Tapped Out
Tapped Out
A chance meeting and instant attraction between two women at an airport leads to an all-out seduction on the mat at a martial arts competition. When the winner calls the game, sex turns out to be the no-holds-barred variety.
Previously published in Erotic Interludes 5: Road Games, edited by Radclyffe and Stacia Seaman (Bold Strokes Books, 2007).
Acclaim for Radclyffe’s Fiction
“Dangerous Waters is a bumpy ride through a devastating time with powerful events and resolute characters. Radclyffe gives us the strong, dedicated women we love to read in a story that keeps us turning pages until the end.”—Lambda Literary Review
“Radclyffe’s Dangerous Waters has the feel of a tense television drama, as the narrative interchanges between hurricane trackers and first responders. Sawyer and Dara butt heads in the beginning as each moves for some level of control during the storm’s approach, and the interference of a lovely television reporter adds an engaging love triangle threat to the sexual tension brewing between them.”—RT Book Reviews
“Love After Hours, the fourth in Radclyffe’s Rivers Community series, evokes the sense of a continuing drama as Gina and Carrie’s slow-burning romance intertwines with details of other Rivers residents. They become part of a greater picture where friends and family support each other in personal and recreational endeavors. Vivid settings and characters draw in the reader…”—RT Book Reviews
Secret Hearts “delivers exactly what it says on the tin: poignant story, sweet romance, great characters, chemistry and hot sex scenes. Radclyffe knows how to pen a good lesbian romance.”—LezReviewBooks Blog
Wild Shores “will hook you early. Radclyffe weaves a chance encounter into all-out steamy romance. These strong, dynamic women have great conversations, and fantastic chemistry.”—The Romantic Reader Blog
In 2016 RWA/OCC Book Buyers Best award winner for suspense and mystery with romantic elements Price of Honor “Radclyffe is master of the action-thriller series…The old familiar characters are there, but enough new blood is introduced to give it a fresh feel and open new avenues for intrigue.”—Curve Magazine
In Prescription for Love “Radclyffe populates her small town with colorful characters, among the most memorable being Flann’s little sister, Margie, and Abby’s 15-year-old trans son, Blake…This romantic drama has plenty of heart and soul.”—Publishers Weekly
2013 RWA/New England Bean Pot award winner for contemporary romance Crossroads “will draw the reader in and make her heart ache, willing the two main characters to find love and a life together. It’s a story that lingers long after coming to ‘the end.’”—Lambda Literary
In 2012 RWA / FTHRW Lories and RWA HODRW Aspen Gold award winner Firestorm “Radclyffe brings another hot lesbian romance for her readers.”—The Lesbrary
Foreword Review Book of the Year finalist and IPPY silver medalist Trauma Alert “is hard to put down and it will sizzle in the reader’s hands. The characters are hot, the sex scenes explicit and explosive, and the book is moved along by an interesting plot with well drawn secondary characters. The real star of this show is the attraction between the two characters, both of whom resist and then fall head over heels.”—Lambda Literary Reviews
Lambda Literary Award Finalist Best Lesbian Romance 2010 features “stories [that] are diverse in tone, style, and subject, making for more variety than in many, similar anthologies…well written, each containing a satisfying, surprising twist. Best Lesbian Romance series editor Radclyffe has assembled a respectable crop of 17 authors for this year’s offering.”—Curve Magazine
2010 Prism award winner and ForeWord Review Book of the Year Award finalist Secrets in the Stone is “so powerfully [written] that the worlds of these three women shimmer between reality and dreams…A strong, must read novel that will linger in the minds of readers long after the last page is turned.”—Just About Write
In Benjamin Franklin Award finalist Desire by Starlight “Radclyffe writes romance with such heart and her down-to-earth characters not only come to life but leap off the page until you feel like you know them. What Jenna and Gard feel for each other is not only a spark but an inferno and, as a reader, you will be washed away in this tumultuous romance until you can do nothing but succumb to it.”—Queer Magazine Online
Lambda Literary Award winner Stolen Moments “is a collection of steamy stories about women who just couldn’t wait. It’s sex when desire overrides reason, and it’s incredibly hot!”—On Our Backs
Lambda Literary Award winner Distant Shores, Silent Thunder “weaves an intricate tapestry about passion and commitment between lovers. The story explores the fragile nature of trust and the sanctuary provided by loving relationships.”—Sapphic Reader
Lambda Literary Award Finalist Justice Served delivers a “crisply written, fast-paced story with twists and turns and keeps us guessing until the final explosive ending.”—Independent Gay Writer
Lambda Literary Award finalist Turn Back Time “is filled with wonderful love scenes, which are both tender and hot.”—MegaScene
Applause for L.L. Raand’s Midnight Hunters Series
The Midnight Hunt
RWA 2012 VCRW Laurel Wreath winner Blood Hunt
Night Hunt
The Lone Hunt
“Raand has built a complex world inhabited by werewolves, vampires, and other paranormal beings…Raand has given her readers a complex plot filled with wonderful characters as well as insight into the hierarchy of Sylvan’s pack and vampire clans. There are many plot twists and turns, as well as erotic sex scenes in this riveting novel that keep the pages flying until its satisfying conclusion.”—Just About Write
“Once again, I am amazed at the storytelling ability of L.L. Raand aka Radclyffe. In Blood Hunt, she mixes high levels of sheer eroticism that will leave you squirming in your seat with an impeccable multi-character storyline all streaming together to form one great read.”—Queer Magazine Online
“The Midnight Hunt has a gripping story to tell, and while there are also some truly erotic sex scenes, the story always takes precedence. This is a great read which is not easily put down nor easily forgotten.”—Just About Write
“Are you sick of the same old hetero vampire/werewolf story plastered in every bookstore and at every movie theater? Well, I’ve got the cure to your werewolf fever. The Midnight Hunt is first in, what I hope is, a long-running series of fantasy erotica for L.L. Raand (aka Radclyffe).”—Queer Magazine Online
“Any reader familiar with Radclyffe’s writing will recognize the author’s style within The Midnight Hunt, yet at the same time it is most definitely a new direction. The author delivers an excellent story here, one that is engrossing from the very beginning. Raand has pieced together an intricate world, and provided just enough details for the reader to become enmeshed in the new world. The action moves quickly throughout the book and it’s hard to put down.”—Three Dollar Bill Reviews
Tapped Out
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Tapped Out
© 2007 By Radclyffe. All Rights Reserved.
ISBN 13: 978-1-63555-502-8
This Electronic Book is published by
Bold Strokes Books, Inc.
P.O. Box 249
Valley Falls, NY 12185
First Bold Strokes Books eBook Edition: November 2018
Previously Published in Erotic Interludes 5: Road Games, (Bold Strokes Books, 2007).
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.
This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.
Credits
Editors: Radclyffe and Stacia Seaman
Production Design: Bold Strokes Graphics
Cover Design Melody Pond
Tapped Out
No matter how many times I experience it, an airport crammed with lesbians always makes me high. Today was no different, as I watched dozens of jostling, laughing dykes of all ages, sizes, and descriptions converge on the baggage carousels in the Albany airport. Waving to familiar faces and calling out greetings, I squeezed my way through the ocean of women lugging bulging equipment bags and six-foot-long sheaths crammed with bo sticks and jos and Kung Fu swords. The Third Annual Women’s Martial Arts Tournament was underway, and my favorite weekend of the entire year was about to begin.
“Sorry,” I murmured automatically as I jumped out of the way of yet another woman pushing a baggage cart piled so high it should carry a hazard sign and veered into someone next to me.
“That’s quite all right, darlin’,” a woman drawled in a voice sweet and thick as molasses.
I stiffened, because I’d heard that voice before, only then I’d been flat on my back with her hard thigh jammed between my legs, her small firm breasts crushed to mine, and her hot mouth skimming my ear.
I’ll never forget what she whispered to me then, flouting every rule of fair play I’d ever heard of and some I probably hadn’t.
“You’d better tap out, darlin’, before I break your wrist.”
She was right and I knew it, but I’d hesitated for just a second because I was stubborn and because a small part of me liked being pinned by the weight of her hot, hard body. She sensed my conflict and shifted her thigh, rolling it over my crotch so imperceptibly no one but I could have known. I moaned softly and she laughed against my neck. When I felt my clit swell, I was furious at her for making me feel something I wasn’t supposed to want and at myself for not being able to stop. With the arm that wasn’t vised between hers, I rapidly slapped the mat as hard as I could, tapping out and thereby signaling that she had bested me in the finals of the senior black belt jujitsu division.
We hadn’t said a word after the finals last year, not even at the closing ceremonies when we’d stood together to receive our trophies. I’d avoided her at the party later that night, even though I’d caught her watching me more than once. She didn’t look any different now than I remembered, still lean and taut, her skin the color of honey and her blond hair bleached to spun gold by the Georgia sun. Small crinkles radiated from the corners of her summer blue eyes as she smiled at me.
“Good to see you back, Cassidy,” she said as we both reached for our bags.
“Hi, Robideaux,” I managed, though my jaws were clenched so tightly my teeth felt cemented together. Lee Robideaux was a legend in martial arts circles, the highest ranking woman judoka in the United States. She’d earned her rank, no one questioned that, but she was flashy and arrogant and goddamn it, sexy as hell.
It had taken me months to forget the rush I’d gotten from being helpless underneath her, and it didn’t help that almost every time I’d masturbated, no matter who or what I started out thinking about, I always ended up coming with her hot breath in my ear and my clit exploding against her slick, tight thigh. Just thinking about it now sent a ripple through my cunt, and that pissed me off so much that I jerked my equipment bag off the conveyor belt with a snarl.
“Need a hand with that?” Robideaux whispered in the proximity of my ear.
Yes! my clit screamed. No! my brain shouted.
“I’m fine.” And I was, other than the fact that the muscles along the length of my jaw had gone into spasm and I had an ache between my legs so huge that I was going to need a private moment very soon or suffer for the rest of the day with terminal priapism. I hated that just looking at her could make me wet and, worse, that closing my eyes and imagining her grinding her hips between my legs could make me come. I swear she was laughing as I heaved my bag onto my shoulder and stomped away.
Luck was not with me. The rooms we’d been assigned at SUNY where the tournament was being held weren’t ready yet, so I couldn’t even soothe my agitated body with a brisk round of solitaire. Unfortunately, I’d never developed a knack for making myself come in a public bathroom, which was my only alternative. Besides the fact that it was frustrating to try and fail, it was embarrassing that just seeing Robideaux could get me so horny that I was almost willing to give it a shot.
Fortunately, I spied one of the tournament directors who I’d trained with years ago, before she’d moved to another state, and I flagged her down.
“Hey Mel, are the practice rooms ready yet? I’m competing in the first round tomorrow morning, and I wanted to work out a little bit. I’m really stiff from the plane ride.”
Melissa took a quick look around, then pulled a key off a ring that she wore on her belt. “We’re not supposed to let anyone in down there until after registration is finished, so lock up when you’re done and bring the key back to me.”
“Absolutely. Can I stow my suitcase somewhere?”
“Behind the desk with the security guard,” Melissa called over her shoulder as she hurried off to intercept a group of newcomers.
I remembered the layout from the last two years, so I skirted around the swarm of athletes waiting for the elevators and took the stairs down a level to the hallway that connected the dorms to the adjoining building where the practice rooms were located. The locker room was empty, and I quickly removed my sneakers and socks and stripped. I stowed my T-shirt, jeans and underwear in a locker and pulled out an old pair of white cotton gi pants that I kept in my equipment bag to practice in. I didn’t want to wrinkle my tournament gi before I competed. The pants were practically threadbare at the knees and the seams were spreading in the crotch, but they were comfortable. The white T-shirt that went with them was just as worn and practically see-through. Once dressed, I padded in rubber flip-flops toward the practice room.
As I inserted the key in the lock I heard footsteps behind me and looked over my shoulder. Robideaux approached wearing a pristine white gi, her black belt frayed on the edges from years of use.
“I thought I’d get in a little workout,” Robideaux said.
“The practice rooms aren’t open yet,” I said.
Robideaux looked pointedly at the key in my hand. “Seems you’ve solved that problem.”
“You’re not supposed to be down here,” I said inanely.
Robideaux leaned one arm against the door frame and bent close so that her eyes were inches from mine. “Are you going to report me, darlin’?”
Her breath slid along my throat, sweet and warm, just like her voice.
“I don’t kiss and tell,” I muttered.
She grinned. “I’ll remember that.”
I unlocked the door and held it wide. Robideaux edged past me, managing to brush her crotch against my thigh, and stopped at the edge of the tatami mats that took up most of the twenty by thirty foot space. We both kicked off our shoes, bowed, and stepped onto the mat. I walked away from Robideaux to the far side, knelt in seiza—legs folded beneath me, hands palm down on my thighs—and closed my eyes to center myself. After a few minutes of deep breathing, I stood and started my stretching exercises. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Robideaux sitting with her legs spread almost a hundred and eighty degrees and her torso bent forward to rest on the mat, her arms extended straight out in front of her. She was flexible as well as strong, but I knew that from having grappled with her. A disturbing image of her legs scissored around my waist flashed through my mind, and a warning tingle stirred in my crotch. Abruptly, I turned my back to do a series of standing shoulder rolls from one side of the mat to the othe
r. I lost count of how many I had done, until I came up out of a roll to a standing position and found Robideaux an inch from my face.
“Warm enough yet?” Robideaux asked.
“For what?” I asked, just a tiny bit breathless.
“To practice with me.”
I shook my head and indicated my attire. I wasn’t wearing my gi jacket or my black belt, and many of the holds and throws required using the uniform material for leverage. “I wouldn’t want to take advantage of you.”
“Not even if I wanted you to?”
I felt my face go hot and I searched hers, but saw nothing except cocky assurance in her eyes. Annoyed at my reaction, I said more sharply than I would have if she didn’t always manage to get me off balance, “That’s not my game.”
“Then what is, darlin’,” Robideaux said softly, settling her hand lightly on my hip.
“Nothing you’ll ever fi—”
She slid her arm around my waist, bent her knees to lower her center of gravity at the same time as she drove her hipbone into my crotch, and launched me onto my back with an effortless hip throw. I’d been thrown thousands of times, and she knew it. I merely relaxed into the fall, tucked my chin, and slapped the mat with my arms extended to absorb the force of the impact. There was no chance that I would be hurt, but I was surprised and irritated. Fortunately, I glimpsed a blur of white coming at me and rapidly rolled to one side just as Robideaux dropped on her stomach onto the spot where I had been lying, clearly intending to pin me. She hadn’t even fully landed before I catapulted onto her back, clamped my knees on her waist and dug my heels inside the curve of her hips in front, and wrapped one arm around her neck from behind. Then I let the momentum carrying me onto my back so that she was stretched out on top of me, her back to my front, her butt nestled in my crotch. All I had to do then was arch my back with my legs folded around her waist and tighten my arm around her neck, gripping my own wrist with my other arm behind her head, and choke her. Which I did.