This is a collection of 6 erotic stories focusing on lesbian themes. Stories include: Counter Offer by Z. Ferguson: It's getting so a girl can't even pass the perfume counter without getting spritzed by lust - and once Etta's sprayed you once, you're hooked... Sticky Fingers by Elizabeth Coldwell: Sylvie Noble's cake shop, Sticky Fingers, is loved by all the residents of Wendleby except for Lavinia Crosse, who runs the village committee and is appalled by Sylvie's range of suggestively named cupcakes. Sylvie knows what Lavinia really needs is a lesson in the pleasures of cake - and the opportunity to give in to all the passion she keeps hidden behind her tightly buttoned exterior... Hide by Jordan Alleyo: The hide was a prime spot to photograph deer and she was looking forward to seeing the beautiful creatures drinking from the lake. Then a different kind of beauty arrived to commune with nature in more ways than one. She watched rapt as the young woman stripped and pleasured herself on the shore, joining in from her secret hiding place. Sated, she rests, then hears movement outside... something is moving in the water, coming towards the hide ... Stealing Daddy's Girl by Olivia London: A young woman agrees to meet her father's mistress in a bar. She fully intends to give her some finger-wagging and tongue-lashing and she does... but not of the sort she initially intended!... Three Way by I.G. Frederick: Melanie fell in love with Theresa, then discovered a horrid sadist controlled the woman she adored. Revolted by his perverted games, she set aside her own dislike of men to find a better Master for her lover. Melanie even came to terms with the possibility that she might lose Theresa entirely in order to give her what she needed... Venetian Nights by Kitti Bernetti: Practical and coldly studious, Elizabeth White arrives in Venice, to investigate mysterious sightings at the Villa di Fiore. With its opulently scented garden and sumptuous furnishings she feels strangely drawn to the place and its order of stunningly beautiful nuns robed in white. Beguiled and intrigued by the sisters' sensual nocturnal worship she realises this is no ordinary convent. What she has yet to discover is that she is to take part in a night of initiation for the gorgeous young Sister Immaculata, and in doing so experience an extraordinary and delectable initiation of her own.
When a girl is in need of a few touch-up implements, and maybe a spritz of Parfum de Day, it’s not fair to have to step over one’s own panting tongue before reaching the counter. Nor while waiting to be served, have the heartbeat of a hummingbird at a garden show. But that’s what happened to me. Since my first encounter with her, I’ve worn out a good pair of shoes trekking my undies to the laundromat, because of what that woman’s done to me. And don’t get me started on how many scents I’ve worn, most of which weren’t my style. But I’d wear Eau De Grizzly, just to be near her.
My adventure started, bored in a mall, carrying in my mind nothing more than the latest come-hither ad for Divine, a perfume (pardon me, Parfum) that guarantees a lifestyle so steamy, I no longer need to ask for sex. It just drifts onto me from the sky. I entered the store, walked through the scarves, past the shoes (yeah, I was that dedicated that day), and there she was, standing and spritzing some matron. Her voice was mild and silky with a spark of authority that kept her spritzee in check. Her posture was stately – no one does stately any more – standing tall at least six foot one, much taller than me, at a neck-craning five six and three quarters, holding her perfume tray a discrete distance from her chest. Her breasts were marvellously presented, in spite of that horrid department store uniform. She wore that dress like she disobeyed her mother and picked it out. And as modest as her skirt length was, her calves seethed with sensuous grace, all the way into her shoes which to my delight, were peep-toed. Her toes were painted a colour that I likened to Bing Cherries. I felt ashamed staring at her feet, like a grocery shopper looking to sneak a sample.
Her skin was pale and smooth, her jet black hair cut in a cute, but oddly intimidating style; kind of an updated Joan Jett with swing. I stared as she nodded her head. Her silver drop earrings winked at me. They hung from each dainty ear, and I gasped to myself thinking about what they could represent ... oh Jesus.
She glided about the floor and cocked her head from one side to the other, when explaining the fragrance to her shorter prey. I moved closer, which didn’t do my heart much good. Her eyes were a bright, liquid blue, her eyebrows, precise and demonstrative, and they raised when she seemed interested in something her customer said. I gasped quietly at each flicker, wondering what that would be like in private, for example, if I raised my blouse to show her a tattoo.
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