Harper Bliss

Lesbian fiction

Anything She Wants #11: Safer Places by Ariel Graham

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Every time I see the desert landscapes on The Bridge (do watch it!), I think of Ariel Graham’s story Safer Places. Maybe because it’s so much more than just erotica and I simply can’t get it out of my head. Safer Places is by far the darkest and most serious tale in Anything She Wants, and, truth be told, because of that, it almost didn’t make it in. But I just couldn’t leave it out. The writing was too good, the topic too important and the sex scenes too intense to ignore. And, luckily, in the end I realised that my little anthology wouldn’t have been complete without this superb piece of story-telling.

Here’s a snippet:

“What am I going to do with you, Jill?” Without taking her eyes off me, she runs her tongue up the side of the bottle I’m so fixated on. “Come here.” And when I start to rise, “No. Crawl here.”

Sun-warm boards under my hands and knees. I skirt the pool, distracted for an instant by a wasp buzzing just above the still water. I wish she’d ordered me to strip. Being way out here in a tiny cabin with intermittent internet and no delivery, and no backup for my sheriff’s deputy, means a twenty minute drive to the nearest grocery store when some essential ingredient is missing and dinner prep is in progress. It also means being naked outside feels decadent, but isn’t likely to result in arrest. Over the years, Sadie has bent me over the porch rail and used her mouth, her hands, her imagination and once, memorably, a willow switch. She’s tied me to corner posts and ordered me to do chores wearing only Crocs, a hat, sun screen and a smile.

Now I daydream that my waving ass is naked as I crawl to her. By the time I reach her, Sadie herself is naked, sprawled in the lawn chair with her hips on the rolled metal edge, her legs spread wide and her invitation evident. She smells musky, thick and deep and wet, and like the shower gel she used at the gym, and like her own personal Sadie smell.

So many things I want to ask. With Sadie I always want to ask. What do you want tonight? What would make you happy? Happiest? May I? Can I? Let me! But I only wait until she growls and pulls my head up, not down, her mouth on mine, hot and tasting sweet from the lemonade. She bites my lip and only then does she let me go, pushing me down, pulling the back of my head in tight. I’m surrounded by her and this is when I feel safe. This is when I’m happy.

ARIEL GRAHAM lives, writes and runs in the Northern Nevada foothills and desert. She’s never met a zombie there, but she’s seen big cat tracks and gone the other way. Her work has appeared in Cleis Press anthologies such as Serving Him, Best Lesbian Romance, Please, Sir and Please, Ma’am, and on Oysters & Chocolate, Clean Sheets and Torquere.

Anything She Wants #10: Vee’s Notebook by Alyssa Linn Palmer

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At this point, it shouldn’t be a secret, but just in case it is: I’m a sucker for stories in which the characters display a bit of a difference in age. I was very happy to be able to include Alyssa‘s story Vee’s Notebook in Anything She Wants, because, not only does it tell the story of young Vee and her more mature lover Alex (gosh, that really must be the most popular character name in lesbian erotica), it also speaks of ‘punk rock bookends’ AND mentions Debbie Harry. Any one of those ingredients alone would have been enough to please me, but this story boasts all three and left me very satisfied indeed.

Here’s a snippet:

I love my combat boots with a passion, and I own more pairs of fishnet stockings than I can remember, but one day I want to be like her. All elegance and poise, icy cool like Catherine Deneuve in The Hunger. She wears her dark hair in a chignon, her face tastefully and dramatically made up, so sophisticated that I could stare at her all day.

I put my hair in a chignon once, but since I’d just dyed it purple and blue, it looked absurd. A fancy hairstyle on a punk like me. Ridiculous. I was making so much noise that Alex burst into the bathroom to see what I was up to. And she laughed too. We laughed so hard we ended up on the floor, the tile cold on my bare ass. I’m taller than she is and her towels never seem to cover all of me.

“Oh, Vee,” she said, wiping the tears of amusement from her eyes. “You’re beautiful.”

Her lips were on mine, soft yet demanding, and I let the towel drop, an invitation she couldn’t resist. I don’t know what she sees in me, my lanky body, the smallest breasts known to mankind, my knobby knees and skin so pale it has a blue tinge. I’m twenty-one and I look like an adolescent boy with A-cups.

Alex tugged at my chignon, which had already started to come loose. I didn’t put it up right, trying to remember the steps on the video I found online. The hairpins clattered to the tile. She ran her fingers through my hair, spreading it over my shoulders in a purple and blue wave.

“I love your hair,” she said, twining a lock through her fingers.

“You should try it,” I said. “Except you should go dark blue, almost navy. Or maybe pink.”

“On a woman my age?” She raised a carefully plucked brow. She was still in her velvet dressing gown, but she had the poise of one of those old movie stars, like Elizabeth Taylor, or Marlene Dietrich. Even sprawled on the bathroom floor with me, she looked regal.

ALYSSA LINN PALMER is a Canadian writer and freelance editor. Her novella Prohibited Passion and short story Betting The Farm are available as ebooks. Her short story Vee is a part of the charity anthology Felt Tips. She’s online at alyssalinnpalmer.com, or on Twitter @alyslinn.

Anything She Wants #9: Debbie Does Dalhousie by Giselle Renarde

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What’s a lesbian erotica anthology without an orgy? Furthermore, what’s a lesbian erotica anthology without a Giselle Renarde story? The answer to both should be fairly obvious. 😉 I’ve been a Giselle fan for a long time (when i first started writing I read her stories to see how it was done!) and I love her clear style and total lack of inhibitions when it comes to subject matter. I also jumped up and down a lot when I found her submission for Anything She Wants in my mailbox. And really, who else is going to come up with a story titled Debbie Does Dalhousie? I ♥ Giselle!

Debbie had barely picked at the sushi, though the other girls were talking so much they didn’t seem to notice. “Well, what are we having for snacks at this party?”

The girls looked at each other like they were trying not to laugh.

“Oh, it’s not that kind of party,” Mimi said with a gentle smile.

“It’s not the kind of party that has snacks?” Debbie asked. She was starting to wonder what she’d gotten herself into, if maybe “party” was code for something she couldn’t even fathom. “Then what kind of party is it?”

“This kind,” Alisha said, pointing to the pile of cute, cuddly bunnies on the invitation.

Debbie was starting to feel really dumb now. “I don’t get it. What’s a bunch of rabbits supposed to mean?”

Wednesday leaned across the table. “We all get together and… take off our clothes and…”

“It’s better when there are more people,” Mimi said.

“What? Like an orgy?” Debbie asked, far more loudly than she’d intended. The guys at the next table looked over, and she could only be relieved that Ryan wasn’t among them.

“I guess so,” Alisha answered. “So, are you still in?”

A thick pulse pounded between Debbie’s thighs. Alisha, Mimi, and Wednesday were all very pretty girls, and she’d come here thinking how many experiences she’d missed out on because she hadn’t gone to university. If she said no to this chance, she would always regret it. She knew that.

GISELLE RENARDE is a queer Canadian, avid volunteer, contributor to more than 100 short story anthologies, and award-winning author of books like Anonymous, The Red Satin Collection, and My Mistress’ Thighs. Ms Renarde lives across from a park with two bilingual cats who sleep on her head.

Anything She Wants #8: Behind Closed Doors by Kelly Lawrence

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Every anthology needs a tale set in a different time and Kelly Lawrence’s Behind Closed Doors was perfect for Anything She Wants. We have a sought-after courtesan, a pining servant and… a wooden dildo (She had heard of them. They had come from Italy, so people said, but she had never seen, much less used one.) I dare you not to be intrigued… 😉

Here’s a snippet:

Pip paused as she approached Bianca’s door, hearing the unmistakable whimpers and sighs that signified she had company. Her mistress’ moans were high and girlish and, Pip would wager on it, faked. Even so, she couldn’t help feeling aroused as she imagined Bianca inside, her chestnut curls—brushed and preened by Pip herself—falling over her large creamy breasts and soft peach nipples. When it came to pouring her mistress’ bath and attending to her, Pip found it almost impossible not to stare at Bianca’s breasts, not to imagine fondling and sucking at them until she moaned with a pleasure that was definitely real.

A few times she was sure Bianca had caught her looking; once they had shared a secret smile that gave Pip hope that her mistress might share her fancies, but she had made no move on her maid and it was not Pip’s place to dare. She had to be content with looking, and thinking about her in the quiet of night, her own hand between her legs, fantasising it was Bianca’s hand or better yet, her mouth.

KELLY LAWRENCE is a former English teacher turned author, with her first full length novel, Wicked Games published by Random House in July 2013.  She is a practicing Buddhist and her regular monthly column ‘From Motherhood to Buddhahood’ can be found at meditatelikeagirl.com.

Anything She Wants #7: The Dress by Vanessa de Sade

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I still believe it was this end of a sentence from Vanessa de Sade‘s The Dress that did the trick for me: ‘…her deep, deep cleavage an ivory chasm that I wanted to tumble into headfirst.’ When I first read it, I could already feel myself disappear into that cleavage. 😉 Vanessa’s prose is rich and dense, some of her heroines rather dramatic (and I do love a bit of drama), and her stories never hold back when it comes to the good stuff (aka the naughty bits). All boxes ticked again=a spot in Anything She Wants.

Here’s a snippet:

Outside, a chill wind was blowing and the rustling trees were tinged with their first scarlet blush, but, leading me past her alabaster mannequins and towering bolts of frosty-white fabrics, Cassandra took me into the warmth of the secret room behind the public façade of her icy realm. Here, the walls were papered in an intimate chrome yellow paper with a leafy Morris design, and a fire burned in the tiny grate, filling the room with the autumnal scents of wood smoke and pine resin, while rich Aubusson rugs draped the old walnut floorboards like a caress.

Cassandra smiled at me and sat me in a saggy arts and crafts chair, its soft cushions cradling my body in a tender lover’s embrace, and I flicked through pattern books while she sat on the floor, curled on the faded old rug like a tabby cat purring at my feet. She was a short, blonde woman, buxom and curvy, like an old fifties pin-up girl spilling out of her low-cut black dress, her huge breasts rising and falling with her breathing, her deep, deep cleavage an ivory chasm that I wanted to tumble into headfirst.

Finally, I found a pattern that I loved and she led me to a corner of the room where an old screen decorated with picture-postcards of Gaiety Girls stood waiting.

“Come along then, my duck,” she laughed, sliding her tape measure from where it had nestled around her neck like a whip. “Just strip off for me and we’ll get your measurements down in a jiff.”

“Strip off?” I stammered, and she smiled.

“Just to your underwear, my goose, I don’t need you starkers or anything,” she laughed, stroking my hair. “Now get along with you and hop behind the screen for me so we can get started.”

VANESSA DE SADE is a forty-something full-figure gal who likes to write hot stories about real women exploring the darker regions of their own sexuality. She is the author of Melancholia Falls and other popular novellas and stories; plus the collections Rubyfruit Jungle and Nude Shots. A collection of her erotic fairy tales will be published later this year and she is currently trying her hand at a YA novel.

Anything She Wants #6: Steps by L.C. Spoering

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Most erotic stories are, of course, pure fantasies (mine are). And who hasn’t stood scanning the dance floor in a club, eyes lighting on a hot girl, heart beating faster while waiting for the first eye contact—is she or isn’t she? Most of the time our mind takes us much further than reality, but not so for L.C. Spoering‘s narrator in Steps. This shy butch gets hit on and, step by step, she and her seductress go all the way. I chose this story for Anything She Wants because of the poetic quality in the writing, the journey of the main character—from being picked up to taking the lead—and because of how totally different it was from all the other submissions I received, which, for me, made it a perfect fit.

Here’s a snippet:

I do not wear dresses. This is not who I am, nor who I have wanted to be, once I grew out of that spell-bound adoration of my mother. I am wearing black jeans, black button-down shirt, and a vest of charcoal with the slightest sheen. My thick-soled boots make me a whole inch taller and I stand a full head over most of the women in the club, dark hair spiked and eyes hooded. I bit my nails all day in anticipation. That anticipation was both correct and incorrect, and I’ve started muttering my friends’ names under my breath, devising ever more creative methods of torturing each of them for dragging me here.

It’s one of those situations where people are more well-meaning than polite, or even thoughtful, and I am a pushover. I’m not a club person, and my friends find this to be some kind of deficit in my personality, something to be corrected, to be modified—this notion that if I just loosened up and had some fun, maybe I’d become more sociable, more outgoing, maybe even get laid.

I drain my drink and look over the heads of the dancers out on the floor before dropping my gaze down to the crowds. It’s not a lesbian club, but the floor seems to be filled exclusively by women, and, out of idle curiosity, I do a scan of the surrounding faces, picking out, as far as I can tell, three men.

“Looking for someone?”

My gaze snaps down like a rubber band and comes to light on the speaker: a full head shorter than I am, wearing something I’d never venture to even try on: a short, black dress, tight like a coat of paint applied to her skin. I’m surprised at her appearance, both in presence and the sheer look of her, like a coiled snake at my feet. My heart is suddenly in my throat.

“Not really,” I manage, over the booming noise of the bass that shakes the surface under my feet, and my blood with it. I reach up, almost without conscious thought, to touch my hair, to find out if it’s blowing in this artificial movement, too.

“You here alone?” Despite the overwhelming sound of the place, and the close quarters beside us, I can feel her shift, lean against the railing next to me; her arm is warm, even through my shirt, and I feel the hairs on my arm and along the back of my neck rise.

L.C. SPOERING (lcspoering.wordpress.com) is a Denver native and a graduate of the University of Colorado, with a BA in Writing. Sharing her home with a husband, two kids, and a plethora of pets, she writes novels and short stories about the human experience, relationships, and the lives lived in between.

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