Change of Pace Read online

  Change of Pace: Erotic Interludes

  Twenty-five hot-wired encounters guaranteed to spark more than just your imagination. A construction worker discovers a pleasant distraction in the surgical locker room; two friends share a walk on the wild side in Amsterdam's Red Light district; a femme top welcomes her lover home from the road; a woman enjoys a lazy summer afternoon with solo pleasures; a missed flight leads to a memorable limo ride for two women stranded in the fog on Cape Cod; a surprise party that ends with a most unusual gift; a woman takes a trip to the toy store for the one thing her lover never knew she needed; a graduate student signs up for a stimulating study that tests the outer limits of her control; two lovers reconnect with passion and pleasure...and more than twenty other erotically-charged encounters from Radclyffe.

  Change of Pace: Erotic Interludes

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  Change of Pace: Erotic Interludes

  © 2004 By Radclyffe. All Rights Reserved.

  ISBN 13: 978-1-60282-248-1

  This Electronic Book is published by

  Bold Strokes Books, Inc.,

  P.O. Box 249

  Valley Falls, New York 12185

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  First Edition: December 2004

  This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.

  Credits

  Executive Editor: Stacia Seaman

  Production Design: Stacia Seaman

  Cover Photo: Radclyffe

  Cover Design By Sheri ([email protected])

  By the Author

  Romances

  Innocent Hearts

  Love’s Melody Lost

  Love’s Tender Warriors

  Tomorrow’s Promise

  Love’s Masquerade

  shadowland

  Fated Love

  Turn Back Time

  Promising Hearts

  When Dreams Tremble

  The Lonely Hearts Club

  Night Call

  Secrets in the Stone

  The Provincetown Tales

  Safe Harbor

  Beyond the Breakwater

  Distant Shores, Silent Thunder

  Storms of Change

  Winds of Fortune

  Honor Series

  Above All, Honor

  Honor Bound

  Love & Honor

  Honor Guards

  Honor Reclaimed

  Honor Under Siege

  Word of Honor

  Justice Series

  A Matter of Trust (prequel)

  Shield of Justice

  In Pursuit of Justice

  Justice in the Shadows

  Justice Served

  Justice For All

  Erotic Interludes: Change of Pace

  (A Short Story Collection)

  Radical Encounters

  (A Erotic Short Story Collection)

  Stacia Seaman and Radclyffe, eds.

  Erotic Interludes 2: Stolen Moments

  Erotic Interludes 3: Lessons in Love

  Erotic Interludes 4: Extreme Passions

  Erotic Interludes 5: Road Games

  Romantic Interludes 1: Discovery

  Author’s Introduction

  Erotica is one of those things that you know when you see. The dictionary loosely defines it as an art form designed to arouse. That was one intention when I wrote these selections, but I also find that erotica is a commanding medium for exploring the many nuances of lesbian sexuality. I try to infuse all my fiction with the power and grace of our physical language, but in writing erotica, I can focus the spotlight even more. The only “theme” of this first collection in the Erotic Interludes series from Bold Strokes Books is the fact that these are women in charge of their own sexuality, and enjoying it.

  Thanks go to my editor, Stacia Seaman, for skillfully reviewing and assembling this collection; my beta readers Denise, Diane, Eva, JB, Jane, Jenny, Laney, Paula, Robyn, and Tomboy, for their always essential comments; and to HS and all the members of the Radlist for their enthusiastic support and unflagging belief in me.

  I often tell Sheri she is a wizard when I send her a photo and she sends back a work of art. She always laughs when I say that, not realizing what magic she creates. I can’t imagine a book of mine without her touch to hold it.

  These days, more than ever, Lee keeps our life in order, my mind focused, and my heart free to dream. Partner does not come close to defining her place in my life. Amo te.

  Radclyffe 2004

  Dedication

  For Lee

  My Heart of Desire

  MIRROR IMAGES

  Watching a woman come is the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. There’s such beauty in the emotion that pours uncensored from deep within to blush the skin with longing and need and, ultimately, joy. Hearing the broken cry of delight makes me clench inside and ache with wonder. Breathlessly viewing the tightening of fine muscles beneath delicate skin, the hitch of breath captured and then lost on a sob, the arch of neck at the moment of release pushes me to the very edge. Only the fear of missing one instant of her ecstasy keeps me from spiraling after her into that brief but exquisite petite mort.

  The only thing I’ve ever found more exciting than making a woman come is watching her as she pleasures herself. A connection so intimate, so primal, lies beneath the hand that strokes her own flesh. Sacred communion, blessed rapture. Those are moments so wondrous, it hurts to watch.

  It’s a fantasy of mine, imagining what you feel as you stroke your need to a fever pitch, drawing the longing from your depths, coaxing the sweet song of passion to your clitoris, teasing yourself until there is no choice but to unleash the flood. Imagining what you feel as you grace me with the vision of your pleasure. I’ve always liked to think that you share the same fantasy. As I listen to the faint turn of metal on metal and watch the front door slowly open, I know that today, I’ll find out.

  You stop just inside, regarding me with pleased surprise. “Hey, love, you’re home awfully early.”

  You kiss me swiftly on your way through the living room to the dining room to deposit your briefcase and shrug out of your blazer. Turning, jacket in hand, you regard me quizzically. I haven’t moved. “What, hon?”

  “There’s something I want you to do for me.”

  You’re not certain if it’s something serious or if I want to play. What I love about you—one of the things I love—is that it doesn’t matter. Your answer is always the same.

  “Anything.”

  I extend a hand, and you take it trustingly. Your jacket falls abandoned by the wayside. I draw you to the bedroom, and for the first time, at the threshold, you hesitate. I’ve piled a nest of pillows in the center of the bed, but I can tell that’s not what captures your attention. At the foot of the bed stands a tall mirror like the kind in clothing-store dressing rooms—sectioned so that it can be folded to give a complete view of the bed from several angles.

  “Oh my.” You sound a little breathless. Your eyes rise to mine, large and bright. “What—”

  “Shh.” I release your hand and step away, facing you as I reach for the buttons on my shirt. “Take off your clothes, baby.”

  As you begin to disrobe, so do I. Your nipples are already hard in anticipation. You know that before the afternoon is
over, you will come. You don’t know how, but just knowing that it will happen arouses you. My clit is stiff and throbbing. I have imagined this for so long. As I arranged the pillows hours ago, I was forced to stop and stroke my clit, the ache was so hard. I very nearly made myself come without intending to. I sat on the bed, doubled over, hovering on the brink of orgasm for minutes, my fingers clutching my clit. Now it pounds steadily from hours of being denied.

  When we’re both nude, I gesture to the bed. Wordlessly, we settle side by side, facing the mirror. The pillows piled high behind us allow us to sit nearly upright. I slide my left leg over your right, our only point of contact. Your thigh is tight, hot and trembling.

  “Bend your other knee,” I say gently. “You’re so beautiful. Let me see all of you.”

  I hear your breath quicken, see desire glow on your skin as we open to each other, twin passions reflected in the glass.

  “I want to watch you make yourself come,” I murmur as I slowly draw the fingers of my right hand up the inside of my own thigh. My legs rest spread against the bed, as do yours, no secrets between us now.

  “Oh yes.” Your fingers brush softly, swiftly, over the smooth lips between your thighs. Moisture glistens there already, thick and heavy, dew on the rose. “Oh yes.”

  “Do just as I tell you.”

  Your hips lift when you hear my command, and your hand pauses in its tremulous quest.

  “But I thought—”

  Your voice holds a plea. Already so ready, aren’t you, my darling?

  “No matter what I do,” I instruct as I draw a finger between my labia and smooth the thick come over my erect clitoris, “you may only do what I tell you.”

  I can see your eyes in the mirror watching my hands as I stroke myself. I know you can see the hard, red heart of my need. And knowing that you’re watching makes my clitoris jerk beneath my fingers. I moan softly and draw my fingers away from the tip, knowing I will become far too excited if I am not careful.

  Your fingers open and close, hovering about your own hard need. I know what you want to do. I can feel the pressure in my clitoris and know just how desperately you want to ease your ache. Unconsciously, your left hand has strayed to your breast, fingers squeezing a small, firm nipple. You fix on the mirror. Fix on the reflection of my fingers teasing the shaft of my erection. I allow you that touch on your breast. I want your pleasure, not your pain.

  “Do you want to touch it, baby?”

  You tug your nipple fitfully, your eyes glued to the mirror as I work my hard-on. “Ooh yes.”

  “One finger. And you can only stroke the top, on the hood. No more.”

  Instantly, your fingers fly to your clitoris, your hips jumping at the first touch. A small whimper escapes as you flick your fingers rapidly back and forth across the blood-thickened hood of your clitoris. Watching you, I forget myself and circle harder, stroking more firmly along the undersurface of my shaft. The ache grows huge. I want to come badly. Our hips rise in rhythm, four bodies moving in the shimmering fusion of reality and reflection.

  “Touch the tip, very lightly.” My voice is suddenly hoarse. Arousal presses heavily at my throat. “Make it wet, baby, make it shine for me.”

  I can hardly keep my voice steady. God, I want to get off. The muscles in my inner thighs are tight and my hips barely touch the bed. You are quick to obey, and I know how badly you ache for more contact, more pressure. Eyes hazy, you turn from the mirror to me.

  “When can I come?”

  “Soon, baby. Soon.”

  You look down at my fingers, wet with come. “Feels so good.”

  You or me? No difference now in our urgency.

  “Stroke gently, but don’t rub it. Do just as I say.”

  You moan again, the fingers of your other hand moving from your breast to your lower lips, parting them, easing inside even as you start the long strokes that will bring you off. Too soon. I want more; I want your soul.

  “No. Not that yet.”

  Our legs twist on the sheet as we work our clits closer to coming. Abruptly, I gasp and tear my fingers from my clitoris. I felt the first warning spasms. I want desperately to come. I need so badly to explode. But I won’t, because I won’t let you. Not yet. I can see that you’ve begun to stroke yourself faster, without my permission, despite my instructions. Your eyes have partly closed, your lips have parted, and I know you want to come as badly as I. With my left hand, I reach between your thighs and touch your hand. Wetness seeps between your fingers as you rapidly circle the head of your clitoris.

  I whisper the command. “Stop.”

  Body trembling, you obey. Your fingers press roughly against the base of your clitoris, unmoving. You begin to shake, and I know that the blood is rushing furiously into your length, making you hard to the point of pain.

  Softly the words escape. “Please. Let me come for you. I need to come.”

  “I know you do, baby. I know.” From beneath the pillows, I withdraw a cock and lean over, inserting it slowly between your lips, watching your eyes grow wide and your stomach tighten as you are filled.

  “You’re going to make me come,” you whisper desperately. Your eyes in the mirror find mine as your lips part in silent supplication.

  “No, I won’t. I’ll be careful.” The base of the cock rests against your clit, your fingers plucking restlessly at the tip. “Don’t move your fingers.”

  In the mirror, I watch the darkened head of your clitoris pulse, swollen and stiff, as it pokes from between your fingers. A single flick of a soft fingertip over the exposed head will bring you off instantly, shattering my soul. I twitch steadily, echoing your need. I am in danger of shooting my clit without even touching it.

  My voice trembles. The cock pulses between your thighs. Your fingers are white as you hold your clit, hold back the orgasm you need so badly, holding on for me.

  “Watch me. In the mirror.” I withdraw another cock, settle it between my own engorged lips, and slowly draw the head up and down, gliding over my stiff clitoris, hips rocking gently with each thrust. The orgasm beats frantically in my belly, pounding to get out.

  “I’m going to come soon,” I murmur thickly, sliding the cock in one motion completely inside. The sudden stretch makes my clitoris lengthen and grow impossibly hard now. The extruded head rubs along the length of cock. I take my hand from yours and hold the cock deeply in place. In the mirror I see what you see, the dark red head of my clitoris as it throbs, resting against the shaft of the cock. I’m going to die if I don’t come soon. With the fingers of my other hand, I grab the shaft of my clitoris and begin to rub the head back and forth across the smooth surface of the base of the cock. Immediately, my stomach clenches and the breath stops in my chest. Squeezing, I stroke the cock and my clitoris together, trying to watch in the mirror as the explosion gathers in the base of my clit.

  I am groaning with each pulsation. Almost there.

  You break. Hips thrusting in time with mine, the cock dancing between your legs.

  “Please. Please,” you cry, your fingers a blur on your clit, the other hand plunging the cock in and out between the lips that cling to it. “I have to come. I’m going to come. Please let me come.”

  I meet your eyes in the mirror and see my passion reflected. We are joined, cocks thrusting, fingers dancing, bodies poised on the point of explosion.

  “Let me see you come, baby. Oh God, let me see.”

  Permission granted.

  Crying out, you jerk upright, nearly sitting as the strong muscles in your stomach contract along with the inner muscles squeezing the cock.

  You are coming, and when I see it, you make me come.

  Dissolving beneath the flood of pleasure, I cling to your image in the glass, transfixed by all the beauty that is you.

  CALL WAITING

  It was supposed to have been a clear, warm May night, so I’d gone for the simple butch look with a black T-shirt and jeans and no jacket. It was the night I was certain I’d be spending t
he whole night with her, so I only needed to walk between the car and her house, and then her house and the restaurant around the corner, and then in the morning—well, who cared? I wanted to show off my arms a little, and you needed a T-shirt for that. What’s a little chill when you’re trying to look good for a woman.

  We’d been dating for six weeks. Six weeks since I rounded a corner in the doctors’ locker room, a toolbox in one hand and a two-foot length of metal edging in the other. Loose tiles in the ceiling needed replacing. I was wearing khaki work pants and scuffed work boots and a white T-shirt under my red cotton shirt. She wore a wisp of white lace over her breasts and a tiny triangle of pale blue between her thighs and there was a long, long expanse of toned, tan belly in between. Something gold glinted at her navel. I thought my heart would stop.

  She stared at me, a surprised look in her eyes, and I said something really clever, like “Uh...”

  Then her mahogany eyes wandered down my body, and I swear she checked out my crotch—but that couldn’t have been right—my brain was just melting from trying not to look at her breasts. I felt myself blushing. Blushing, for Christ’s sake.

  “Uh...” I gritted my teeth. I have got to do better than that. “I’ll come back.”

  “No,” she said, smiling with just a little hint of laughter behind it. “Go ahead. Do what you have to do.”

  Then she turned to the locker and reached inside. The cracked piece of dusty acoustic tile was almost right above her head, and if I stepped up onto the wooden bench that ran the length of the aisle between the opposing rows of lockers, I could reach it. I sidled by her, being very careful not to even stir the air around her, which appeared to shimmer. It did, I swear to God. I put my toolbox on the floor and slid the inch-wide metal replacement strip through one of the loops on my sweat-stained leather work belt.