Best Lesbian Erotica 2012

by Kathleen Warnock

  We writhe against each other, knowing we are stretched to our physical limits by each other’s fists. We tear into each other, wanting to emulate the amaranthine nature of the other plane, where all of her is consumed by my sex, my soul. And her fervor devours me. Anything is possible; there are no laws of space or time. Our ardor set ablaze, we are a mess of twisted limbs, cum–and sweat-drenched flesh, pushing into each other with desperation. Where everything within and beyond our imaginations is granted. Deeply rooted in our bodies while pushing them to extreme edges. A chaotic whirlwind of ohhhs and yeses and begging and panting swirls around us as the floodgates give way to our frenzied lust and I’m clamping down on her fiercely, she’s shuddering against me, we’re crying out into the heavens, drowning in each other.

  She takes me there.

  REBEL GIRL

  Kirsty Logan

  He grabs a fistful of Evie’s hair as he comes, pulling her close to his chest, whispering guttural curses into the side of her neck. His cock thrusts deeper into her, the ridge of the head rubbing her in just the right place, and she’s so close, just one more…but he’s already growing soft inside her, the condom puckered and wet.

  She rolls off him, starts digging through her skirt pocket for her lighter and tobacco. He’s wriggling back into his clothes, all elbows and legs in the cramped backseat. Evie rolls her cigarette expertly, fingers twisting and tightening like a magic trick as she looks out of the sweat-blurred windows at the car parked next to theirs. She hopes Katia is having more success with her man.

  She can see vague shapes, knees raised and palms pressing out for balance. She imagines Katia, head thrust back and tits pushed out, sliding her slick cunt up and down on the endlessly hard cock. She tells herself she’s only thinking these things because she’s jealous, because Katia gets to ride her way to an explosive orgasm and Evie does not.

  Katia has a mouth on her nipple and a cock in her cunt and she’s moaning, “Oh, yes, oh, fuck, oh, yes.” She’s so close, almost cresting the wave, almost crowning the hill, and she feels the blood drain from her brain to her clit. He comes, grunting out an approximation of her name, and collapses with his head on her chest. She squirms under him, trying for release, but he’s wrinkling away to nothing and the feeling has gone.

  The backseat is sticky with sex and sweat. Katia feels around on the floor for her bra, wishing he’d wake up and get off her so she can get some air. The summer is humid, so hot she sweats in a bra and shorts, her skin always reddened and slightly swollen from the heat. Over the top of his head, the sweat-dampened curls behind his ear, she can see the car parked beside theirs. The windows are opaque with smoke, and it’s stopped juddering on its chassis. Katia imagines Evie, sated and soaking into the leather fabric of the backseat, a slow smile on her face. Katia is sure Evie just had the best orgasm of her life; she is sure every single one of Evie’s orgasms is the best of her life.

  All four of them are sprawled on the hoods of the cars—boys on one, girls on the other. They listen to the lullaby of the motorway and stare up at the dirty orange sky. The night air smells hot and dense. Beneath a low moon, the town cowers: smokestacks, parking lots, roundabouts. Everything has washed out to gray. Katia and Evie share a cigarette, ringing the filter with sticky lip-gloss in varying shades of pink.

  Katia smokes like she’s sucking a cock, slow and deliberate, a performance. She knows Evie is watching her, and she arches her body slightly on the hood so Evie can see the curve of her back-hips-tits. Katia knows Evie has a crush on her because she’s older and always has a boyfriend. Katia has a crush on Evie too, because she has high round tits and a rosebud mouth and makes amazing noises when she fucks. Evie likes Katia because she is jaded, and Katia likes Evie because she is not.

  The boys are still looking up at the sky, but they start to make grumbling noises. They want cigarettes, beer, music. They start jingling the car keys in their pockets, but the road down the hill is pitted and neither car’s suspension makes any difference.

  Without conferring, the girls slide off the hood, their skirts riding up and flashing their brightly colored thongs. Hand in hand, they walk down the winding hill toward the beacon of the all-night garage.

  Wearing sunglasses inside at night makes Evie feel like a movie star. They aren’t just a conceit: the fluorescents inside the garage are blinding after the dim glow of the car’s interior light. Evie’s calves are itching and gray from the dusty path, her skirt stuck to her thighs with sweat. The garage’s air-conditioning is cold enough to make her nipples harden, and she crosses her arms over her chest so the guy behind the counter can’t see. She paws through the meager collection of wares. Tree-shaped air fresheners, trees on the labels of the mineral water, Country Life magazines full of trees. It’s fucking stupid: nothing around here even resembles a tree.

  Katia snorts, and Evie looks up. Katia is standing, arms akimbo, face raised to the top shelf of the magazine rack. She waits for Evie to walk over then grabs an armful of the magazines. Evie looks over Katia’s shoulder at the plastic-wrapped covers showing girls with glazed eyes and black bars over their nipples. She’s close enough to smell Katia’s hair: sweet fruity shampoo under bitter hairspray. Katia pulls one of the magazines out of the plastic bag and flips through it. Every page is a different girl, her hair dyed and legs spread. There are no black bars on the inside pages, and the girls’ cunts are spread open, the bull’s-eye of every image.

  Evie’s clit throbs. The images aren’t sexy, but she can’t stop staring at the honesty of their open legs. Their tits are clearly fake, high on their ribs and beach ball–tight. But their cunts are pure truth: wet and pink, like steak freshly cut. Evie wonders whether Katia’s clit is throbbing too.

  Katia is pretty sure she knows more about Evie’s sexual tastes from those blurry glimpses through the car window than her own boyfriend. Although Evie is acting like she’s totally unfazed by the array of cunts, Katia knows otherwise. She can tell by the way Evie is shifting her weight from one leg to the other, the way she’s chewing on her lip, the loudening of her breath. When Evie walked over to the magazine rack, Katia could see her nipples through the thin fabric of her bikini top. Katia knows that Evie can probably see her nipples too, but she doesn’t give a shit. She doesn’t even care if the perv behind the counter can see. Katia has great tits, and she knows it, and so the whole fucking world can stare.

  Katia jams the magazines back onto the top shelf and turns to Evie. She looks stoned, pupils huge and mouth hanging slack. Katia pulls Evie’s chin, opening her mouth farther, imagining it will snap back and start rolling up window blind–style like in a cartoon. It’s meant to be a joke, but standing there with her heat-swollen hands on Evie’s jaw she can see the tiny lines of her lip, can feel the stickiness of her lip-gloss on the tip of her thumb, and it doesn’t feel very funny. Katia is suddenly aware of the buzzing fluorescents, the dust itching her legs, the slow stare of the man behind the counter. Her clit feels swollen, her nipples tight. All the pressure in the air seems to coalesce between her legs.

  She knows what she should do: let go of Evie, buy cigarettes for the boys, go back out into the dusty night and climb the hill back to that sweaty backseat. She takes Evie’s hand and leads her out the back door of the garage.

  Walking outside feels like crawling under a blanket. The air is hot and completely still, and Evie can feel the sweat already prickling on the small of her back. She hopes her palms won’t feel wet against Katia’s. Her whole body feels tight, her skin as thin as an expanding balloon.

  They forgot to buy the cigarettes, and Evie is about to mention it when Katia spins her around and presses her up against the brick wall of the garage and slides her tongue into Evie’s mouth. All the blood rushes out of Evie’s head. She kisses Katia back just to stay standing. The atmosphere is so humid she can barely take a breath, the air like cotton wool in her lungs.

  Katia kisses hard, but her lips are soft and she tucks Evie’s hair behind her ear befo
re pulling away to smile at her. Evie has Katia’s tits pressed up against her tits, Katia’s legs tangled in her legs, Katia’s fingers entwined with her fingers. All she can think to do is return the smile. Katia seems to take this as consent. She lifts Evie’s hair in her hands, piling it up and pressing her palms against the heat of Evie’s neck, before kissing her again.

  Katia has two heartbeats, one in her chest and one between her legs, and she’s pressed up so close to Evie that she must be able to feel both. Evie’s skin smells sweet and metallic: fresh perspiration and sugary lip-gloss and boys. Evie’s body feels unfamiliar pressed against her own, with bumps where boys don’t have them and an absence where they usually do. Katia wonders how she is supposed to know if Evie wants to fuck—she’s used to the reassurance of a hard cock against her hip. She stops for a moment, unsure, and Evie wriggles against her, pressing her pelvic bone against Katia’s, and then she knows for sure that Evie wants to fuck.

  Evie loves having her nipples sucked, and judging from the way Katia immediately takes them into her mouth, she seems aware of the fact. She sucks hard, and Evie’s thong is already sliding up into her slickening cunt, the fabric uncomfortable against her swollen clit. Evie’s skirt is up around her hips, her bikini top shoved to the side, and she pushes her thong down with one hand and guides Katia’s fingers into her with the other.

  Katia slides two fingers in, curling them round so the pads press against that little patch of ridged skin, the web between finger and thumb pressing against Evie’s clit. Evie can’t make words so she just rolls her eyes up to the fading sky and rides Katia’s fingers, feeling her wetness pool in Katia’s palm. Katia presses her up against the gritty brick wall, fucking her harder, and then Evie feels it, the crest of the wave, the tip of the mountain, and the feeling throbs from her clit to her throat and back down again to settle low in her belly. She can feel her cunt spasming around Katia’s fingers, and before the feeling fades she drops to her knees and pulls Katia’s thong to the side.

  Katia’s cunt tastes like wet dirt and salt, and it doesn’t matter that Evie doesn’t know what she’s supposed to do because as soon as she finds that little knot of flesh she hooks on to it, sucking it into her mouth, and Katia is grabbing the back of her head and grinding against her chin and she can feel Katia’s cunt spasming against her tongue. The girls stagger to their feet, eyes blurred and knees unsteady. They rearrange their clothes without looking, awkward around each other’s nakedness, and walk away from the garage.

  As they reach the bottom of the hill, the first drops of a summer storm land on their shoulders. It’s cool against their heat-swollen skin, slicking their hair against their heads; droplets slide down their backs. They raise their faces to the sky. The crackle of heat fades and the smell of earth rises up around them. By the time they get back to their men, the rain has washed them clean.

  HUSH

  Treasure Sapphire

  She is smiling at me from across the room, teeth bared possessively, assured of the power that she has over me. Our eyes are locked and though there are dozens, maybe even a hundred women swarming and writhing around us, we can only see each other.

  She brings the long neck of a beer bottle to her lips and drinks, never breaking her eye contact with me. I press an unlit cigarette to my lips, an invitation, and in no time she is standing before me, head cocked charmingly to one side, lighter flickering in her palm. She ignites me. I thank her.

  She is shorter than I am, a solid five six to my lanky five nine but what she lacks in height she more than makes up for in cockiness. Her short black hair frames her tanned face perfectly, and I can tell by the way that she rolls her r’s that she is not American. She asks me my name and I lean forward and whisper syllables into her ear: “Loretta.” She nods and I offer my ear to her into which she whispers “Lu-ca,” spreading the word into two. I drop my cigarette to the floor and she expertly crushes the cherry beneath the heel of her boot.

  She turns to leave and I follow. There are no words exchanged. We slip into a darkened hallway, where she pushes me gently against the wall. I let her hold me there, relinquishing my power for just a moment. Her hand snakes around me, pulling me closer, and I know that she can feel it pressing into her. Her gasp is tinged with confusion and arousal.

  Suddenly a thick band of white light envelops us; two giggling women walk past and we duck into the restroom they’ve just left. I can see her clearly now. See him. Luca. He is wearing a tight black shirt, breasts undoubtedly bound beneath it, a pair of tight black jeans and combat boots. His body is muscular and rolling, even golden color all over.

  I step back to let him see me: the skintight red dress, the matching red lipstick and the hair that cascades down my back. He lunges at me, lips against mine, pressing my bare back onto the cold tiles of the bathroom wall. He grinds his hips into me as he expertly lowers the top of my dress, freeing my breasts. I can feel the warmth of his tongue and then the heat of his breath playing over my swollen nipples. I wrap my hand around his head and hold him there. His other hand sneaks up my smooth thigh, pushing my dress aside, and I can hear his hoarse breathing as he pulls down my panties. He is staring at the delicate straps that hug my hips, his fingers curled around the tip of my length.

  I look into the mirror and see myself half naked, pressed into the wall with Luca staring down at my cock, and my clit begins to throb. Before I even have to ask him he has dropped to his knees and taken me into his mouth. I watch as his thin lips caress me, then as his tongue flickers softly across the head of my cock before hungrily taking me all the way into the back of his throat. The force of his bobbing head thrusts the cock back into me repeatedly, rubbing maddeningly over my swollen clit.

  I lift him up off the ground and twirl him around until he is now in my former position, back against the wall. I instruct him to watch me in the mirror. I kiss the side of his neck, tracing against his jawline with my tongue, letting my hand slide down his flat, muscular stomach until it arrives just beneath his jeans but staying above his jockeys.

  I dip my hand into the apex between his legs and feel the scorching wetness there, and when I apply pressure he moans. I drop to my knees, unbuckling his belt and pushing his pants down to his ankles. I slide my fingers along the band of his underwear, pressing my lips to the flesh just below his belly button before curling my fingers around them and pulling them down and off along with his pants. I look up at his face riddled with arousal and remind him to watch me in the mirror.

  I take his leg and latch it over my shoulder before burying my face between his thighs. The second my tongue touches him, his breathing deepens, becomes harder, faster. I swirl my tongue up and down the cleft, flicking her clit with my tongue and becoming more and more excited every time I hear him groan. His hands are on my shoulders, fingernails dug in, and the slight pain spurs me to lick faster, harder. He wants release and I yearn to give it to him but not like this.

  I stand and look into his eyes before drawing him into a kiss and spinning his body around again. We are looking at ourselves in the mirror above the sink. I run my hand up his back and apply the slightest bit of pressure until he gets the hint and leans forward, bent at the hips. I reach down and slide my finger into his wetness before wrapping a firm hand around my cock and guiding it into him.

  She gasps and trembles as I spread her open, working my way slowly inside, watching his face as every inch sinks in. I go easy at first, awestruck by the look of pure ecstasy on Luca’s face: The beauty of it. The handsomeness of it. He lets out a low growl (or perhaps I do), and suddenly I cannot control myself. I am thrusting so hard that the mirror above the sink begins to shake ominously, causing our reflections to distort and blur.

  I look down and watch myself pushing in and out of him, my cock covered with his cum.

  The friction against my clit is relentless. I reach around to play my fingers over her, jacking him off while I continue thrusting shamelessly in and out. His body tightens and his hands, knuc
kles white from the tension of gripping on to the sides of the sink, tremble underneath the weight of our pistoning bodies. Suddenly he wails, body jerking and convulsing beneath mine. I give one final thrust and my clit explodes. I grab on to him tightly, fingers still buried between his thighs.

  It takes us a moment to recover. I fix my dress and tuck my panties into my purse while he pulls his pants and briefs back on. Once dressed, we stare at each other wordlessly. I fumble through my purse and then press a cigarette to my lips. Without even having to be asked I hand her one as well. She flicks her lighter, holding the flame out to me. I puff the thin stick gingerly. We smile, and then we both exit the restroom.

  BLOOD LUST

  Giselle Renarde

  I have no specific recollection of how Cat came into my life. One day she was just there, lying on my bed. She seemed to know me, I seemed to know her, and after one of the longest dry spells known to dykedom, that was good enough.

  “Come to bed,” she purred. She always seemed to be purring. Maybe that’s why she was called Cat. I couldn’t remember if it was a nickname or a diminutive of Cathleen or Catalina. At that point I was too embarrassed to ask. I was supposed to know her. The way she talked, it seemed like she’d been in my bed for ages, and I was only just waking up to her.

  “Look at the time,” Cat said. She drew open the bedsheets, inviting me in. Had I ever seen her in that cotton cami or those little ruffled boy shorts? Everything about her—even her clothes—seemed hazily familiar, like I knew them from a dream. “Come on,” she begged, with a pretty pout on her pink lips. “It’s late.”