Best Lesbian Erotica 2011

by Kathleen Warnock

  The next piece was traditional striptease music, accompanied by brilliantly harsh lighting and the sound of catcalling and cheering. Obviously the audience recognized “The Stripper.” Van knew that Julia chose her own music for Roxy’s gigs, and this was just the kind of song to appeal to her sense of humor. The familiar, brassy rhythm made you want to swivel your hips and take it all off, very slowly. Which is what Roxy did—almost. She was already nearly naked when she began her bump and grind, but it took her all of the song to strip down to a tiny white thong. Van couldn’t tear her eyes away, just like the audience. She felt herself getting wetter and was glad she was wearing dark trousers.

  The last song was languid and bluesy—a woman’s voice, a tenor saxophone, a muffled drumbeat. Julia always liked to end sets with slow sensual music. Of the three, this was Roxy’s longest, most erotic performance. Her skin shimmered with a light sheen of sweat in the pale pink spotlights. Van could see the muscles ripple in her limbs and belly and ass as she danced and writhed and taunted her audience to the heavy beat. Her rosy-red nipples stood out from her glistening breasts. Roxy’s black hair shimmered around her head. Van wondered if the audience was as aroused as she was, especially the dykes who gazed up at the stage as if hypnotized.

  On the last few bars of the song, as the stage lights intensified to white, Roxy suddenly pulled away the thong and spread her legs wide. Van stared in shock at the familiar sight of the trimmed, arrow-shaped hair at the apex of her thighs. Roxy thrust her hips forward, giving those near the stage a teasing glimpse of what the arrow pointed at. Then she flung the thong into the audience, above the heads of the dykes. Automatically Van reached up and caught it easily. The audience whistled and howled as Roxy pranced around the edge of the stage.

  Shaken, Van got up from the table, stumbling a little, still holding the thong in her hand as she made her way out before Roxy could come down and mingle.

  She walked around to the alley behind the club where other times she had waited in her car. It was dark there, except for a single lamp above the door. Well away from the light, she slouched against the wall and pressed a hand between her legs to relieve the swollen ache. She still held the thong in her other hand. She sniffed it, groaning, and tucked it in her breast pocket, like a handkerchief.

  Her fingers trembled slightly as she took out a Cuban cigarillo from its slim box. The flame of the lighter caught her face momentarily, highlighting its angles in the surrounding gloom. A film noir moment, she thought. She drew the aromatic smoke deeply into her lungs. Julia would be about half an hour, she figured. After pacing back and forth for a while, she felt loose and relaxed and resumed her position against the wall, careful to stay in the shadows.

  She had just flicked away a second half-smoked purito, its pale tendrils of smoke still drifting in the darkness, when the door opened and Julia stepped out. She was wearing stilettos and a clingy dress with thin shoulder straps, revealing skin that glowed in the golden light. It was a warm night. Van unfastened another button of her shirt.

  Julia peered around, searching for Van’s car. Just as her lover started to turn to head toward the side of the building, Van took a deep breath and swaggered into the pool of light, hands in her pockets. Julia stopped dead, startled. Van saw caution in her face, then recognition as Julia’s eyes widened at the sight of the elegant butch.

  “Van! I thought I smelled the… Oh… You look so…” The words trailed off as Julia raked her eyes over Van, taking in the cropped hair and suit. For the first time in the four weeks they’d been lovers, her voice sounded uncertain.

  “I watched you in there.” Van didn’t smile. Her eyes glittered as she approached.

  “You…you did?” Julia’s expression was hesitant but contained a hint of excitement.

  Van could see her breathing quicken and felt her own pulse speed in response. Julia didn’t resist when Van pulled her in and kissed her throat. The slightly salty taste of Julia’s skin and the faint smell of sweat aroused Van even more. She slid her hands down Julia’s smooth, warm back to cup her ass, and Julia arched against her, giving a tiny whimper, the beginning of a moan, as she clutched Van’s shoulders. Inserting a thigh between Julia’s, Van pushed her roughly backward into the shadows.

  “Turn around and put your hands on the wall,” she said curtly, and Julia assumed the position. She spread her legs just enough, arching her head back and shuddering as Van ran her hands over Julia from behind, from hard nipples to stomach to underneath the short dress. Julia’s thighs were bare, no stockings. With one hand on her belly, Van pulled Julia hard against her. For Van nothing was more erotic than a woman’s firm behind against her groin, and she bit her lip to keep from groaning. With her other hand, Van caressed the damp, thin cloth between Julia’s thighs from hard pubis to soft crotch, then slid her fingers beneath the edge, into the slick heat. This time Julia really did moan, and she writhed her hips to make Van’s fingers go where she desperately needed them. But Van avoided Julia’s clitoris and only stroked on either side and into her. She had never felt Julia so wet. She withdrew her fingers.

  “Oh, fuck!” Julia gasped. “Oh, god, don’t—”

  “Turn around,” Van commanded again. Julia did, sagging weakly against the wall, wobbly in her high heels. Both of them were breathing hard. Van fell to her knees on the rough pavement, no doubt wrecking the new trousers, but she was beyond caring. She dragged Julia’s bit of underwear down and off, over her shoes—another thong. She tucked that one in her pocket too. She pressed her hands against Julia’s inner thighs to open them farther, and Julia hauled her dress up to her waist and shook and moaned as Van rubbed her whole face against Julia until it was wet. Van was delirious. It was almost enough to make her come. She had tasted Julia’s cunt before but only on her own fingers. Van grasped Julia’s hips to angle it harder against her mouth and licked the length of her, thrusting her stiff tongue into her lover. Finally Van sucked her clit and Julia came in her mouth, crying out her release.

  They sat in Van’s car near the front of the club under a streetlamp. It lit up the interior enough to show both of them, disheveled and flushed and sweaty.

  “Quite the butch, aren’t you,” Julia said, examining Van with eyes still hazy from sex. Her hand lay on her lover’s thigh.

  “Told you. How about staying at my place tomorrow night?”

  “If you come and see me dance first.” Julia’s eyes drifted to Van’s mouth.

  “I’ve been wondering,” Van said, before she lost her concentration, “did you wear anything when you chatted up the tables after?”

  “Ah, you should have stayed longer. Find out tomorrow.”

  Van took the thongs out of her breast pocket and held them out to Julia, a white one and a black one. “I think these belong to you.”

  Julia looked surprised. “Two?”

  “I caught the other one. Did you throw it to me?”

  “I didn’t see you. It’s too dark on the floor.”

  Julia shifted on her seat and turned her head away, looking out the side window. Van could see the outline of her jaw clench as if she were suppressing a smile. She reached out and stroked the back of Julia’s neck very lightly and was rewarded with a shiver.

  Grinning, Van shifted the car into gear.

  LADIES’ COUPE

  Anamika

  The Lucknow mail train came to a halt with a big jolt. Priya looked out of the window, but it was pitch dark outside. Someone must have pulled the emergency chain, or maybe the driver had suddenly discovered that he had strayed onto the wrong track. It was drizzling when she boarded the train at the New Delhi Railway Station, and now it was pouring heavily, the rain hitting the window with a vengeance. Priya was the only passenger in the ladies’ coupe; her two companions from Delhi had disembarked half an hour ago at Itwah. She pushed open the door by a few inches to ask the burly man sitting near the carriage door why the train had to be stopped in the middle of nowhere.

  “Someone has pulled the
chain, madam,” he informed her. “The railway police will not allow the train to start until they find out who has stopped it and why.”

  “Oh, shit!’ Priya groaned, pulling the door shut. A thorough investigation of twenty-odd coaches, each carrying fifty or more passengers, could take hours. Priya took out her copy of Femina from her overnighter and flipped it open to an article on the lifestyle of single career women in the metropolis. Not bad, she thought. When she finished her business management course next year, she would have to seek employment in a place like Mumbai, Bangalore or Hyderabad, away from her home at Lucknow.

  She had almost finished the article when, with another sudden jerk, the train started moving again. Good, Priya thought. According to her watch, it was five minutes past eleven. Bedrolls were not provided for the second-class passengers in the ladies’ coupe, so Priya pulled out a bedsheet and an air pillow from her bag and set about making her bed for the night.

  She was about to stretch out on her bunk when someone rapped on the door. She ignored the knock, but it continued, so Priya shouted, “Who’s that?”

  “Police! Open the door!” The voice was harsh but distinctly feminine.

  “What do you want?”

  “Open the door, or I’ll arrest you for not cooperating with the police!”

  Priya pulled the door open. A woman in a khaki uniform entered the coupe, closing the door behind her.

  “Aren’t you aware that Channa Devi has escaped from the Itwah prison this afternoon?” the policewoman demanded, sizing Priya up with her small, sharp eyes. She was a dark, tall woman with a square, weather-beaten face.

  “Who is Channa Devi?”

  “You don’t read the papers, do you?” The woman frowned. “She’s the notorious bandit who was caught last year after gunning down ten of her rivals in a gang war. She’s escaped and we have to track her down.”

  “Oh, my god!” Priya’s fingers rose to her lips. “Do you think she’s on this train?”

  “Not unless she’s riding on the top,” the other woman told her. “We’ve checked the compartments.” The policewoman took a peek at the upper bunks and then under the lowers, to check that no one was hiding. Then she plopped down on the empty bunk opposite Priya’s and motioned her to sit. “I will be your companion for the next couple of hours till I get down at Kanpur,” she declared.

  Priya was glad about that. At a time like this, there couldn’t be anything more assuring than having a policewoman as a copassenger.

  The woman removed her peaked cap and tousled her close-cropped hair.

  “I am fagged out after checking all the ladies’ coupes, including this one,” she said with a sigh. “It’s a terrible job, chasing a dangerous dacoit in this foul weather, even though she’s one of our kind.”

  Priya nodded. She knew that social and caste discrimination in India’s poorer states like Uttar Pradesh and Bihar often pushed the dispossessed women from the so-called lower classes, like Channa Devi, toward banditry.

  “But the law is the law,” the policewoman said.

  Priya nodded. She suddenly noticed that the policewoman was not only well built, she was also well-endowed. In fact, her ample breasts seemed to be straining hard to pop out of her tight police uniform.

  “Going home on a vacation?” the officer asked.

  Priya nodded. “My parents are in Lucknow. I study business management at Delhi.”

  “It’s good that women are competing with men these days in every sphere of life,” said the policewoman, as she started unlacing her boots, which were caked with mud. “Do you have any plan for marriage?” she asked with a twinkle in her eyes.

  “Not in the near future,” Priya told her. “I will get a good job first and then…” Priya didn’t finish. The policewoman seemed struggling hard to get her feet out of her boots.

  “My uniform caught a splash of rain,” she said, after she extracted her feet from her boots, which also looked a size too small. “I will put it on the upper bunks to dry.”

  “But you don’t carry a spare uniform,” Priya pointed out.

  “Could you spare me a sari or something to wrap around my body for a couple of hours?” the other woman said. “I had to rush out of the police station and jump into the jeep when the news of jailbreak reached us.”

  Priya took out a red and green synthetic sari that she had bought from Chandni Chowk for her younger sister.

  The policewoman thanked her, as she stripped to her bra and panties. Priya couldn’t help looking at her. The other woman had a tight, compact body with a flat tummy, broad shoulders and sumptuous breasts that all but popped out of her ill-fitting black bra. She had two scar marks, one on her left hip and the other on her right flank.

  “These are bullet marks,” the policewoman said. “This one on my right side could have killed me if I hadn’t flung myself on the ground.” She wrapped the sari loosely around her, spread out her uniform on the upper bunk and sat down, looking quite homey.

  “You’re in a dangerous profession,” Priya said. “Don’t you carry a weapon?”

  The woman smiled and then stood up to fish out a pistol from her uniform. “Not good enough against Channa Devi’s shotgun, but in a close encounter, a pistol could be quite effective. Have you ever handled a weapon?”

  Priya shook her head.

  “Take it,” the policewoman said, as she thrust it into Priya’s hand. Priya held the pistol on her palm, away from her body, the feel of the cold blue steel giving her the jitters.

  “Afraid, huh? It’s not loaded, girl.” The woman laughed heartily and pinched Priya’s cheek. “You are a sweet little girl, but mark my words: you need a gun to stop a gun firing at you.” And with that dark homily, she took back the gun, tucked it back into her uniform and then stretched out on her bench, yawning. “I will keep the light on,” she said. “Just in case…”

  Priya nodded and then closed her eyes.

  It might have been the increasing speed of the train or the harsh light in the coupe that awakened Priya sometime later. Turning on her side, she looked at her companion on the opposite bunk. What she saw made her smile. The policewoman was lying on her back with her breasts fully exposed, the sari having slipped off her shoulders. Priya could see her black bra fluttering from a hook on the coupe wall. She hadn’t seen such a big round pair except in the nude sculptures of bare-breasted women in Khajuraho temples. The deep purple areolas encircling her plump, raisinlike nipples only enhanced the lusciousness of the other woman’s breasts. She couldn’t pull her eyes away as the other woman snored softly. Priya had seen the other woman’s deep cleavage while she was undressing, but now that her breasts were out in the open they looked so fascinating that Priya found herself itching with an irresistible desire to touch them, fondle them and…kiss them.

  But this was a policewoman, a law enforcer; she would certainly spurn her advances! Priya’s own small bust was a source of agony for her. She’d rubbed her breasts with enhancing herbal oil, but so far it hadn’t yielded any result. She had been toying with the idea of implants, but that was a costly proposition that she could afford only when she got a decent job. Now, as she watched the policewoman’s delicious mounds, she slowly unbuttoned her top, loosened her bra and started fondling her breasts, tugging at the nipples to make them big and hard.

  Suddenly, the other woman opened her eyes and looked at Priya. Ashamed, Priya withdrew her hand from her chest and pulled the bedsheet over her bosom. The policewoman pulled the sari to cover herself and smiled. “Can’t sleep with my bra on,” she said, apologetically.

  “I can understand,’ Priya said, blushing. “You have such a big pair.”

  “Not that big, are they?” She pushed the sari off her bosom and gave her boobs a critical look.

  “I haven’t seen a bigger pair, if you ask me,” Priya said. “And they don’t sag at all.”

  The other woman laughed and asked Priya’s name.

  “You can call me Reena,” she said. “Well, Priya, w
hy don’t you show me yours so that we may compare?’

  Priya blushed. “They’re so small, you’ll laugh.”

  “Small is beautiful, dear, and manageable too,” Reena told her. “Like my pistol. I find lugging my boulders around very tiresome.”

  Priya laughed. Reena joined her. And then, emboldened by Reena’s assurance that she did really fancy a small pair, Priya pulled down the bedsheet from her chest.

  “So cute,” said Reena. “I wish I could exchange mine with yours.”

  “So do I,” Priya said. And again both of them laughed.

  “Come, let’s compare our other body parts,” Reena suggested.

  “Oh. no!” cried Priya. The policewoman seemed to be in a playful mood.

  “Why not? We girls do that all the time. I was a runner-up in my village in the boobs and butts contest. I received a set of pink bra and panties as my prize. Come, show me your butt, girl.”

  “I haven’t exposed myself that much even with my friends,” Priya protested even though she felt…tempted.

  “Come on, Priya,” Reena urged her. “Look, I am so tired of chasing dacoits. I really need some diversion to drive away the blues. Come, help a miserable policewoman to relax. Show me your behind.”

  “You first.”

  “Okay.” Reena turned away from her to face the wall, pulled her sari above her waist and removed her black panties. Priya wasn’t a connoisseur of bums, but she appreciated the other woman’s firm round buttocks that were not too big or loaded with too much cellulite. Apparently, Reena exercised.

  “Now, your turn, Priya,” she said, turning round.