend. She just doesn’t dance. Sorry."

Fuck. I kept dancing; there wasn’t much else to do.

"I’m Janna," she said.

"Susan. You been in town long?" I knew the answer to that one, but I had to try, had to keep the conversation going. I was still hoping it wasn’t serious, that I had a chance. Not that I was the sort of girl who tried to break up relationships…but if a couple was already on the rocks and you just came along at the right time, that wasn’t really your fault. You might even be doing them a favor.

"Just moved out. I’m teaching at the U." She paused there; I hoped that she was going to say something about having just met her girlfriend, or say it wasn’t working out, or that the woman was mean or just plain nuts. Instead, she said, "Carla came with me. We’ve been together eight years."

God damn it. That was it, then.

She disappeared into the crowd after the song ended; I figured she was out of my life. But in the next few weeks, I kept running into her. At the co-op, buying groceries, we’d be picking out cucumbers and carrots side by side. At the bookstore — not one of the regular bookstores, but the sf one, we reached for the same copy of Delany’s latest. Across the counter at Sushi-A-Float, I watched her slide sea urchin into her mouth, watched it move down her throat. By the third encounter, I was dying of unsatisfied lust. The worst time was Saturday night at the hot tubs; she left just as I was walking in — we stopped and exchanged a few words. And even though I was with a cute redhead, a girl with sweet thick nipples and a fat ass just right for grabbing, I fantasized about Janna the whole time I was fucking the girl in the tub. I had three fingers in the redhead’s pussy and my mouth on her nipple; I was dizzy with the heat and every curl of steam rising from the water reminded me of the black curls of Janna’s hair, made me wonder if it was just as curly down below.

I got the redhead off, but only just, and she never spoke to me again. Guess she could tell my mind wasn’t really on her. That was when I lost it. I’d never tried to break a couple up before, and I wasn’t going to try now, not really. I didn’t need to date Janna — I just had to have her, had to fuck her. Just once.

I signed up for one of her classes at the U. She was teaching some feminist theory crap; I had never went for that stuff, but I read up on it, just in case she called on me. Not that I talked much in class. It was summer term, as hot as Berkeley ever got — 70s or 80s most days; cool crisp mornings followed by brief heat. I wore the skimpiest clothes I had, and when I ran out of those, I raided the used clothing stores, looking for more. Pale mesh tops with dark push-up bras; short tight skirts and tall black boots; thin white t-shirts with no bra at all; cut-offs and ankle bracelets and bare feet with the toenails done in red… every sexy look I could think of. I sat in the front of the class for weeks and alternated crossing and uncrossing and recrossing my legs. No panties, red silk bikinis, black lace thongs, damp white cotton. I leaned forward in my chair, rested my elbows and breasts on the table. I didn’t try to catch her eye; that would have made it just that little bit too obvious. She would have had to confront the fact that I was deliberately fucking with the teacher, and that the teacher was enjoying it. Janna was enjoying it. I could tell. I watched out of the corner of my eye, in quick glances. Her face got flushed when I uncrossed my legs; she called on the others, but she kept looking at me.

The day it climbed up to 90, I had a coke with ice in front of me. I kept fishing ice cubes out of the cup, sucking them slowly until they were half gone, then chewing the rest. I wondered if she had heard what I had heard — that girls who chewed ice were sexually frustrated. God knew it was true. Janna was wearing a thin white dress that day — opaque, but thin enough that it clung to her curving body, moving as she moved, damp with her sweat. Little trickles of sweat slid from behind her ears, down her neck and collarbone, into the V of her dress, disappearing between those breasts. I was so thirsty, and hot enough that I couldn’t think straight. So I pushed it further than I ever had before — I fished out another ice cube and used it to trace the same path on my own body, right there in class. Anyone could have seen me. Started behind an ear, down my neck, across the collarbone, shivering with pleasure. I was carefully looking at the chalkboard, but I could feel her eyes on me — and then I dropped the ice down the front of my shirt. It slid down between my breasts, coming to rest for a moment in my belly button. It was fucking cold — too cold to leave it there. So I shimmied a little and it slid down further, coming to rest where my thighs met, melting against my clit, creating a little wet puddle on the wooden seat underneath me. Janna watched everything.

When the class ended, she waited until the other students had filed out. I sat in my chair, looking at nothing, hot and wet and a little scared. She had a right to be mad. She walked up to me, stopped in front of my desk.

"Drop the class," she said. "You’re distracting my students."

I nodded.

Then she reached out and picked up another piece of ice. She placed it on my shirt and held it there, just above the nipple. Let it melt a second, dripping coke-sticky cold water down onto my nipple, which popped straight up. She watched me, watched my breath catch, watched me swallow. Then she dropped the ice back in the cup, smiled sweetly, and spoke again.

"Just one rule. Carla gets to watch."

Oh shit.

I’d done some group stuff in college; everyone did, right? When dyke club meetings got late; when everyone got drunk and giddy. You ended up sprawled over some girl’s couch, feeling up someone’s breasts by candlelight while someone else felt up yours. But none of those had ever gone all that far; clothes had mostly stayed on — they just got pushed out of the way. All the real screwing I’d done had been one-on-one. Still, it didn’t sound like Carla would be doing anything — just watching. Watching would be okay, right? I could just ignore her, and it would be worth it — it would so be worth it to get my hands on Janna’s breasts, on her belly and hips and ass. I wanted to grind my pubic bone against her clit; I wanted my fingers fucking her, in and out, fast and hard and sweet. I wanted her screaming, and I wanted it bad. So I said yes.

We walked back to their house, not touching, a foot of space between us, my body humming with desire.

Carla worked at home; she was there when we walked in, leaning over a computer, long brown hair falling in front of her face. She turned around when we walked in the door, and I could tell right away that she knew; she knew exactly why we were there, in the middle of the afternoon, when Janna should have been holding office hours. Carla looked at us and knew. I was ready for her to get mad, to get weepy, but instead she smiled. It was a wicked grin, stretching her mouth wide and showing teeth. That grin took her plain pale face — a face I wouldn’t have looked at twice in a club — and turned it into something else again. Something maybe a little dangerous.

Janna said, "This is Susan. She wants to play."

"You two go ahead and get started. I’ll be there in a minute." And she turned back to the computer and started typing again.

Shit. I couldn’t believe she was so fucking casual about the whole thing. Did Janna bring women home like this all the time? What was going on with these two anyway? But then Janna was taking my hand, leading me through the house to the bedroom, pulling me onto the bed, and I didn’t give a damn anymore. So Carla didn’t mind if Janna fucked other women — this was my problem? Hell, no. Janna’s mouth was on mine, moving hot and wet, and her fingers were unbuttoning my cut-offs, pulling them off; I lifted my ass to help, and in a couple of minutes I was naked and she was too, and we were writhing together like two fish on a wet dock — fuck Carla!

I finally got my mouth on Janna’s breast — just as gorgeous naked as I’d hoped it would be, and even bigger than I’d thought — and sucked hard, pressing my face against it, smothering myself eagerly in all that soft flesh. I couldn’t breathe, and didn’t want to; she was on top of me, her body crushing me into the bed. I liked it; I wanted more. I tried to reach down to her cunt, but her hands grabbed my wrists and pulled them up over my head, pinning me down. Her thigh pushed my legs apart and pressed against my crotch; then her hip was grinding into me, shoving me down hard against the mattress. She was pushing me, pushing me up and over, and I was moaning. Usually it was me making the other girl come, me making her scream, but Janna had me down and begging for it, and when she bit my nipple I came hard. I came once, then again, and it was when I was gearing up to come for a third time that I noticed that somewhere in there, my wrists had gotten tied to a bedpost. Fuck.

I tugged against the rope — tight. Opened my eyes, and there was Carla, comfortable in a rocking chair, snuggled up in an afghan, of all the weird-ass things, a fucking orange afghan. She was wearing granny glasses, and if she’d been a couple of decades older, she could have been someone’s granny. But I knew that she was the one who had tied me up while Janna was busy distracting me, and she was definitely the one grinning now, watching us. And when Janna paused for breath, Carla was the one who reached out to the bedside table, who picked up a giant economy-sized tube of Wet lube, and who said, "I think she could use a good fisting, honey," as she handed it to Janna. Then she sat back in the chair and started it rocking, her eyes fixed on mine.

I could have said something. But instead, I closed my eyes. I bit my lip and lay back; I wrapped my hands around the ropes and let Janna drizzle lube into my snatch. A little to start — then she was swirling her fingers around the mouth of it, getting every millimeter of skin wet. It had been pretty wet already, but for a fisting, it was going to need to be a lot wetter. Or so I’d heard.

She rubbed my clit until I started squirming on the sheets again. Then she slid a finger into my hole — two. Three. No problem. Four was easy. I had taken four plenty of times. And when she slid her thumb in there, I spread my thighs wider, inviting her in. That part, I knew how to do. She fucked me silently — she hadn’t said a word this entire time — had hardly spoken since we’d left her class. But I could hear her breathing, could feel one of her hands pressing down on my open thigh and the other sliding into me, in and out. More lube. She was doing something with her hand — spiraling it as she slid in and out of me. Pushing a little harder each time, pushing closer to the knuckles. I wanted her to go fast, to get it over with — to just push past the pain, like the first time I got fucked with a strap-on. But Janna went slower and slower. And she was quiet enough that I could hear Carla start to whisper.

"Come on, Susie. You can do it. Relax — you gotta relax and let her into you. Open up wide and let her into your wet cunt, your sopping pussy. You want her to — you want her so bad…"

Janna was pouring more lube onto me now, cold at first, thick and wet, coating my thighs and cunt and the sheets and her hand, fucking in and out of me.

"I saw it at the club; I watched you make up to my girl, and I knew you were dying for her, you wanted her so bad. So give it up, baby. Relax and let it go, let her have you, let her take you."

She was pushing harder, pushing hard enough that it hurt, just a little. Pushing down, and her fingers pressing against that spot that felt so good but made me feel like I was gonna pee. And I was twisting under her hand, or trying to — I couldn’t help it — but she kept my hips pinned down with one hand and fucked me with the other. In and out.

"We want you to let us fuck you, baby, and it’s the least you can do, little tease, little slut. You pretend you’re a top but what you really want is for someone to take you and fuck you hard, push you up and over the edge — "

I was moaning now, pulling hard on the ropes and glad they were there, moaning loud enough that I almost couldn’t hear her anymore. I was so close, so fucking close.

"… and you want it bad enough that you’re willing to beg for it from someone you know you aren’t supposed to touch. So come on, baby girl…come on…"

And that was it, Janna’s hand slid into me with a quiet pop, a sucking noise, and it didn’t hurt at all. It was in me. Then she started moving it. Moving inside me, her whole fucking hand. She opened it up and closed it, her fingers reaching up and into me, like she wasn’t just fucking my cunt, like she was fucking all of me, and I was shivering and screaming before long, coming up and over and over again.

It went on for a long time.

When they were done with me, Carla untied me, still grinning. Janna and I showered, giggling off and on. I was pretty high on an endorphin rush; my thighs were trembling and my head was spinning. Dropping the soap was funny, and almost slipping on it was hilarious. I didn’t know why Janna was giggling too, but I didn’t care. I was just glad she’d enjoyed herself. Janna soaped my back and I did hers; we washed each others’ pussies clean. That was all good.

By the time we started drying off, I was coming down from my high, the giggles disappearing and exhaustion taking over. I started wondering if this was it, if they were done with me. Maybe they picked up a different girl every week — it was possible. That should have been fine with me — all I’d wanted was to fuck Janna, right? And even if she’d fucked me instead, or they both had, I couldn’t complain that I was unsatisfied. There was no reason for me to feel blue — but I did.

My mood got worse as I got dressed — Janna disappeared to go find Carla. When I joined them in their sunny yellow kitchen, they were sharing a glass of water. They looked so fucking cute; Janna leaning against Carla, the glass cradled in her hands. I shoved my hands in my pockets so they couldn’t see them shake; I was ready to storm off, pissed for no reason I could explain.

Then Carla said, "Hey, that was great! Do you need to take off, or do you want to stick around and talk, maybe have dinner?"

Dinner. I wasn’t sure what came with dinner — maybe something complicated — maybe more than I wanted in the end. It had been a pretty strange day. But for now…

"Dinner sounds good."

I took my hands out of my pockets as Janna handed me the glass, and drank deep.

END

This story originally appeared in Wet: More Aqua Erotica, Best Lesbian Erotica 2003.