Best Lesbian Erotica of the Year Volume 2

by Sacchi Green

  Nina was so wet, Jesse could hear slippery, squelching noises every time she slid inside her. Jesse ran her hands over Nina’s body, cupping her small breasts, rubbing her hard nipples. She slipped two fingers inside Nina’s mouth, and Nina sucked eagerly and fiercely, nipping them with her sharp, little teeth.

  Jesse groaned, her own clit throbbing in response. She felt herself getting even wetter, if that was possible. Every inch of her skin felt hot and sensitive.

  Jesse retrieved her wet fingers and reached around Nina’s hip to rub her clit, still pounding into her from behind. Nina cried out louder, her whole body thrashing against the bed. Jesse could tell she was close by the way her pussy clenched around Jesse’s cock.

  Nina turned her head to the side as far as she could and whimpered, “May I come, Daddy?”

  Jesse groaned when Nina asked. “Good girl.” She pushed inside Nina harder and rubbed her clit faster. “Yes, you may come. Come for me, good girl. Come for me.”

  With that, Nina stiffened, her body suspended for seven, eight endless seconds, before finally starting to shake, her back arching with gasping, shuddering moans. She came in a hot gush of wetness, squeezing so hard against Jesse’s cock that she pushed it out just a little. Jesse pumped slowly once, twice, before easing out gently when Nina’s shudders abated.

  Jesse let Nina go. She collapsed bonelessly onto the bed, ass still in the air. The marks were a faded pink, but still visible, making Jesse grin. Then, after collecting enough strength, Nina rolled onto her back and opened her sex-heavy eyes.

  Breathing deeply, quivering slightly, tear-stained, she stretched like a satisfied cat, wrists flexing. Her red lipstick was smeared and half-gone, her hair mussed, like a beautiful, fucked-out vixen.

  Jesse joined Nina on the bed. Faces close, foreheads knocking, their breath mingled. Jesse took Nina’s face and, finally, kissed her red mouth. Nina’s lips opened in invitation, yielding beneath Jesse’s mouth, letting herself be claimed in the way butches need to claim. Nina’s mouth was warm, her wet, small tongue twining with Jesse’s for a quick moment before they broke free.

  Jesse eased back, letting Nina nip at her bottom lip. She pulled Nina close, settling Nina’s head on her shoulder, hair spilling everywhere. She breathed in the scent of Nina’s apple shampoo, the smell of sex and sweat that still lingered in the air. It was quiet for a moment as they caught their breaths. Jesse was still wet, throbbing.

  “What’re we going to do for our sixth date?” Jesse asked, making Nina laugh out loud, bright and wicked and joyful.

  “Oh, I can think of a few things.” And with that, Nina pounced on Jesse and dragged her down.

  ARM’S LENGTH

  Theda Hudson

  She was watching me again, pretending not to from her table beside the window. The light from the overhead fixture made a yellow pool on the table and she sat just outside of it.

  What could a young thing like that, all hip and cool and lithe and lean with tits like little rosebuds—yes, I’d noticed—what could a little chickie like that want with a middle-aged dyke like me?

  The cafe door opened. A cool breeze blew in the smell of rain to mix with the fresh-brewed coffee and ruffle my paper.

  I stirred my mocha and lifted my éclair. When I took a bite, chocolate stuck to my lip and the sweet creamy filling spurted out. As I cleaned myself up, she stared at me, short, shaggy roan-colored hair falling over her forehead and across her right eye.

  Trying for suavely wicked, I licked my lips and put the pastry to my mouth, tonguing it gently.

  She stared at me like I was an alien from Mars and then, with one hand, flipped the book on the table closed. When she picked it up and stuffed it into the messenger bag hanging on the back of the faux vintage chair, I figured I’d shocked or insulted her.

  Shrugging, I picked up my coffee and turned back to the paper folded neatly in quarters on the table. Kids these days. They think they’re so sophisticated. When I refolded it to see the next page, I sensed movement and looked up to see her standing in front of me.

  The light from the next table shone from behind her and I saw the outline of her sweet tits. I was filled with a sudden urge to put my arm around her hips, right above the waistband of those shabby-chic jeans, up under the edge of her shirt, and with my other hand, lift it so I could, oh so lightly, trace a finger up that little mound and circle her aureole until her nipple hardened.

  Then I’d lean in, oh, set my mouth down on it and suckle softly. Until she arched into it, then I’d give her a nip and hold her still while I worked it over good, with plenty of teeth.

  My pussy got hot and a little juicy just thinking about it. I squirmed a bit. Big Blue pressed against me, amplifying the pleasure.

  But a sweet little chickie like her wouldn’t want a dyke like me pawing her. She was probably going to chastise me for public lewdness. These kids today, so good at speaking their minds.

  “Do you mind if I sit down here?”

  I looked at her like she was some kind of Martian come down to Earth.

  “Well, is this seat taken?” she asked, snarky as they come.

  I regained my composure enough to shrug and gesture, “Go ahead.”

  She smiled so that her darling little bow lips opened enough to show a bit of tooth. Her two front teeth were a bit crooked. I imagined her mouth bruised and swollen from kissing. And those teeth running along my shoulder and the inside of my thighs.

  “Did you hear me?”

  I shook off the fantasy. “What?”

  She sat down, scrunching her mouth up impatiently.

  “I’m Toni Talbot. My friends call me TT.”

  TT, Titty? I smiled lewdly. What was this chickie doing at my table interrupting my coffee and paper ritual?

  “My name’s Louden.” I’d given up my first name the day I left home and made it legal when I hit twenty-one. “What do you want?”

  Suddenly this hip chick turned nervous. Was she here on a dare? I looked around to see who might be watching us.

  “I want . . . ” She twiddled with a ring on her right middle finger, an arty piece of twisted silver with tiny flecks of pink stone mixed into the strands. I wondered if she’d made it. She was artsy looking enough and the school was just around the corner.

  I stared at her, remembering when my face was so innocent, so untried, so unbroken, so unworn. When my heart had not been broken and mended and girded. When my life looked bright and fresh and full of promise.

  Where had all that gone?

  I knew where: keeping a roof over my head while I chased my dreams and women and hopes. I’d gotten a few dreams at least.

  “There’s this girl,” she said, leaning in conspiratorially.

  Did she want to make her jealous? Hook me up?

  How old was she anyway? Twenty-two, twenty-three? Young enough to be my kid if Barbara had won that argument. Really more a proposal. Either way, I’d refused, seeing only my parents, my own upbringing.

  Barbara still sent cards at the holidays. She had three kids, a wife, a dog, and two cats. She was on the PTA, the homeowners association board, and drove a school bus.

  I had a house, my studio, a reasonably long and respectably illustrious client list, and a cat that was supposed to be a mouser, but was more interested in a comfortable place to sleep.

  “I really like her.”

  What did this kid’s crush have to do with me? I looked down at my cup, the éclair, half-eaten, and the paper barely begun.

  “And so?”

  She whispered, “I have no idea what to do with her.”

  I tried to picture her fluttering around this girl, excited, puppy-love-struck, insecure, scared, and eager all at once.

  Then I remembered my first sort of lover, a girl I went to school with. I took the lead and did the things I wanted to, learning as I watched to see how much she liked the way I touched her, the way I licked her pussy and sucked her tits. We drifted apart when she went for a boyfriend and I dis
covered art.

  I picked up my cup and sipped, staring at this little slip of a woman who had a crush on some other woman. I wasn’t sure if I felt hurt that it wasn’t me or irked that she’d shared with me.

  “And so, whaddya want from me?”

  She sighed like I was dense. “You’re a dyke. You’re handsome. You know what to do with women.”

  I was handsome?

  No one had ever told me I was beautiful or pretty, but Karen, my current sub, maintained I was good looking. I thought of her cuffed to the open frame at the Darker Wings club, her eyes glazed with pleasure, the apples of her ass red where I’d been at them with my gloved hand, the buffalo-hide flogger hanging over one shoulder, the falls tickling her tit.

  Yeah, I knew what to do with women. I wondered what Titty here would look like after I’d had my way with her for a bit. Is that what she wanted to know? Did she even know enough to wonder about that?

  I found I rather liked the idea of being handsome, and that this artsy, shabby-chic chickie had told me so.

  I shrugged, affecting boredom. “And so?” I had an inkling of what I thought she wanted, but first I wanted to be sure, and second, I wanted her to say it.

  She blushed fiercely, but lifted her chin and met my eyes. “I want you to show me what to do with her.”

  She wanted me to pop her lesbian cherry. Big Blue suddenly seemed very big in my pants. But she didn’t want a fucking. She could get that from any guy. No, she wanted to know how to make Janey happy, pinch a clit, lick a tit.

  I admit the idea of making out with a baby dyke had appeal. I mean she was cute and I liked her body. But what could I teach her?

  I remember my dad telling one of his buddies how his dad took him to a whorehouse so he would know how to make a woman happy. He missed the most important part of making a woman happy, the part where you’re family, where you’re in it for the love.

  Like I knew about that. But, yeah, I could tell her how to please this woman she was chasing.

  “Do you know how to make yourself come?” I asked.

  “Wha-wha-what?” she stammered.

  “Have you ever looked at your pussy in the mirror? Do you know how it works?”

  “Yes,” she said, looking around to see if anyone had heard. She’d lost the spunk that had brought her to my table.

  “Yes, what?” I pressed. “Have you seen your twat, or do you know how your cunt works?”

  She flushed, whether from the words or the idea, it didn’t matter.

  “Well?”

  “Not in any great detail,” she said softly. “Will you show me?”

  She was asking for what amounted to a mercy guided-practice session.

  I was a hypocrite, but she thought I was handsome. I nodded. “Okay. I’ll show you.”

  “When?”

  “When do you want?”

  “Now.”

  I looked at my coffee and half-eaten éclair. And the paper I’d just started. I could get them to go, but it’s kind of like watching Sunday Morning. If you don’t watch the show Sunday morning, it’s just wrong. I would have to let it all go. Just this once.

  “Okay. I’m around the corner and down a block.” I stood, put my jacket on, and picked up my stuff. The dishes went into the bus tub. The paper went on the tray next to it so someone else could enjoy it.

  Opening the door, I gestured her through it. The breeze smelled like spring. The streetlights and neon business signs shone in pools that broke into crazy wavering lines when cars drove through them.

  I kept thinking of how hypocritical I was. This baby dyke thought I was taking her to learn to make love. I knew nothing of love. I almost called it off right there.

  “I went to a gallery showing of your work two years ago,” she said shyly.

  “And what did you think?”

  “I like your later stuff better than the older stuff.”

  I wasn’t sure if I felt annoyed or pleased. Maybe I should go with pleased. After all, she thought I was handsome.

  “Me too.”

  She didn’t say anything else, but I knew she was looking at me out of the corner of her eye as we walked.

  I unlocked the front door, glad that I’d left the living room lamp on. And even more pleased that I’d tidied up yesterday. Somehow, I’d hate to have her think I lived like a slob.

  Mr. Big Cat eyed us from the corner of the dark-red floral couch that I could never bear to kill. He couldn’t decide whether to run at this strange intrusion and stared, his deep-green eyes wide, from her to me, questioning my judgment at bringing a stranger into the house.

  I did, too.

  The warmth of his current position won out. He put his head back down and watched as Miss Titty laid her bag on the tan wing chair to the left of the door.

  I closed the door and she turned to me.

  “Now what?” Now what, indeed.

  “Come with me.”

  I led her to my room and turned on the lamps on the bedside tables to give enough light to be useful, but not make things clinical. I was glad again that I’d made the bed.

  I wanted her to think highly of me when she saw me in my environment. After all, I told myself, she liked my work, she thought I was handsome.

  “Strip,” I said, sitting in the nubby mauve overstuffed chair in the corner and putting my feet up on the hassock. I steepled my hands and waited.

  “What does this have to do with knowing what to do with a woman?” She put her hands on her hips, arms akimbo. Her face was fierce, her eyes blazing. She was adorable.

  “See here, Titty. It’s like this. You can’t know what to do with a woman until you know what to do with yourself and be comfortable with it. And your answers to my questions in the cafe tell me you aren’t. Making love is not groping at each other through a curtain in the dark. It’s real and immediate. Looking at each other, asking her what feels good, learning how to give it to her, telling her what you want and how to give it.”

  Gawd, I sounded like an expert.

  “What do you want, Titty? What makes your pussy get wet and squishy?”

  She stared at me, the fierceness leaking out of her.

  “I think this was not a good idea,” she said.

  I shook my head. “No, I think you aren’t as brave as you thought you were. I think you wanted me to say, ‘Touch her here, like this, whisper in her ear.’ But if you can’t tell me what turns you on, can’t look at your own pussy, then all your dreams for this woman are just masturbation fantasies.”

  She stared at me, her mouth working like she was going to say something snappy, but finally she sighed, pulled her shirt over her head defiantly, and dropped it on the floor.

  Maybe I could do this.

  Her boots, pants, and underpants followed. They were boy underpants, which made me get more wet and squishy. There’s something virginal and innocent about them, and that’s exciting, even when it’s a lie. Maybe especially when it’s a lie.

  “Let me look at you.”

  She struck a pose and looked up at the ceiling.

  “Look at me. I’m your lover. You want me to enjoy looking at you. You want to turn me on. You want to be turned on by me looking at you, wanting you.”

  “Do you want me?”

  Her body was slender, yet to acquire the curves it would have in a few years. The bush that crowned her pussy was brown, unlike her hair, and cropped short enough that I could see her lips.

  I couldn’t count all the ways I wanted her.

  “Open the top drawer of the dresser and take out the hand mirror.”

  She sighed when she realized where I was going, but did as I said.

  “Take a gander at yourself. Open up your lips; really check your equipment.”

  Little Miss Titty lowered the big round mirror, angled it, and used one finger to spread a lip to the side so she could get a look at her quim.

  I could smell her—sweat, musk, and some kind of hair product. My pussy twinged and I squirmed so Big B
lue pressed against me.

  “Now, slip your finger between your lips and give yourself a good jilling.”

  “I can’t, I need lube.”

  I gestured to the left bedside table. “In the drawer.”

  She turned and I got a look at her perky bubble ass. Just the kind I like to see laid over my lap. With her fair skin, she would redden up nicely.

  But that was not on the menu.

  She returned to her position, opened the bottle, poured a bit on her fingers, and went to work. She tried looking at me, but pretty soon she’d forgotten about me, wrapped up in pleasuring herself.

  “You look so beautiful working your clit. It makes me want to finger-fuck you.” I wanted to do more than that, but this made a nice entry.

  “It does?” I saw the jolt of pleasure run down from her brain and into her pussy as she blushed.

  “Yeah, but first I want to kiss you. Do you want me to kiss you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes, what?”

  “Yes, Louden, I want you to kiss me.”

  “I like it when you say my name.” I stood and took her in my arms. Gawd, I’d forgotten what young flesh felt like. I tilted her face up to mine and kissed her. She gave back as good as she got and I pulled her hips against mine. It was electric.

  I took her tender breasts in my hands and rolled the tiny nipples in my thumb and forefinger. Then I leaned down to suckle them like I’d wanted to.

  Her skin was soft, smooth, new, and I could smell her sweat and the musk rising up between us.

  She groaned.

  “You like that?”

  “I do. Uh, I really like that.”

  My teeth were grazing her nipples.

  “That’s good.” It turned me on for her to tell me she liked what I was doing. “What do you want me to do?”

  “Do?”

  “Yes, ask for what you want. I want to pleasure you. So tell me how.” This was so novel, very exciting.

  “I don’t know. What you’re doing feels good.”

  I left off and kissed her. “Do you like this? This?” I took her bottom lip in my teeth and sucked lightly.