Best Lesbian Erotica 2011

by Kathleen Warnock

  Her mouth is so gentle, so delicate on my cock. I can feel her tears falling as she cleans me off, and it makes me even harder. I grip her by the hair and force her down onto me.

  “That’s it, whore. I’m not done with you yet. I need your mouth on me. Yes, right there.”

  I watch her eyes as I fuck her mouth. I thrust deep into her throat and she can’t breathe, and I hold it there, relishing the sight of her eyes bulging again.

  “Yes, you are mine. My precious whore. My hole to fuck. I know, sweet bitch, I know. I know you can’t breathe. I love watching you choke on my cock. Yes, my fiesty bitch, choke it all down.”

  I slam into her throat and she gags. It’s relentless and I’m not stopping, and she is scared. I can see the panic start just as I ease off. Her eyes soften a bit and she gently suckles me as she calms herself, breathing, sucking, breathing, my hand gently stroking her cheek.

  “That’s my precious whore. Yes. Your mouth feels so good. Open for me. That’s it.”

  I drive into her throat again, and it is good. She becomes a mouth, made to serve me, a hole to open for me, and she takes me all the way in. I can feel her throat moving around me, and she’s moaning around my cock, and I am at home in her throat. I have her by the base of her neck now, and I am rotating slowly. Her throat is the sweetest hole in the world, and it is all mine to use. I thrust into her rapidly as I shoot, and she drinks down every drop of it.

  “My good whore. My sweet bitch. Yes. Take it all. Very good.”

  I slide out of her mouth and hold her for a long time. Then I raise her up to meet my eyes.

  “You have pleased me very much. You may sleep at my feet tonight.”

  She curls up at the foot of the bed and sighs contentedly. This is where she belongs. This is who she is. My precious whore.

  THE THIRD KISS

  Kiki DeLovely

  I had a dream about you last night.

  I pushed SEND before I could second-guess myself. I fretted over it for two seconds before my phone rang, startling me into nearly dropping it on the floor.

  Immediately I was greeted with an “Oh, really?” There was a playful flirtation in her voice but something else too.

  “Down, boy. I shouldn’t have even told you.” I was regretful only because my mind turned to her girlfriend, sweet as apple tartlet.

  “I’m glad you did. My morning was crap before you sent me that.”

  “Why? What’s going on?”

  “I’m writing at the coffee shop. Meet me here? We could catch up, get some writing done, over-caffeinate ourselves…”

  So I slipped on my shoes and slid out the door, headed toward what might as well be the only coffee shop in town. As I walked through my neighborhood, still uncomfortably excited from my troubling vision, I wondered where this dream had come from. I thought of our history, and there really wasn’t much to tell. When we met, I wasn’t her biggest fan. She drank too much, was continually high, flirted unabashedly with me…well, anything in a skirt really, which could have been her only positive attribute I knew of, except that it was always in front of her girlfriend, sloppy and disrespectful. Because of this, I found her incredibly unattractive.

  One night, out with a huge group of friends, I made it evident that I was far from impressed. It must have embarrassed her because after that, while her flirtation never ceased, she definitely cooled it a bit. A month later, I started to see her around more. She had clearly been working on cleaning up her act, and she quickly grew on me. Witty and spot-on with the humor, courteous and sharp as hell—sobriety had transformed her—she won me over.

  The last time I saw her, she asked me to dance. At first I refused, but then I had no choice—she gave me those sad puppy-dog eyes one second, and then the next I was being led to the dance floor. We had fun but, like always, it felt very innocent. Like always…that is, until that dream last night, so vivid I had woken hot and wet. At the memory, I felt the same hard pulse in my clit, making it not exactly uncomfortable to walk, but definitely difficult to concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other. Luckily (or unluckily?), I had reached the front door of the coffee shop. Now I just had to walk inside and actually face her. I was sure she’d give me that devilish grin, able to read the lust all over my face.

  She just looked up and gave me a smile, waving me over. She rose from her chair and hugged me—making my heart race a little. For once, I felt as though our interaction was more innocent on her part than mine. It was difficult to be that close to her with the shadow of the dream lingering. After what felt like two hours, thirty-seven minutes and about five billion seconds, I was free to sit down on the bench at her table. She plopped down next to me, too close for my comfort, and it made me jump the tiniest bit.

  “So tell me…” she started, but I spoke over her, asking why her day was so awful, changing the subject before it could even be brought up. A cloud came over her, “Oh, you know. Same ol’, same ol’…” Then, with a spark in her eye, she returned to the main subject. “I wanna hear about this dream.”

  “Actually, I don’t know. Thinking about it made me realize, I really don’t know all that much about you. We’ve been writing buddies for a little while now, but I don’t know much about you outside of the casual day-to-day and what you put down on paper.”

  “Okay, well, it goes both ways then. If I share, you have to, too.”

  Knowing full well what she wanted, I agreed, though I had no idea how I would fulfill my side of the bargain. I could hardly look her in the eye.

  She told me about her writer’s block, which led to talk of school, then on to open relationships, which blended into politics and back around again to writing. I felt the conversation winding down, so I quickly asked, “You’re on a deadline, huh?” She nodded. “Better get back to work then.” And I popped up, headed for the restroom.

  Finally alone and shielded in the small bathroom space, I exhaled thinking about how I had avoided telling her. For the moment. So I took several more. I didn’t have to pee, I just needed an excuse to remove myself from her side, the tension being too much for me with her lips so near. Returning to the table, I sat down across from her, safely out of direct contact with her skin.

  She was staring at her screen, willing it to give her something. I opened my laptop, aware of how small the table was, how the backs of our screens had to touch. Even that felt too overwhelmingly intimate for me. I squirmed a bit, busied myself by clicking away: opening a new page, selecting just the right font, then opting for another; making the font size smaller and smaller.

  My screen slowly began to descend, as she pushed from the opposite side, and I was forced to meet her mischievous, curious gaze. “Don’t think I forgot—it’s your turn.”

  “Sorry, we talked for too long and now we both need to get to writing.” I flipped my screen back up.

  I had almost recomposed myself when an IM appeared on my screen, her words glaring in my face: You need to write? Fine then. Write it.

  No. You need to finish your article.

  I’m blocked. Need inspiration.

  Okay…but only because it’ll make a good story. And I really should be writing anyway….

  And just like that I began to pour out the secret of my subconscious that had arisen the night before, typing nasty things to her, about her. Things that my mouth would have never uttered, at least not to anyone but a lover.

  In my dream, it all started with an auction. Somehow I had agreed to have myself auctioned off at some type of fundraiser. The gay boys in the back bid high on a beautiful MTF before me and I was nervous, knowing I wouldn’t bring in quite that high a sum—only the gay men usually have that kind of money lying around. But I braved the stage with a smile and my price tag rose into the hundreds. It came down to a bidding war between you and my ex, and it was soon apparent that you were not backing down. So my ex bowed out graciously and you won.

  As I stepped toward the edge of the stage, you offered me your hand, helping me
down. Your eyes fixed on mine, lustful and ravenous. We went and sat down by your girlfriend. She was seated on your left and I was on your right, making the chemistry between us painfully difficult. You whispered in my ear, “What do we do now?”

  I had no idea, so I made something up. “I think you’re entitled to three kisses.” And in that moment, our fingers met, electricity sparking just before, the tension tight as they interlaced. Our palms pressed together tightly as if they were our bodies, the desire thick, mounting until it was unbearable, and we knew we had to find someplace more private right then. You excused yourself to your girlfriend and she was fine with it—there was clearly some sort of understanding in place.

  Racing down a stairwell after each other, we finally stumbled into some sort of large tent and collapsed on top of many blankets and pillows. Wanting to prolong the torment just a bit longer, I got to my knees and started messing with the lamps, trying to find the perfect lighting. You couldn’t stand it any longer (neither could I), and so you pulled yourself up and me toward you—the infinitesimal space between us now filled with such heat and passion, fervor and wanting. Both breathing hard, our eyes locked together—one heightened pulse, beating out of you and into me—we dove into that first kiss, devouring it, tearing into each other like we’d been wanting it for years. Like…

  I have been wanting you for years.

  I had been so wrapped up in putting words to my dream that I had all but forgotten I was writing to an immediate audience of one.

  Stop it.

  Seriously. I have. And I’m there right now. Your words took me into a waking dream. A fantasy. It’s like breaking reality to type this right now.

  Well, you’re breaking my concentration. I’m gonna lose it if you don’t stop and then it’ll be gone.

  Reading these words, she stopped typing and I refocused myself, closed my eyes and fell back into place in my dream. Searching the depths of my mind to find the words to match the lust, I started tapping away again on the keyboard.

  We fell to the floor again. With fury and madness, we fell onto each other, with burning and intensity. A tangled mess of hands searching, limbs interwoven, my lips unable to leave yours, your tongue wrapped around mine. Not caring if we could even breathe, let alone remember to do so. Grasping, desperate, pressing harder and harder up against each other, knowing that we had to remain above the thin layer of clothing separating mouths from hardness, fingers from wetness. Knowing it, loathing it, and yet it made that first kiss all the hotter. The ardor gripping us so tightly that we might suffocate. That first kiss lasted an hour easily—maybe longer. You were packing and I felt you grinding against me, your cock stiff on my thigh. You wanting me so badly to do more to acknowledge its presence. Me wanting so badly to straddle you and ride out this orgasm that had been teetering on the edge from the beginning, leaving me dizzy now. If only for a brief moment of release. Knowing that, for me, it would be ever so brief—wanting more, always wanting more. So instead, reaching down, I grasped your hardness, hoping to relieve you, hoping that relief will last longer than a moment.

  The moment my hand made contact, you moaned deeply in my mouth, your tongue reaching farther, the vibration echoing down my throat, penetrating me as I wished you could. I took your cock in my hand and worked it the way my pussy would, rubbing you up and down, both of us too excited to take our time. I stroked you firmly, moving faster, as fast as I could with the protective layer separating my palm from really getting a good grip on you. You were so lust crazed that you thrust at an impatient pace—an impending explosion bursting at the seams—your tongue moving with an unimaginable quickness. The way you moved that tongue in my mouth, something I had never experienced before, and with such speed that it made it difficult to concentrate on my task at hand. So I began to suck on it, which quieted you briefly, only to make you all the more excited again. You regained control, fucking my mouth intently with your tongue, as you imagined what my lips would feel like wrapped around your cock.

  And right then the seams gave way, and you exploded with the intensity of bulls charging through a brick wall—cumming so hard that I felt it rampage through me and all my weight collapsed on you, leaving me exhausted and sated in the here and now.

  We lay there, marinating in bliss for just a few minutes before realizing we had to get back. So we smoothed our clothes, ran fingers through each other’s hair and started back. On the way up, you trapped me against a wall in the stairwell and all the desire flooded back, rushing over us, and you took my chin in your hand, bringing me toward you for another kiss.

  I stopped you. “Don’t you think you already used up your three kisses?”

  You just shook your head and smiled. “This is only the second one.”

  This time you kissed me with a tender sweetness, slowly, with so much intention I felt like I might melt into a million little water molecules and just fall away. Sensing my weakness, you looped your arm around me and placed one hand on the small of my back, the other cupping my face, gently nudged my legs apart and nestled the head of your cock against my wetness gathered there. You slowly ground against me in a circular motion as our second kiss deepened, me emitting little noises, cold concrete on my shoulder blades, steadying me against you. My murmurs grew more frequent, more wanton, and I felt a smile creep across those lips on mine. You slowly pulled just your face away, still keeping me there in that vulnerable position, and you looked into my eyes. “Just wait and see what that third kiss looks like.” You released me gently and motioned for me to make my way up the stairs. I felt your eyes run up my legs to my ass as I walked away.

  My fingers paused after typing fluidly for so long. There was a moment of quiet as I stared into the screen unbelievingly, and then I took a deep breath.

  And then?? she typed.

  That’s it. I woke up.

  My screen slowly crept down once more and I met her eyes. She was staring at me with the same look as in my dream, and that, combined with the wetness saturating my panties, left me unbearably suffering.

  “I’m sorry…I can’t…” And with that I made a rush for the bathroom. Safe once again, free from her gaze, I went to shut and lock the door, and suddenly she pushed inside and stood between me and the door.

  “I want my third kiss.”

  THE GARDEN OF EARTHLY DELIGHTS

  Betty Blue

  For Carter and Joanna: may you always find luck in the shadows and in the light

  Phera danced like a demon goddess, limbs twisting and whirling amid the feather and flame, in a way no ordinary creature ought to be able. Her ebony hair sparkled with bits of mica in the candlelight and Aryn held her breath, certain the flying strands would catch fire as Phera spun herself through the maze of candelabra. As she reached the end, she plucked the last candle from its holder and ran the flame across her bare skin, igniting the accelerant she had painted herself with in a stunning swirl of pale violet that licked across her body.

  She somehow used the fringe of feathers that decorated her arms to snuff the flame as she danced, and with the last of it still burning, Phera snaked toward the crowd and presented herself to be extinguished by some lucky patron. Aryn swallowed as Phera’s eyes settled on her. There was no time to be bashful or Phera could be scarred. The dancer knelt over Aryn’s lap and arched back with her feathered arms poised like wings across her crown, a trail of violet running from her navel to the dark patch of hair between her legs and another circling up around one sharp-peaked breast.

  Aryn ran her fingers down the smooth flesh, smothering the flame and pausing over the moister heat below it while reaching with her other hand for the fire teasing over Phera’s breast. Before she could close her hand over it, however, Phera rose toward her, placing her breast before Aryn’s mouth. She made a sound of pain as Aryn hesitated, and Aryn dove forward and smothered the flame with her tongue. Phera sighed and pressed in close, running her feathers down Aryn’s back, moving against her until Aryn took her in her mouth and su
cked.

  Aryn closed her eyes, sliding her hands around the muscled back and holding the dancer’s smooth body close, the hard nipple still hot against her tongue, and then Phera pulled back with a whispered laugh and took her body away.

  “Don’t be greedy, little boy.” She winked and stroked her feathers down Aryn’s temple and throat before she twirled away.

  The man to Aryn’s right grinned and nudged her in the ribs, and several others slapped her on the back as the show ended. “First time?” asked one of them, and Aryn nodded, not trusting her voice. But it wasn’t. She had watched Phera from the back of the crowd dozens of times, and only tonight had scraped the coin and the courage together to pay for a seat on the cushions that circled the stage.

  The Garden of Earthly Delights was a high-class establishment among the many lesser names that jumbled for space and clamored for attention in the district of Raqia known as the Devil’s Doorstep. It was the lesser end of the celestial plane, where the peasant class of the Fallen was relegated to its ghetto. But the Garden drew a more exclusive kind of clientele than the average den of iniquity. Young men of means among the angelic class who spent their school holidays in Raqia as a lark were its frequent patrons. And Phera was its main attraction.

  Aryn slipped back into the crowd, her tongue still tingling from whatever accelerant Phera had used. It tasted sweet and peppery at the same time. She wandered out into the cold night, still feeling the soft slope of the dancer’s belly against her palm and the downy tuft of hair she had dared to slip her fingers into to touch the heat of Phera that had nothing to do with flame.

  She stumbled into someone coming out the side exit as she rounded the corner. Aryn ducked her head, mumbling an apology and then pulled back in surprise as a firm hand grabbed her around the wrist. Eyes like a mink’s were laughing at her from inside a hooded cloak. She had stumbled into Phera.