At that, she flinched away, then arched back, seeking more. She sucked her breath in on a hiss and let it out with a moan, but she didn’t speak.
And even though her pussy was as wet as any I’d seen, and twitched visibly with each smack of the belt, she didn’t come.
Not until I grabbed one end of the belt in each hand and laid it across her throat, applying no pressure, but letting her know I could. “Come,” I ordered. “Come now.”
And she did, with a cry that shook a smaller orgasm loose in me.
Suddenly unsteady in my heels, I dropped the belt and plopped down onto the couch, encouraging JT to follow. I ended up with her lying across my lap, her face zoned out and tear streaked and blissful.
It took a while before either of us said anything. Finally she spoke in a small, soft, floaty voice, “What may I do for you, Tina?”
“The mind boggles. I can think of all sorts of delicious things. But right now, just lie here with me and catch your breath.”
Then I grabbed her nipple and gave it a twisting pinch. “Oh yeah… and you could come again. Now.”
And she did, arching her back and scrambling against the couch as pleasure claimed her. “Wha… the… hell,” she gasped out. “I’ve never come from something like that.”
“Never had someone tell you to, either, I bet.”
When she shook her head, I laughed and said, “Oh, JT, we are going to have so much fun.”
And then I kissed her, letting her taste the remnants of my lipstick, letting her feel me claiming her the way a butch like her needed to be claimed.
NOCTURNE
Cheryl Jimmerson
I sit beside Lorraine on the soft beige couch in her living room. She rubs the inside of my thigh and kisses my neck. She is a tall, dark woman with a crop of kinky hair, prominent cheekbones and a perfect mouth. I was never going to see her again. I was never supposed to come back here. I should run out the door and back down the stairs to my car. But I like where her hand is now. I like the feel of her mouth on me.
I met her a month ago in a dyke nightclub called The Grove. The first time I heard of it, I was in a car with a group of straight women from the office. We were on our way to a new restaurant for lunch and drove past it.
“We should go there for drinks one night,” someone said.
The others laughed.
“They’ll try to give us more than a drink in there!”
“I heard the police have to come and break up fights.”
“Really?” another said.
“They get into it over their girlfriends and pull knives on each other.”
“Dykes don’t play, you hear me?”
I looked at the eyesore of a building, wondering what it was like at night. The image of it stayed with me well into the evening, as I lay alone in bed. The next night I decided to drive out to see it again. I didn’t dare pull into the crowded lot, but drove by slowly, hoping to catch a glimpse of the women who went there. For several nights I did this without luck.
It’s a squat, dilapidated building, with peeling white paint exposing the flat gray underneath. What stands out are the red double doors that give it the look of an old church. I’d drive by, preferring the safety of my car. Not wanting to cross over into another world, for fear of being unable to return. Each night I’d drive away feeling as if I’d escaped danger.
On the night I finally did turn into the lot and enter the club, I was not myself. I felt like a somnambulist moving through a dream as I got dressed and left my apartment. A shiny sliver of moon was in the sky that night. It followed me down several streets, vanishing once I reached the expressway.
When I reached the club I parked at the very edge of the lot. I stepped out of my car and looked over the rotting wooden fence to the plot of land next door. It was overrun by wild grass and kudzu. Jutting out of its center, with half its trunk covered in the leafy vegetation, was a gnarled tree, with twisted limbs pointing in every direction. I stood there gazing at it before I made my way to the club and pushed through the red doors into a room that was wall-to-wall with women.
I got a drink and sat at a table in a corner, near the edge of the dance area, which was set down into the floor like a pit surrounded by metal railing. The music was fast and beat driven. But the dancers moved far behind the beat, as if they were listening to an entirely different song. I looked down from my chair, watching them kiss and grind into their partners. I had never seen women touch each other openly before.
Women of all different shades stood around the dance floor, watching with attentive, respectful looks, like they were observing a ceremony. Standing apart from them was Lorraine. Instead of watching the dancers, she watched me. I wanted to run. I got up to go to the restroom and was pointed to a dimly lit corridor at the other end of the room. Couples were making out along its walls. I moved slowly, keeping my eyes on one pair in particular as they kissed and rubbed against each other. I wanted to stop and keep watching them but made my way to the restroom where inside, it was more of the same. Women clung to one another while they waited for an available stall, going in two at a time when one was open.
I entered one with a clogged toilet. Its stench filled my nostrils, making me nauseous. I hurried and used it. Then I rushed to the sink, where I washed and rewashed my hands. When I raised my eyes to the mirror, I saw the strikingly dark face from outside staring back at me. For a moment I couldn’t breathe as she moved closer.
“I don’t mean to bother you. I noticed you sitting by yourself out there and thought you might like some company. I’m Lorraine.”
I dried my hands, turned around and extended one to her. She took it in both of hers, enclosing it with long, ebony fingers. I told her my name. It rolled melodically off her tongue.
“Let me buy you a drink, Dory.”
“I’m fine,” I said.
“Well, dance with me then?”
“I don’t dance much.”
“Just one dance or half of one if you like?”
I looked around at the couples waiting against the walls, then back at her.
“Is this your first time here?” she asked.
I nodded. We watched a woman pull her companion into the filthy stall I’d just left, slamming the door behind them. “Fun time,” Lorraine said, winking.
“Disgusting,” I said, walking out and back down the corridor, keeping my eyes straight ahead. When I re-entered the main room, I felt her hand on my arm.
“One dance,” she said, and led me down into the pit of the dance floor.
I stood in front of her, unable to will my body into motion. She raised her arms, swaying her hips as she moved closer to me. I began to rock side to side on the balls of my feet, feeling stiff. She slipped her arm around my waist and pulled me to her, getting my body to fall into rhythm with hers. I stopped trying to follow the music and followed her instead. My body opened as she moved against me. I placed my arms around her waist, wanting to be as close to her as possible. She ran a hot hand along the center of my back. I looked up into her face and noticed the small scar on her left cheek. When I reached to touch it, she pulled her head back, and her face closed like a trap. She quickly opened it again and flashed a smile. As if to offer forgiveness, she brushed her lips playfully against my cheek and kissed me softly on the mouth. I was floating in her arms, until I looked up and noticed the eyes of the women around the dance floor staring down at me.
“I’ve got to go,” I shouted above the music.
“Where?” she asked, looking surprised.
I pulled away from her without answering. I stepped out of the pit, and moved as swiftly as I could through the women, toward the exit, feeling Lorraine at my heels. I pushed through the doors, into the cool night air, and turned around to face her.