The Magical Femme

This sexy story by Fiona Zedde is published with permission.

Hotter15 minsAdult FFContemporary
Erotic sexy story excerpt by Fiona Zedde

Scottie told me to be ready by eight o’ clock, and everything I know of her so far tells me she won’t be late. I time my evening down to the half hour, taking a shower an hour before she’s supposed to arrive, putting aside thirty minutes to get dressed and another thirty to put on my makeup.

What does she expect me to wear, though?

In the past, when I went out with studs, that question was easy to answer: light make-up and perfume, high heels and easy to remove dresses in case the date ended with sex.

But Scottie confuses me. At least I think the twisting in my stomach is confusion. She’ll undoubtedly wear heels and another tight outfit showing off her pretty shape. Does that mean I should wear pants and a strap-on?

So I settle for slim-fitting sailor slacks in black, a sheer white blouse over a red bra, and high heels. I remember Scottie’s stilettos from the night we met. She’s tall in them, a lot taller than me which is easy enough to be since I’m only five feet four.

I’m in the bedroom, fastening the buttons of my slacks when the doorbell rings, startling my fingers that are already damp with nerves.

Calm down, damn!

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But easier said than done.

Is it her, though? My phone tells me it’s just past seven, and it’s one thing to be a little early for a date, fifteen minutes seems okay but a full hour? Maybe it was my neighbor, a cute gay boy who was forever locking himself out of his condo and finally just ended up leaving one of his spare keys with me. I check the clock again.

Yeah, it’s about time for him to come home from the gym and get ready for his usual Saturday evening pre-date drinks with his friends. That makes sense.

I open the door with a smile, Derrick’s key in my hand. “Right on time—” But it’s not him.

Fuck.

Scottie stands in the doorway with a smile of her own. “Is this how you answer the door?” Her gaze sweeps my body from head to toe, taking in my full-coverage vintage bra, the few inches of my stomach on display before moving down to the high-waisted black slacks and my bare feet with the toes painted red.

The look she gives me makes me feel naked and soft around the edges. Vulnerable and just a little horny.

How the hell did she do that?

I feel the blush rising, a wave of heat rushing up my neck, cheeks, my whole face.

The thick waves of her straightened hair are in an elegant French twist with wispy curls that frame her gorgeous face. Her simple outfit of a wrap-around silk dress and peep-toe high heels, both in black, leaves me tongue-tied. Did she wear such an easy to remove outfit on purpose? Is she planning on being the femme tonight?

“You’re early.” I clutch the edge of the door so tight my fingers hurt. “I thought you were someone else.”

“Now, I’m really intrigued.” Scottie doesn’t wait for me to invite her in.

She moves closer until I retreat into my condo under the not-so-subtle shepherding of her tall body and massive personality.

She closes the door behind her, locks it, takes a quick look around before bringing her gaze right back to me. “Nice.”

And I know she’s not talking about my little condo. The urge to stammer out something stupid is strong but I strangle it back and sweep out my arm. “Come in. I only need a few more minutes to put on my makeup and finish getting ready.” Just her presence in my place is causing chaos all through my body. Had I really been stupid enough to think she had no effect on me, that we had no chemistry? With just one look from her, I’m ready to combust. “Would you like a drink while you wait? I have…” What the hell is in my kitchen? “…uh mineral water and orange juice. Coffee.” My Brita water filter is thankfully full and cold in the fridge. I want to satisfy her, this simple need, even if this dinner we have tonight goes nowhere beyond the restaurant.

“I don’t want anything to drink, just go get ready.” She steps even closer, showing her white teeth in a smile that’s probably dropped dozens of panties over the years. Hundreds maybe.

Since mine threaten to be next to hit the floor, I immediately turn to do what she says. “Okay, just give me a few minutes.”

My heart is beating wild and fast, so fast it scares me but I swallow and rush into the bedroom, the blush still high in my face. I’m not dark-skinned enough for it to blend in and I wonder if she thinks I’m some clueless virgin to blush at the drop of a hat. Or the ring of a doorbell.

In the bedroom, I quickly run my fingers through my hair, grateful that the curly dreadlocks already fall in a decently attractive way around my face and shoulders.

“Don’t rush, honey.”

I gasp like the first chick to die in a horror movie at the sound of Scottie’s voice right behind me. She’d followed me in on high heels silenced by the soft-enough-to-sleep-on heather gray carpet in my bedroom. Another cool glance around her, around me, and she smiles again.

“Yes, very nice.” She moves closer until her front is only inches from my back.

I stare at the reflection of us in the full length mirror, at the way she towers over me, devours me with her eyes. Goose bumps rush over my skin.

“God, you’re even prettier than I remember.” Her gravely voice thrums over my senses. Standing behind me, she clasps her cool hands around my upper arms and I shiver. “How is that even possible?” And she leans closer, sniffs my hair, nudges aside the thick fall of dreadlocks with her chin and buries her nose in that tender spot between my ear and shoulder. “Delicious.”

Jesus…

Suddenly I’m so wet I could probably slide all the way to the damn restaurant.

Again, why did I think I wouldn’t be attracted to her once I saw her again? Sometimes I’m such an idiot.

I feel her smile against my skin and I’m absolutely frozen still, held captive between the light manacles of her hands on my shoulders and the press of her lips against my skin. My belly rocks with lust and I shift my thighs to ease the ache, then choke out a gasp when she playfully bites my neck.

Okay, so maybe Scottie being as big of a femme as me doesn’t matter as much.

“You’re so responsive.” She presses her teeth into my skin, once, twice, and I can’t help my whorish sigh, the fall of my head to the side to give her unrestricted access to my throat, my collarbone, anyplace she wants. Her tongue traces the line of my neck and I shiver.

I’m wet. And hot, and confused as hell. The crotch of my panties feels almost uncomfortably tight.

What is it about this woman? Why her?

“Come back to me, love. Don’t escape into your mind. I want you here with me.” Her hands slide slowly down my arms, stirring more goose bumps. “You didn’t put on any makeup yet.” I open my mouth to defend my choice, to tell her it’s in the bathroom and ready for me to apply but her finger on my cheek, floating down to my naked lips, stops me. “That’s convenient, isn’t it?”

“I don’t…”

I don’t what? My mind spins in useless circles. Am I going to tell her I don’t fuck before the first date? That she has the wrong girl? That I wasn’t going to put on any makeup anyway? Whatever was poised to leave my mouth has already left my brain. Her fingers nudge my lips apart.

“Your mouth is so pretty.” She strokes my mouth and I can only stand in her grip like I’m hypnotized, watching in the mirror as she parts my lips with her long and blue-tipped fingers. I smell the new lacquer of a fresh manicure on her nails, taste the faint bitterness.

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My heart is beating fast. My panties are soaking. My lips tingle under the slow and firm caress of her fingers, a caress I feel an echo of between my legs. As much as I love kissing, my lips are not this sensitive. Not usually. I know I’m breathing fast but I can’t stop myself, can’t stop the flick of my tongue that wets her fingers. I feel her quick intake of breath against my back, her chest quickly rising and falling.

“I’m so glad you came to that club last week.”

She slips her fingers more deeply into my mouth. “Suck, baby…” And I suck.

Her fingers are slightly salty, bitter and smooth from the fresh nail polish. She strokes my lips and it feels even more like a touch on my lower lips, steady and hypnotic. Heady. I moan around the slide of her fingers. What’s she doing? If her plan is to get them wet so she can finger me, she doesn’t have to bother. I’m so wet she could shove her entire fist in me and it would slide in as smooth as a cherry through whipped cream. And I would love it.

God, I would fucking love it.

If how I’m responding to just her fingers in my mouth is any clue about other things…

Now, I’m moaning like I’m getting paid for it, squeezing my thighs together and silently begging her to touch me down low. She grips my hip and pulls me back against her then her fingers move down to smooth along the cotton of my slacks, tracing me from the top edge of the pants, down my hip bone, along my thigh, and down to my knee. She’s not even touching skin and I’m ready to explode.

“Suck my fingers a little more, baby. Get them nice and wet.”

I suck until I’m drooling around her fingers, spit dripping between them, and when they’re wet enough to her satisfaction, she pulls them free of my mouth with an obscene pop, tugs my bra down and swipes her wet fingers over my already hard nipple.

One graze. My knees buckle and she grips me effortlessly, bites my ear. Her teeth flash against her red, red lipstick and she smiles.

“Next time…” Her breath traces my ear. “Next time when I come over before you put on your makeup, I’ll have you on your knees.” Her wet fingers tug at my nipple, circle it, press into it. “Would you like that?”

God. Fucking. Damn.

The pleasure zips through me, intense and overwhelming. “Yes. I’d love—” A pinch on my nipple cuts off my words in a sharp cry. Her name rushes from my mouth and in this moment I’m willing to give her anything as long as she delivers on the promise of her hands on my breast. I moan her name again and she smiles at me in the mirror, licks around the shell of my ear.

“Oh, sweetheart…” She bites my ear again. “If you get any more perfect, I’m going to have to take you home to my mama.”

Her hand touches my bare belly and my skin clenches in shocked arousal. When did she unzip…? My thoughts fall away again with the determined slide of her hands into my pants, over the black lace underwear.

The cloth blunts her touch and I sob in frustration, even as a part of me is shocked at how needy and desperate I sound. For another femme.

Sweet Jesus…

Her fingers finally slide over my aching clit that already feels exposed and needy through the black lace.

“I love how wet you are.” Her fingers stroke me through the lace, tracing the bulge of my swollen clit. “Is all this for me?”

Yes. The word hovers somewhere just out of reach and I can only nod, body limp yet electrified, all of me desperately wanting her touch. Her fingers are magic. Hot and firm, they press my clit through the underwear and I’m so wet it’s embarrassing.  Even through the cloth, I can hear the liquid slide of my lips, so swollen, so tender, begging for more of her touch.

I’m moaning louder now. And I should feel ashamed, but in the mirror she looks pleased, her lips parted in pleasure, her eyelashes dropping low over passion-dark eyes.

Then her fingers are under the lace. A light touch over my clit that feels as powerful as the long and firm stroke of a tongue. I buck and cry out.

She hums in satisfaction. “Fuck, you’re perfect.”

Her fingers light me up with sensation, all pleasure, a thumb stroking my clit, fingers firm inside me. Her spit-wet but drying fingers still tugging on my nipple to the rhythm of her thumb on my clit. My legs are shaking. My world is tilting off its axis.

God, already I’m so damn close.

My ass cheeks clench tight. I’m on my tip toes, pushing back into her, moaning loud enough to call the cops, my entire body singing with lust, a tight and aching bow of almost-there bliss. Her nails rake over my nipples, one after the other, then squeeze. The pain is sharp and so damn good. I cry out again, but maybe I never stopped.

In the mirror, we look like a pornographer’s photograph. Scottie behind me with her red lips at my ear, one hand shoved in my red bra, the other buried in the black lace of my panties, fingers stroking. My face is slack with mindless lust, mouth damp and open, my belly heaving from the come that’s racing toward me like a bullet to deliver my little death.

“Come for me, baby.” She whispers the words soft and low at my ear. “Just like that. I want to bury my face in your pussy and smear my lipstick all over your cunt and feel your thighs tremble around my ears. I want all that.”

Her fingers pluck my clit like a mandolin.
“But I’ll settle for this, for now.”

She bites my ear and the red imprint of her lipstick there weakens my knees even more. “But next time, I’ll come and it doesn’t matter what I’m wearing or how much makeup I have on, I’ll push you on your back and fuck this hot cunt of yours with my tongue…”

Her name howls past my lips as I come. My core gushing wetness, tightening and tingling, my senses all blanking out in one moment. Only to come back online in one overwhelming rush.

My breath heaving.

Heart drumming in my ears.

Skin damp with sweat.

Lips dry under the helpless swipe of my tongue.

“…until you scream my name just like that.”

In the mirror, a half-moon of sweat gleams above Scottie’s top lip, the edges of her elegant up-do are damp, and she looks as undone as I feel.

I’m a mess. My thighs tremble like I just finished running a marathon and I’m breathless, able to do nothing but lean back against her and gasp, grateful for her support. Slowly, I stand on my own shaking legs and reach for her, ready to show her as much pleasure as she showed me. But she takes my hands in hers.

“Later, baby.” Her lips quirk up in that smile I’m becoming familiar with. “I don’t want to smudge my lipstick.”

I lick my lips. “I’m not offering anything that would involve those lips.” And I go limp, preparing to slide to my knees in front of her, the image her hot words conjured burning inside me. I want to make her come, the desperation for it surprising me with its intensity.

“Baby, as much as I’d love to take advantage of your generous nature, we have reservations.” She looks at her watch, mouth tilting up even more, and I realize she is exactly on time for what she had planned. A peek at her watch shows me it’s a few minutes to eight. Just enough time for me to clean myself up, throw on my blouse, and do my makeup.

“You don’t want me?”

The needy tone of my voice makes me cringe and I look away before I can seem too desperate. I just met the woman for fuck’s sake. And she’s not even my type.

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But Scottie takes my chin in hand.
“I want you, very, very badly.”

She takes my hand and puts it under her dress and I hiss in surprised pleasure at her lack of underwear, then another emotion entirely floods through me when I feel the drenched hairs and swollen lower lips. “I’d love nothing better than to push you back on this bed and ride your face until I come. But…” And she gently pulls my fingers away from her flesh, fingers that had automatically begun a slow stroke. “I want this to be something more than a pre-date finger bang and face fuck. I want to fuck you slow and in a bed. I want this—” She gestures between us. “—to last. If you’re open to it, that is.”

God…am I ever open. And all from one orgasm and a few nights of good conversation.

This is one magical femme.

But even my cynicism can’t hide how much I want this to go well—the date, the promised slow sex, everything Scottie has to offer.

“Okay,” I say. Then, making sure she watches me, I lick the salty slick of her pussy from my fingers. She takes a single step toward me, then abruptly stops herself, a growl vibrating her throat. “Rain check then?” I ask, smiling.

“Rain check.” Her voice is rough. She clears her throat. “Get ready, Nailah.” And she looks at her watch again. “Dinner is set for eight thirty and I’m starving.”

The mischievous smile she tips my way lights a fire low in my belly, and I want nothing more than to reach for her again and convince her to stay in and have a date night here. But now, I want what she wants. Something that burns hot and long and deep.

“In that case, we better get going,” I tell her. “I wouldn’t want you to go hungry tonight.”

Scottie hums, a low and sexy sound that vibrates between my legs. “I’m sure all my hungers will get satisfied,” she says. “If not tonight, then very soon.”

*

Begging for more? You can find more of Fiona’s work here.

Fiona Zedde was born under the Jamaican sun but now makes her home in Spain. Since getting the writing bug, she’s published about thirty books and short stories, mostly of black lesbian romance, including the Lambda Literary Award finalists, Bliss and Every Dark Desire. Her novel, Dangerous Pleasures, received a Publishers Weekly starred review and was winner of an About.com Readers’ Choice Award for Best Lesbian Novel or Memoir.

At this very second, she’s probably writing another book, and it has 100% chance of having queer romance and queer women in it. Her pseudo-healthy obsessions are French pastries, English cars, and Jamaican food.

Her latest novel, A Lover’s Mercy, is available now. You can follow her on Twitter Facebook and Instagram or give her five stars on Goodreads.

 

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