Best Lesbian Erotica 2005

by Tristan Taormino

  Before she can turn away, I trace her lips with my thumb, sliding just the tip between her lips. Mia closes her eyes, and I can feel her teeth gently biting my thumb. “Let’s stop driving each other crazy,” I whisper.

  “Were you in the office when I called earlier?”

  I nod and slide my thumb from between her teeth, replacing it with the tip of my tongue. I let my hand slide down her dress, over her breasts, to her knees. They’re clamped shut, so I tap my fingernails (Naked Tip nail lacquer) against her knees before snaking my fingers between them. The higher my hand reaches, the more her grip loosens. Mia is kissing me back now, breathing in short little bursts. She tastes like wine and cigarettes. I now know that she lied when she said she quit. There is a smudge of my lipstick (Viva Glam III) on her cheek in not quite a lip print. From the corner of my eye I can see the cabbie staring at us and so I cock my head downward for a moment, watching as his eyes cast toward Mia’s now-open thighs and her panties pulled aside, my fingers dancing along her pussy lips. By the time we get to where we’re going, I only smell her.

  The next hour is a flurry of groping between clothing racks and trying on dresses and skirts we won’t buy and me putting that extra boricua into my strut. I know Mia likes that. Our last stop is at the Boutique Missoni, where the salespeople look positively famished. I am bored by stores like these with their slick floors and slick walls and three outfits for sale, but Mia loves them—again with feeling urban, and her trust fund making it possible. I sit on a plush bench and watch her surveying the inventory. My shoe dangles from my toe and each time I catch her looking at me, I slide my fingers under my nose, and her cheeks redden. She must have discovered modesty while I was at work. Eventually, she waves a gauzy striped blouse and matching skirt and motions toward the dressing room. I follow and once we’re inside, I shut the door, loudly, and turn Mia around so that she’s facing the wall. She drops her selections to the floor. I pull her skirt up, her panties down, and I kick her legs apart with my left foot.

  I nibble the back of her ear, and slide two fingers along the crack of her ass, then along the dark underside toward her cunt, which is hot and wet and quivery as my fingers tease. “Am I going too far?” I ask Mia.

  She nods, but pushes her ass toward me. Opening my hand, I slap her ass twice. Mia exhales, and she says, “Mami, I like that.”

  I’m not surprised. Girls such as Mia like it a certain way. Then again, so do girls like me. I slap her ass a third and fourth time, slide my hand over her cheek and back toward her cunt. While she’s trying to catch her breath, I slide my fingers inside her where it’s tighter than I thought possible. The walls are pulsing, gripping my fingers, and I realize this is an intimate thing I’m doing. Resting my chin against her shoulder, I slide my other hand around front, beneath her dress and up toward her breasts. With a little effort, I work the bra cup out of my way and begin twisting her right nipple between my thumb and my forefinger to the same beat of two fingers sliding in and out of her pussy. She presses herself closer to me still and I can smell the MV2 perfume she’s wearing and her shampoo and the scent of tobacco still clinging to her hair. I sink my teeth into the soft tissue of her neck just left of her chin, flicking my tongue as I bite hard and then harder.

  There’s a moan rumbling at the base of her throat. Mia’s lips are pursed shut. She’s afraid to let the sound out, afraid to admit that she wants this. “It’s okay to let that out, querida,” I say. “You know you like this shit.”

  I’ve thought about a moment like this for a long time. It feels as good as I imagined.

  The breath she’s been holding hisses from between her lips. She reaches back for me with her right arm, her fingernails digging into my side. Her legs are trembling. So is my arm. She slides the fingers of her left hand through my hair, curling her fingers into a tight fist of pale skin and dark tufts of my hair. Her lips, now slightly swollen, their color smeared, crush against mine in a sloppy kiss that is all tongue and teeth. When she does moan, the sound travels down my throat and into the pit of my chest where it stays. It’s fitting.

  We stay like that, awkwardly entwined. We’re both sweating and sticking to each other. My suit, a skirt and jacket number from Donna Karan’s collection last year, feels impossibly heavy. My feet are slipping in my heels. I start to fuck her hard, thrusting my fingers into Mia’s cunt until her body allows me no further, holding myself there until she starts to whimper, then retreating, until she whimpers. I call her nasty names in a voice a few notches above a whisper—tell her that she’s a slut, a whore, mi puta who will do any dirty little thing I tell her to. The only word she keeps saying is Yes. It’s the only word I want to hear.

  She’s close to coming because her pussy is thick, wet, slick and four of my fingers have made their way into her and she keeps rolling her head from side to side. I stop talking, fucking her now with silent deliberate thrusts that I hope hurt as good as they feel. I slide my right hand back down her stomach to her clit—small, but hard and swollen and sensitive because I’ve barely touched it before she is moaning, loud enough for me to know that I can do anything I want. I press against her clit until I can feel the sharp bone beneath, stroking slowly—slow enough that I’m driving myself crazy as well. “Is it my pussy?” I ask her. She says nothing, so I stroke her clit faster, bringing her crazy close to coming, then stop. “Is it my pussy?” I ask again.

  “Yes,” she says, choking.

  “Are you going to give it up again?”

  This time she answers much faster. “Yes.”

  “Good,” I say, leaving my fingers inside her as I stroke her clit again in tight fast circles. “Because I’m going to take it when…where…how I want it from now on.”

  I drag my tongue from her chin up her cheek. I imagine marking her. When Mia comes, I cover her mouth and nose with the hand that was on her clit, feeling her body shudder, feeling her chest constrict, feeling more wetness on my fingers wedged inside her. Slowly, I slide out of her pussy, my fingers instantly cold. She turns around to face me and I slide my fingers deep into her mouth. She swallows them obediently, suckling them clean. I slide my fingers beneath my skirt and into my own wetness, then return those fingers to her mouth. She moans loudly, pulls the taste of me into her, and reaches for me with her lips. Her arms are wrapped around me so tightly I can hardly breathe, and there is a desperation, a hunger in the way we kiss. I imagine what Old Man Spencer would think if he saw his little princess now. When I’ve had my fill of her, I tell Mia it’s time to go home. She tries to get herself together but I shake my head. I want her to walk out of here with her dress wrinkled, her shoes in her hand, her hair tousled, makeup a shitty mess. It’s a better look than one might think.

  We leave the dressing room with the outfit she was going to try on in a crumpled heap on the floor. We walk past the famished automatons and into the cool Manhattan night air. Mia hails a cab for us and as we get into the back seat, I can see that she’s crying. Mia reaches for my left hand and brings it to her lips for a moment, before holding it in her lap clasped between both of hers. I turn to her and smile, before returning my gaze to the street. I’m still in love with her, but the memory of Mia with the stain of mascara along the arc of her cheekbone will satisfy me for quite some time.

  The Trick

  D. Alexandria

  I picked her because she looked slightly intimidated when I rolled up. I caught her glancing back at her girls, and one made a quick movement with her hand—which I wasn’t supposed to notice, but I did—encouraging her to come up to me. Her light brown eyes darted from side to side, making sure that no one was watching as she approached the Hummer. She looked slightly nervous, playing with the hem of her skirt as she walked up to the passenger side window, but forced a sweet smile when our eyes met.

  She was fresh. Definitely hadn’t been in the game that long.

  Perfect.

  “Wassup?” she asked, her soft voice trying to sound all hard.

  “Wa
ssup with you?” I asked back.

  Her eyes did the dart dance again, then settled back on me. “You looking for somethin’?”

  “I’m looking to hang out.” I replied. “You down?”

  She was about to nod before her eyes narrowed in suspicion.

  “You a chick?”

  “Is that a problem?”

  She hesitated for only a second, before shaking her head.

  I unlocked the door and she quickly slid in, glancing back at her girls, who had already lost themselves in conversation. As soon as she closed the door, I pulled away from the curb, heading toward the highway.

  “You a cop?” She asked. “ ’Cuz if you are, you have to tell me.”

  I shook my head, suppressing the urge to laugh at her naïveté. “Nah. You?”

  “No.” She was still playing with the hem of her skirt.

  “How much?”

  “Uh. Two hundred.”

  I just nodded. “A’ight.”

  “What do you wanna do?”

  “Just go relax at a motel and kick it.” I said, reaching for the dial on my stereo, turning up the volume, 50 Cent’s “Many Men” filling the air. I wasn’t in the mood for chitchat. If I wanted chitchat, my ass would have been at the club trying to get into some chickenhead’s panties, instead of picking up some trick on a corner.

  She got the message and relaxed in the seat, settling for staring out the window as the city blurred by.

  I lit a cigarette and tried to lose myself as I headed toward Montel’s, a little motel I knew pretty well, that was cheap but clean. Whenever I wanted to just get away for a night or whatever, I’d head over there to clear my head. And tonight I definitely needed to clear my head. I wanted to forget about Lela and her trifling ass. I needed one night to just completely let go, and tomorrow I could go back home and clean house.

  This was the first time I ever thought of paying for sex, but I knew that I needed to fuck, and I didn’t want to deal with all the unnecessary bullshit that usually went along with it. Normally, if I just wanted a piece of ass, I would go to the club. But that meant having to deal with dancing, chicks wanting you to talk to them and buy them drinks, all so you could spend half the night trying to mack, and you couldn’t even guarantee that you’d get laid. And plus, half the time, chicks couldn’t understand the concept of a booty call. You fuck, have a good time, then that’s it. I don’t want to know about your family, how many babies you got, or how much you hate your job even if you have the decency to have one. I don’t need to know anything about you except your first name, if you’re clean, and if you’ve got skills with your body. I don’t even want to exchange numbers unless you were so damn good I’d consider tapping that ass again. Most chicks ruin booty calls with all that frivolous shit.

  I hadn’t planned on taking this route, but I knew that a trick would do what she was paid to do. And tonight I just wanted to fuck, not care who was underneath me, and forget about the day-to-day bullshit.

  We arrived at Montel’s in under fifteen, and I quickly got us a room in the back so we could have privacy. As soon as I entered the room, I went to the bathroom to wash my face. When I came out, she was sitting on the edge of the bed, staring down at her feet.

  I sat at the small table in the corner, pulling out my bag and pack of Backwoods to roll a blunt.

  “You smoke?” I asked her.

  She shrugged. “Sometimes.”

  I was breaking up the weed, my eyes finally taking her in. I already knew she was a dime from my quick survey from the truck. But under actual lighting I was getting a better look at her.

  “Stand up.” I said.

  She slowly got to her feet facing me. She was light-skinned, reddish-brown hair, standing about five-six without her shoes. Her body was thick but toned with a sweet ass and big tits that I hoped were real. She had a baby face and pouty lips, with the longest lashes I’ve ever seen. She looked young, and I hoped she was at least eighteen ’cuz I didn’t need any extra bullshit tonight. She was wearing a black miniskirt with a red halter top and black platform sandals. Her feet were cute, and I was impressed ’cuz I had an issue about jacked-up feet.

  “Clothes off,” I ordered.

  She was quiet as she pulled off the halter top, tossing it on the floor, and her breasts spilled into view, thankfully hanging normally as real breasts should. Next came the skirt and a pair of red thongs, revealing that she was clean-shaven, something I do appreciate from time to time. She was about to take off the sandals, when I stopped her.

  “Nah, leave them on.” I was licking the finished blunt, taking my lighter out of my pocket. She was good, remaining quiet and still as I lit up. I took a few hits, just watching her, and I could feel my nipples tightening. She looked good. Real good.

  “Come here,” I said softly.

  She walked toward me and I spread my legs just wide enough so she knew to stand between them. I offered her the blunt, and she took it, taking a couple of hits.

  I took the opportunity to touch her breasts, and my clit literally jumped as my hands lifted them, feeling the delicious weight of them. Thank God they were real. And they felt good. She had thick nipples, which were hardening as I gently pinched them.

  “What’s your name?”

  “My friends call me Mocha.”

  Even I had to smile at that one.

  “What’s yours?” she asked.

  “Right now, I’m Daddy, and you’re gonna be a good little whore and do whatever I say, is that understood?”

  She trembled slightly and I wasn’t sure if it was out of pleasure or fear. But she slowly nodded. I continued playing with her nipples as she smoked. When I thought she was chill, I took the blunt from her, and relaxed in the chair.

  “Knees,” I said.

  Mocha’s eyes met mine as she cautiously got down between my legs, and I could already feel myself getting wet. I held her gaze, as I held the blunt between my lips, my hands at my jeans, unbuckling my belt. She finally looked down, her eyes wide with surprise as she watched me unzip my jeans and pull out my dick. I held it firmly in my hand and bent it toward her.

  Baby girl knew what to do. And it took every ounce of me not to let loose a gratifying moan as I watched her lower her head, lips parting to take me in. And even though her hands were slightly trembling, she swallowed half my dick with determination on the first try. She pulled back, and I watched her cheeks hollow as she sucked on the head, and it looked so damn fine.

  I resumed smoking my blunt as I watched Mocha work my dick. And dammit if she wasn’t treating it like it was the real thing. I let go of the base, and her hand replaced mine, holding my dick steady as she gave it a thorough tongue bath, giving me a wonderful view as her pink tongue licked every inch. My mind was flipping to Lela and how she thought this act was fucked up. I couldn’t even count how many times I asked her to at least try, but she would just flip me off, telling me that if I had “man wannabe” issues, I could take them somewhere else.

  Thanks for the suggestion, baby, I thought.

  Mocha’s lips had come into play again and she was giving the shaft gentle kisses as she licked. But I had had enough of this prissy shit. I let one hand move to her head, my fingers lacing through her hair until I got a good grip. I roughly pulled her head up until her lips were positioned over the head of my dick. She parted her lips in time as I pushed her head down, forcing it all the way until her mouth met the material of my boxers. I could hear her gagging slightly and her hands were tightly clenching my thighs, but I didn’t care. I held her head still for a moment, leisurely smoking, just enjoying the look of my dick buried down her throat as she struggled.

  When I was satisfied, I pulled her head up halfway, letting her get some well-deserved air for a few moments, then I pushed her head back down. I did this for a while, getting a good rhythm, my hips lifting from the chair to meet her sucking mouth. I soon let go of her hair, and like a good girl she kept the rhythm, bobbing her head up and down.

&n
bsp; “That’s it,” I crooned, as I puffed. My eyes had lowered to half slits, in this mixed state of being relaxed and sexually worked up. My hips were still lifting to meet her mouth, and Mocha’s hands held onto them, gripping me tightly as she literally fucked her own mouth on my dick. Good God, trick knew what she was doing. My hand found its way back to her head, and I pressed her head down on my dick again, my hips thrusting up to bury my dick as far down her throat as possible, and I felt my clit throbbing with a vengeance. Shit was feeling good, but I needed more.

  I pulled her head off my dick, pushing her away. “On your back.”

  When she didn’t react fast enough, I lifted my leg, planting my booted foot on her chest and forcing her to sit on the floor before me. I could tell she was unsure of what to do at first, and after a moment’s hesitation she allowed my foot to guide her onto her back.

  “Fuck yourself,” I told her before taking another drag.

  Her eyes widened in surprise, but her hand nervously found its way between her legs. Her movements were slightly awkward at first, like she had never masturbated for someone before. But she soon found a rhythm that she liked, because she let out a soft moan. I used my foot to kick her legs wider apart so I could get a better view of what she was doing, and she responded by opening them even wider and I was now looking down at an unblocked view of her pretty pussy. She was already wet, no doubt from sucking my dick, and I had to smile. Real dick or not, the bitch responded.

  I continued to smoke, looking down at her. She had her eyes closed, probably trying to imagine I wasn’t there as she played with herself. But I was here. And I was watching with interest as her fingers gently pulled on her hard clit. It was sweetly large, standing at attention, practically begging for her to toy with it more, and I had an ache to touch it myself. After a while, she became more comfortable, her hips now starting to move. Her free hand lifted to her breast and she was massaging it, softly pinching the nipple, and I had to bite my bottom lip to keep silent. I exhaled smoke as I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees to get a closer look at her.