Sunday Snog 237: The Architecture of Desire (#lgbtq #erotica #ff)

My snog today comes from my short story “The Architecture of Desire”, part of my FF collection Her Own Devices. If you enjoy lesbian erotica and romance featuring a wide range of characters, I recommend the book. And now the price has been reduced to only $2.99! Get your copy at Amazon, or a wide range of other quality retailers.

When you’re done with my Sunday kiss, head back to Victoria’s Sunday Snog page, for lots more oral action!

She began by kissing me. There was nothing tender or romantic about that kiss. Her tongue poked rudely into my mouth. Her lips were hard and insolent on mine. That kiss stole my breath, liquefied my sex, and turned my knees to rubber. I would have stumbled and fallen against the steel shelving, but she held me upright with one muscular arm around my waist. With the other hand, she assailed the buttons of my crepe blouse, tearing them open without regard for the delicate fabric.

She had none of Marietta's refinement, none of that measured sensuality I had been missing so much. I was grateful for that. I wanted her brash youth, wanted her fire to burn away my memories and my regrets. By the time she released me, I was gasping. I could feel the hot blood in my cheeks, sense my smeared makeup. My clit was hugely swollen, throbbing with my racing pulse.

She pulled back from me and looked me over, hands on her hips. “You liked that, didn't you?” she mocked. “I knew you would. For the last two hours, you've been at that corner table, nursing your drink, watching me tend bar. Dying to get into my pants. It's true, isn't it, Ms. Fancy Architect?”

A part of me wanted to slap her face. The rest ached to throw myself at her feet and bury my nose in her denim-sheathed crotch. I stared at my hands, embarrassed by my need.

My blouse hung open, a button torn away. She reached in and brushed her fingertips across my lace brassiere. “Take it off,” she said. A slight huskiness in her voice betrayed her own arousal. As I obeyed, my nipples tightened to hard little bullets. I carefully draped my blouse over the ladder behind me, then stood bare-breasted before her. Do I look old to her, I wondered, flabby and overblown? She grinned at my discomfort. Nevertheless she was a bit flushed and her breathing seemed faster than normal. I felt a tiny thrill of triumph at her desire.

Want more? The book includes nine tales of lesbian love, including the previously unpublished “Burn, Baby”.

Back List Blast: Her Own Devices (#lesfic #FF #steampunk)

 

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"Would you like a demonstration? That can be arranged."

"Not - not now," she answered coolly. Her poise was remarkable. "I merely want to be able to explain to my master why your house is so popular. Surely you must have models on the premises."

"I can do better than exhibit models, my dear. I can show you the devices in action."

Burton rose and drew open the curtains that draped the south wall. Lin's gasp was more than sufficient reward for revealing a few secrets.

"What - how?" The comely visitor stepped closer to the wall, staring at the round panels of glass embedded in the surface, rather like the port-holes on a steamship. Each port displayed some lascivious scene.

In one window, a cloud of feathers pulsed around several naked forms writhing on a divan. With each thrust, the downy plumes caressed and tickled the bare skin of the two - or was it three? - participants. The feathers seemed alive, their motions triggered by cunning sensors in the divan itself.

Another port displayed a lean mandarin, wearing only the hat that signified his office. A nude woman knelt at his feet. Each time she bent her head to swallow the man's erection, a machine behind him lashed him with leather thongs, raining fierce blows down on his shoulders and back. His mouth twisted in a grimace that could have signified pain or pleasure.

"She controls the beating by squeezing her thighs together," Burton murmured in Lin's ear. "Pneumatics. Works nicely during copulation as well." The girl's breath came faster. Clearly Burton's creations had an arousing effect even at a distance.

In a window in the center rank, a delicate Chinese woman was bound naked on a wrought iron frame. Beside her, a corpulent, bewhiskered Englishman ran his hands over a keyboard. As he played, phallus-shaped rods plunged into or emerged from the prisoner's mouth, quim, and bum, apparently in time to some unheard music. Pincers on jointed arms plucked at the girl's nipples and little animated needles pricked the swell of her breasts.

"There's a plug up the Major's arse, too," Burton commented. "And a sleeve on his cock. He's always fancied himself a musician..."

"How is this possible?" Lin tore her gaze away from the silent tableaux of lust to confront their creator. "The House of the White Tiger is two miles from here."

Burton shrugged. "Lenses. Mirrors. Conduits lined with glass." Her musky scent wafted up from under her skirts and petticoats. She must be extremely aroused. "I've installed some ports in the house itself, of course. As you might expect, many of my clients enjoy watching the games being played in other chambers."

Lin's eyes blazed with green fire. "This is outrageous! Obscene!"

"I take that as a compliment, Miss Lin." Burton grinned. What a savory morsel she was!

"I must have these things. My master must have them." Her earnestness only made her more desirable. "If money does not sway you, then I offer you my person. You are known to be a lustful man, highly susceptible to the charms of female flesh. You may perpetrate any sort of carnal act that pleases you upon my body. I will not resist."