Best Lesbian Erotica 2005

by Tristan Taormino

  “Get your nipples wet,” I told her.

  She obeyed quickly, her hand leaving her breast and sliding two fingers into that pouty mouth. Watching her suck her fingers was pure enjoyment and I flashed back to how good she looked sucking my dick. When she felt her fingers were wet enough, she brought them back down to her nipple, and after a few moments of teasing, it hardened even more in response. Her other hand moved, and I watched her lift her legs in the air, as her fingers slid further down to her hole. Blunt forgotten, I hungrily watched her enter herself, and she groaned loudly, her hips lifting to meet her hand. Once she was in, it was all over. I knew I was nowhere in her mind as she fucked herself, steadily thrusting two fingers into her greedy hole. She was panting heavily, her body writhing on the floor, and I could hear the wetness of her pussy as she forced another finger in. She gasped and literally purred, pinching her nipples even harder as she lost herself. She was definitely on fire, the tempting aroma of her pussy filling my nostrils, and surprisingly, I realized she was already close to coming. That fact was my deal breaker and I couldn’t hold out anymore.

  “Get up,” I said as I put the blunt out in the ashtray.

  Her eyes flew open and she looked a little dazed, but she quickly got to her feet. I decided to remain dressed and I reached in my pocket for a condom. As I opened it and slid it over my dick, I leaned back in the chair and got comfortable.

  I caught the sly smile on her face as she moved toward me, ready to spread her legs to get on, but I held up my hand.

  “Turn around.”

  Doubt flashed in her face, but she slowly turned around, and I was rewarded with a full view of her ass. I placed a hand on her hip to steady her as she straddled my legs. I watched her grab my dick, holding it upright as she slid down. I was strapped big tonight, and it took her a few tries to be able to take all of me in, but when she was finally sitting on my lap, my dick completely buried inside her, she moaned loudly in obvious appreciation. She rocked her hips a few times until she was comfortable, and I leaned further back, watching her start to bounce. I looked down, seeing her juices get the condom so wet that after a few minutes she was able to slide up and down with ease, and I knew I was ready.

  When she lifted herself again, my hands found her hips holding her still before she could sink down.

  “I wanna fuck your ass.”

  She tensed, “Now, wait a minute….”

  “Am I paying you or not?” I asked her.

  She didn’t move for a few moments, and I knew she was wrestling with the idea in her head, and I had to wonder if she had ever done it before. She didn’t answer me, instead silently rising, my dick popping out of her pussy, and I held it still with one hand.

  “Spread your cheeks.”

  Her hands shook gently as she reached behind her, each hand grabbing a plump asscheek, spreading them apart so I could see her asshole. I bent my dick forward, aiming the head at her hole, and suddenly my mind flashed to Lela. I loved the girl, no doubt, and she was chill in bed, but she was always so fucking quiet and had way too many rules. She was one of those neat fucks, if you know what I mean. Hated to sweat, hated getting down and dirty during a fuck, which I loved to do. During sex, I loved to lose myself, but I couldn’t be like that with her. Lela liked sex, she did, but damn…I could only do so much with her. Like this, for instance. She thought that anal sex was degrading to women, and even though I knew a lot of chicks didn’t dig it, there were countless things I’d do for her in a heartbeat, but she wouldn’t even try the shit once.

  Whateva. I didn’t have to worry about that shit right now. Right now, I had a bitch who was being paid to accommodate me, and I was definitely going to take advantage.

  “Sit down,” I told Mocha.

  I heard her take a deep breath and she slowly lowered herself, whimpering as the head tried to enter. She was tight, her anal muscles refusing to give, and I had to get a good grip on her waist and push her down. She screamed, and dammit if it didn’t sound good to hear it. I pushed her down until she was sitting firmly on my lap, and I held her still. Her entire body was shaking, and her whimpers had grown to loud whines as she tried to adjust. I ignored her, just watching my dick stretch that tight hole, and my clit was practically jumping, wishing it could feel her tightness around it.

  I lifted her until only the head was in, then I pushed her back down, feeling the pressure against my clit, and as she cried out again, I groaned. I was urging her to move, but she wasn’t reacting fast enough. So I dug my boots into the carpet and just starting lifting her up and down my dick. She reached underneath her, placing hands flat on my thighs for leverage, her body now tense.

  “Oh god, oh god, oh god…” she kept saying over and over again. I had to admit, she was taking it well, but her fingers digging into my thighs told me of the pain she was in. And for a moment, I wondered if I should let up. But the stirring in my clit cleared away those thoughts and I forced her down on my dick again.

  “How’s that feel?” I taunted her. “How’s it feel to have all of me in you, bitch?” Right now, she was doing what whores do best. She was a hole for me to fuck, a blank slate that I could pretend was anyone I wished. And right now she was Lela. It was Lela who was being practically skewered on my dick. I thought of every self-centered comment she ever made. Every time she held her hand out asking for money when she hardly did a damn thing around the apartment, as if looking fly was all she needed to do. Every time she turned me down for sex, but expected me to get her off whenever the mood struck her. Right now, she was doing exactly as I wanted her to do.

  I reached around Mocha, grabbing both of her beasts and pulling her back, causing her to lose balance and her feet to leave the ground. She was now impaled on my dick. I was now completely in control of her and was fucking her harder and harder, trying to drive my dick as deep into her ass as possible, feeling the base of the dick slam into my clit. I pinched her nipples, twisting them, and she cried out again.

  Her grunts were turning to soft pleadings, begging for me to come. Hearing the distress in her voice inflamed me, and I felt the familiar stirrings in my clit. I felt tremors starting to spread throughout my hips, up my back, down my legs, and as they traveled through my body I punctuated each delicious new feeling with a slam into her flailing frame. Mocha was trying to hold onto me, but I felt myself start to leave her as the stirrings expanded and grew and finally exploded. The traveling tremors ignited, setting my flesh on fire, and I let out a growl as I came, my body still moving, my dick still punching her.

  When my body finally calmed down, I slapped her hip, urging her off my lap. She moved cautiously, her legs obviously shaking as she fell forward, collapsing on the bed. I got to my feet and went to the bathroom to toss the condom and clean up. When I reentered the room, I made my way to the table and reached for my smokes.

  Mocha watched me from the bed, as I lit my cigarette, slipping my jacket on.

  “Where are you going?” she asked as she sat up.

  “I’m going home,” I said, pulling some bills from my money clip. I handed her two-fifty. “That’s for the night and for a taxi back to wherever you want to go. The room’s paid for, so if you want to stay, you got until checkout at ten. You can smoke the rest of the blunt in the ashtray.”

  I took a drag, giving her a once-over, feeling my body stir again, remembering how good she felt on me. But I just gave her a wink before I left the room.

  It was time to toss Lela out of the house.

  Fairgrounds

  Peggy Munson

  “All’s fair in love and whores,” said Daddy Billy, spooning me after sex.

  “Then all’s fair at the fairgrounds tomorrow,” I retorted, kissing him on the nose.

  I had barely grown out of my colt legs—my wobbly girlish knees that always spread for Daddy Billy—when the carnival grew in spindly metal limbs into a buzzing drove that overtook the Mason County fairgrounds. Things had been rocky between us for a while, but this was the kind
of flawless summer day that people nearly trample with enthusiasm. We acted like new lovers. Daddy Billy roused me early with kisses. “Freak Day’s here!” he shrilled. He was already clothed. I’d started sleeping naked because Daddy liked to slip beneath the sheets at night. “I need my favorite midnight snack,” he’d say, as he was waking me with gropes and sticking fingers into me.

  At the carnival, the sun hung with its fake sticky orange of flypaper sap as we wove through kids with droopy snow-cones. I was horny and listless, as I always was when Daddy Billy wasn’t fucking me. But he was distracted by another yawning circumference—for once, not a lipsticked one. He lobbed Ping Pong balls at little fishbowls, trying to win a prize I didn’t even want. He seemed unconcerned that my thighs might melt together in the heat; but his certain confidence, even against the sun, made me wet. I corkscrewed my hair, shifting on grass ironed flat by weeks of footfalls. “Be good so Daddy doesn’t sell you to the carnival,” he said, grinning big. If I wasn’t going to ride him, I wanted to ride the rides. I had a pocket full of tickets and a jeweled sky asleep on cumulus, just waiting for my eager hands. I tried to pull away but Daddy Billy tugged my wrist. “This is not one of those postmodern Canadian sideshows,” he warned. “With adorable, tumbling twins. The inbreeding here makes them ugly and mean. So stay close to Daddy and stay away from the octopus man.”

  For the past three weeks, the octopus man had been my nemesis. I was the sole rider who was screaming on the night of an electrical storm, when he wouldn’t stop the ride and let me down. With a lizard hobble, and skin more inked than a letterpress, the octopus man was a surly sadist with an oiled machine. “His octopus is his flail,” Daddy teased. And that night of the storm, he commanded the throttle and laughed as the lightning unzipped the sooty dark. He flailed me with my fear. He was not as nice as Daddy Billy was, though Daddy had been known to laugh when I screamed. Daddy had been known to do a lot of things.

  Daddy Billy—also known as Reverend Billy, Outlaw Billy, and, on rare occasions, Billy Boi—had taught me how it felt to call a lover “Daddy,” and then infused the word with sultry power. His naughty drills had turned me from a full-grown woman into an adolescent nymphomaniac. He taught me need that built like summer heat on asphalt. I wanted him explosively. While real girls at the fairgrounds showed their wifely 4-H projects—hand-sewn outfits and fruit pies—I only had a singular ambition: to be the docking station for his giant silicone cock. I sucked my straw to court attention. I rubbed up against him so he’d feel my gumdrop nipple pressing into his sleeve. I watched his last Ping Pong ball skip around the fishbowl rim and fall. “Harumph,” he growled. I loved his Grant Wood–painted brow and every other part of him that hardened at the sight of me.

  Daddy gravitated toward the Fun House, where not a single patron queued. The carnie gestured forward like a prison guard. He knew what Daddy was up to, and he didn’t approve. Nonetheless, he ogled Daddy’s hand cupped around my ass, and the ashy cap of his cigarette dribbled like cum. He saw that we were perverts playing games, and he didn’t like that we were civilian freaks instead of rubes. Daddy steered my ass into the spooky dark, then seized my hand in the distorting mirror room. What the mirrors didn’t distort, Daddy would pervert. “Today, we’re on a date,” said Daddy Billy. “But it’s secret, because Daddies aren’t supposed to date little girls. So let’s pretend we’re both teenagers. Do you know what teenagers do in the Fun House?”

  “Do they tongue kiss?” I asked eagerly.

  “They kiss, but in a different way.” He grabbed me and pulled me to his body near the wavy mirror. His lips barely grazed my lips and then they pressed against me hard, flash-flooding my groin. The kiss was elasticized by the wobbly glass, and then grew wide and tall as Daddy pawed the soft white of my bra. He pinched my nipple, under my shirt, and said gruffly, “Your nipples make Daddy Billy grow long, like our faces in the mirror. Do you want to feel the way Daddy is growing long?” Daddy guided my hand to his jeans and let me feel the dick tunneling down his pantleg. I wanted to put the full length in my mouth. My lips took on its shape automatically, with robotic memory.

  “No,” chided Daddy. “You’ll get that later.” He shoved one hand under the waistband of my cutoffs and slid a coarse finger into me. “Mmm. Daddy likes it when you’re dripping like a little slut,” he said. He kept two fingers on my nipple and twisted it to see if I could hold my scream. “Good little pet,” he said. We walked through the rolling barrel and traversed the shaking floor, then spilled into a labyrinthine configuration of mirrors, where Daddy lined me up in front of a replica of me.

  “In the carnival,” said Daddy-as-benevolent-dictator, “awful things go on. You need to learn to run if anyone tries to do such things to you, so I must demonstrate.” He slid his hand down the front of my cutoffs. “See how you have a twin?” asked Daddy, gesturing to my image. “In the carnival, if girls have twins, they’re made to fondle each other while dirty carnies watch. Did you know that, sweet girl?”

  “No,” I said. “But that is wrong.”

  “Of course. Of course it is,” said Daddy sternly. “But let’s pretend today that I’m your Daddy and you have a twin and we are carnies. Aren’t you curious about your twin? Don’t you wonder what it’s like to have the perfect narcissistic fuck? She’s just like you.”

  He forced my hand up to the mirror, to touch my reflection twin’s breasts. He watched me stroke her cool, planed face. He kept one hand on his cock as I made a circle on her nipple, then slid my fingers down. My left hand burrowed past the silver button of my cutoffs and down into my drenched white panties. My twin gawked. Her eyes were scared rabbits fleeing a mad scientist’s lab. I bent down to kiss and pin her there, a specimen of need.

  Behind me, Daddy Billy rubbed against my ass. He wanted his cock inside me so bad. I felt the way that it was homing desperately, yet ramming up against the home sweet home of comfortable clothes. He flattened me against the mirror. I left a trace of lipstick and of steam. Daddy embossed me with cock from behind. His need was hurting me. I wanted so much to let him in. He put my arms up so my tits pancaked against the glass. He bit my neck and groaned and fought to push his cock through tiresome threads. But suddenly, we heard footsteps approaching. Daddy hitched his belt and pulled away. The twin retreated as we walked away from her. She backed away like she was running off to join the carnival.

  The sun had morphed into a disapproving eye. My pussy ached for Daddy’s cock, but we could not find any private shaded spots. Daddy stopped to buy me funnel cakes so I’d get powdered sugar on my hands and then he licked it off while passersby clucked meddling tongues. “I need it, Daddy, please,” I whispered in his ear. He got distracted and stopped to try to cop some plush by throwing rings at a grid of Coke bottles. I saw the octopus man skulking by but the crowd was cheering wildly as Daddy got a ringer. “We’ve got a sharpie!” the carnie yelled, pulling down a giant blue bear with his shepherd’s crook. Daddy told me I could put the bear between my legs at night when I was waiting up for him. He said the bear was wicked just like me and liked rubbing up against the Coke bottles while carnies slept. He asked if I would like to feel the Coke bottle inside his pants. I grinned and said, “Yes, Daddy, please.” I loved it when he let me know my waiting time was up. He led me back behind the line of game booths where the narrow alley filled with aromatic funnel cake exhaust.

  He eased the ragged edge of cutoffs to the side and rammed two fingers into me and made me smell the way my pussy was burnt sugar. Then he gave a furtive look around and opened up his belt buckle and asked me if I wanted to feel his Coke bottle, and I said yes. He took my hand and slid it between denim and his boxers. “I don’t think that is a bottle,” I said skeptically, but when I tried to pull away he grabbed my wrist.

  “I think it is,” he said. “If Daddy Billy says it is. Now if you put your fingers in a ring and rub them up and down the bottle, you might win another prize.”

  “You’re trying to trick me like a dirty car
nie,” I said indignantly. “I know that it’s your thing and not a bottle. I’m not some dumb white carnie trash.” I hitched my tube top higher and I tightened up the knot that held my gingham shirt above my belly stud.

  “Well,” Daddy said, “close your eyes and put your fingers in a ring and I will show you that it is. Have you heard of soda jerks? You are the pretty girl your Daddy needs to jerk his soda.” Daddy Billy took my hand and rubbed it up and down his thing. He had the special Japanese flex-dick on, the one that felt like skin. “Oh honey, you are such a good girl when you do that and you’re going to get a very special prize,” he groaned. I felt his fingers prying up the edge of my cutoffs. He moved my panties over quickly and he rammed the bottle into me. His hips were pushing me against a pole.

  “Not here,” I said, and tried to push him off, though inside I was squeezing, holding him, and oh, he felt so good. “You’re lying. It’s a trick.”

  “I have to fuck you, baby girl. You know you make my cock ache.”

  He wrapped his arm around the pole and pinned me there and snarled into my ear. “You’re such a dirty girl,” he said. “To wear these slutty cutoff jeans, so loose that anyone can find a way inside you. What’s Daddy supposed to do but pop your cherry with his soda pop?” I closed my eyes and, just to humor him, pretended I believed he had a bottle, not a dick. He fucked me hard against the pole to make me feel the temper of the glass. I wondered what would happen if the bottle shattered in me and I had a bunch of fragments cutting me and liquid spilled inside me until my blood was carbonated. Behind my eyes, I saw a screen of bubbly blood, the little comic bubbles emptied of their words. What if Daddy’s shards would never leave, and hurt me every time he pulled away because they wanted wholeness back? And what if I became a mirror maze inside so nobody could tell which me I was, and whether I was inside me or out? He seemed to want to shatter us.