Best Lesbian Erotica 2009

by Tristan Taormino

  I groan as she sucks me hard, particularly deep, and pull my cock from her mouth. “Wait,” I say, “somewhere…else.” I offer my hand and she takes it, rises off her knees back onto her feet.

  I have a perfect sightline into the kitchen, and notice the huge walk-in freezer right behind the doorway. There may be people back there, a line cook, a busser, but they wouldn’t notice us. We could sneak right in. Shanna sees where I’m looking and waits for me to take a step.

  Tiptoeing, almost, once I move she follows and we reach the door in a few quick strides. My cock bobs from my fly. I pull on the industrial handle, somewhat thick in my hand and satisfying to grip. I let her go in first.

  She turns to face me and brings her shoulders up. “Brr.” The air is cloudy and it burns my throat a little to inhale.

  I survey the situation. A few boxes, milk crates, stacked up in the corner, filled with some heavy containers, jars, lidded plastic. Some of the boxes have been peeled open, others are still wrapped and sealed. Shanna’s face reads skepticism.

  I sit perched on the edge of the crates and boxes and say, “Come here.”

  She frowns a little. “What, here? I’m not sure—”

  “Oh, hell yes.” I stand, take a step toward her, reach out and wrap my arm around her waist. She fits well against me this way. Her arms go up around my neck somewhat instinctively.

  “But—” she says, a little too sweetly, batting her lashes at me. She has control of every detail.

  “Mmmhmm.” I lift her skirt and she gasps at the cold air, it contracts her thighs a little. I take her left knee to the crook of my elbow, and bend my legs to get underneath her, gripping my cock in my fist, sliding inside her slowly but easily. She moans and it is a lovely sound. She’s not holding back, begins working her hips against mine, thrusting and circling in S-curves, figure eights. She hooks her foot behind my back and I bend, balancing the weight of our bodies, taking a few steps backward again to lean against the boxes for support. Perfect. Perfect—my shoulders lean and my hips thrust freely, deeper and a little harder, my cock already so hard and her lips on me, on my neck again; I can see my breath hanging in the air as I exhale, hard, groaning every time she presses against me, and she kisses me, lips full on mine, tongue softly fierce, mouth open, open.

  My hands are on her hips, pressing against her hard. I can feel every place our bodies collide, the heat in such stark contrast to the frigid air. She arches her back and presses me deep; I thrust harder and lose myself in the rhythm, hard, and again, again, against her as my muscles contract, face tenses, pelvis thighs ass tense, hard, harder…and then shuddering release, still thrusting and vibrating against her, getting softer, slower, coming down.

  I hold on to her and breathe into her neck, her hair, for a moment. We kiss, giggle, weave that sex haze, gather ourselves.

  Shanna exits the freezer first and returns to our table, and I follow. I pull my wallet out of my back pocket and the bell on the door jingles, the waitress tosses her cigarette into the street after she’s opened the door, and then turns to see me tossing a few bills onto the table.

  I pick my fedora up from the table and set it on my head, run my fingertip over the rim, and slide my wallet back into my pocket. Shanna has one knee on the vinyl booth and takes another mouthful of vanilla milkshake.

  “C’mon, doll,” I say, offering my hand. She takes it and the sound of the milkshake glass on the table echoes. “Let’s blow this joint.”

  She laughs. I’m being a bit ridiculous. Ah, well, why not? I circle my arm around her waist, wink over my shoulder at the waitress, and we walk out of the diner on the corner.

  OPERATION BUTCH AMBUSH

  Tawanna Sullivan

  Hip-Hop Soul Night was in full swing at the Blue Gator. From her place at the bar, Charlie could take in all of the action on the floor and survey the new women filing in. It didn’t take long to find a target. They began an intricate eye tango: stare, lock eyes, smile, look away, repeat.

  During the third round, Charlie noticed that her Coke had dwindled down to ice cubes. She turned to flag down the bartender. A few minutes later she felt a hand on her shoulder. The young Latina woman demanding her attention was in full Mack Daddy gear, from her snug-fitting baseball cap to her fresh-pressed jeans.

  Though she was scowling, there was no real menace in her voice. “Stop staring at my girl. We came out to have a nice time, why you got to be disrespectful?”

  Charlie took a sip of her refreshed drink before responding. “And you are?”

  “Anna.”

  Charlie looked over Anna’s shoulder at the lady in question. Her overly painted face was a mixture of pride and embarrassment. “How would she know I was looking over there, if she wasn’t looking over here?”

  Anna turned the scowl up a notch. “Back off, okay?”

  It could have ended there, but Charlie was feeling mischievous. “If you came all the way over here to defend her honor, you wasted your time.”

  “What the fuck are you trying to say?”

  “Let’s not play this game.” Charlie put her glass down. “You know I was looking at you.”

  “Hell no!” Anna looked dumbfounded. “You ain’t got no business looking at me like that. Do I look like some kinda femme to you?”

  “Even the hardest woman has a soft spot, and I want to play with yours.” Charlie gently caressed Anna’s forearm.

  Stepping back, the young stud almost knocked a drink out of someone’s hand. “I don’t know where you come from—”

  “Charlie. I’m Charlie.”

  “—but we don’t do that butch/butch stuff up here.” Anna struggled to find the right words. “That’s just too gay.”

  “Well, you don’t have anything to worry about because I’m not a butch….”

  Five minutes later, they were in the back of Anna’s Jeep. “We’re not supposed to be doing this,” she whispered as Charlie nibbled on her earlobe.

  “If you feel uncomfortable, tell me to stop.”

  Once Charlie’s lips found their way to the sweet valley between her neck and shoulders, Anna’s inhibitions melted away. She unbuttoned her denim shirt and allowed access to her pierced nipples.

  Charlie pulled and twisted the silver rings with her teeth. Discovering the bulge in Anna’s jeans, she began to gently tug it. Anna moaned as the strap-on rhythmically rocked against her clit.

  Before Anna could protest, Charlie had unzipped her pants, unsnapped two of the leather clasps of the D-ring, and was directly strumming her clit.

  Then, the phone rang. Charlie would have ignored it, but it was Toi’s ringtone. Reluctantly, she drew back. “Be chill, sweetie. I have to take this.” By the time she got to the phone the ringing had stopped, but she had a brand new text message: My house. 15 min. Toi. Any time Toi was home on a Friday night, something had to be wrong. Either El had managed to get arrested again or Denny had returned from her latest straight-girl escapade with a broken heart.

  Anna had come back to her senses and was hurriedly trying to fix her clothes. The dildo didn’t want to snap back in place so she kicked it under the driver’s seat. “Don’t tell anybody about this shit, okay?”

  “I won’t.” They exchanged numbers, and Charlie gave her another kiss before heading back to her car.

  Latoya “Toi” Bennet, Elsa “El” Sparks, Denise “Denny” Franks, and Charlene “Charlie” Boyd were the original Fierce Fucking Four. It was a silly name they had given themselves after their ouster from the Butch/Femme Preservation Society. Their motto was simple—no matter whom you find yourself attracted to, be fierce enough to admit it and act on it.

  As word got around about how much fun they were having, others wanted to join in. Since four had grown to over twenty, a new name was in order. Playbois, Hardy Bois, and Lost Bois had all been suggested and thoroughly ridiculed. Since all the meetings were held at her house, they’d settled on Toi Bois for the interim.

  Charlie recognized the motorcycle in To
i’s driveway and felt her blood pressure rising. It belonged to Ruth Carson, president of the Butch/Femme Preservation Society. When Ruth began purging undesirables from the group, she hadn’t expected Toi to leave with the expelled. She was obsessed with bringing the wayward femme aggressive top switch with a bondage fetish back into the fold.

  Ruth was on the sofa fidgeting with a cup of coffee. Charlie immediately went on the offensive. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

  “Stand down, soldier.” Toi greeted her with a kiss and steered her toward the recliner. “I know this is awkward, but we need to put our personal issues aside.” After Charlie settled into the chair, she continued. “You know the show ‘Butch Ambush’?”

  “Of course, I do.” Charlie rolled her eyes. “A so-called lax butch gets snatched off the street and offered ten thousand dollars to take a week of butch lessons from gracious hosts Rocky and April.”

  “Some contestants have disappeared.” Toi turned to Ruth. “Tell her about the BRC.”

  Stripped of vitriol, Ruth’s normally boisterous voice was flat. “They haven’t actually disappeared. When you sign the contract to appear on the show, you basically enroll in the Butch Reformation Institute and agree to stay until you are a fully functioning butch. If Rocky and April aren’t satisfied with your progress after the first week, you get sent to the Butch Reeducation Center. If a femme tries to raise hell about her missing girlfriend, the ‘Butch Ambush’ lawyers come out in full force.”

  “So,” Toi cut in, “if you don’t conform, you don’t go home. Police are useless because, technically, no one has been kidnapped.”

  Charlie picked at a loose thread on a pillow cushion. “Ruth, I think you’re full of shit. On the off chance that everything you say is true, it still doesn’t explain why you’re here.”

  Averting Charlie’s gaze, Ruth ran a hand through her salt and pepper locks. “The BRC is actually the basement of the ‘Butch Ambush’ studio. We have an ally on the staff, but security is very tight. We need you and Toi to pose as applicants, get inside the building, and raise hell. While you are the center of attention, our agent will help us break in.”

  Her patience wearing thin, Toi was more direct. “Ruth thinks there is a spy on her team.”

  “We’ve tried to send decoys before, but they were turned away at the gate. No one knows that I’ve come to you and I’ve tapped a few trusted friends for the raid.” Finally, Ruth couldn’t resist a dig. “Besides, you’re the perfect candidate for the Reeducation Center.”

  “Fuck off, Ruth.” Charlie went into the kitchen. Instantly, she was upset with herself for letting the old bulldagger’s words sting. She felt better when Toi’s cool lips brushed against the nape of her neck. “I still think this is a setup. Since when do couples apply together to be on the show?”

  Toi gave her a hug. “That’s the way it works, baby. The ambush is just a theatrical way to start the show. No one is really surprised when that van shows up.”

  Charlie thrust her hands in her pockets. “I’d feel better about this if we could get the rest of the bois involved.”

  “Letting anyone else know about this collaboration beforehand could jeopardize it.” Taking out her compact, Toi refreshed her mascara. “After they finish with the butches, who do you think they will ambush next?”

  “Fine, I’m in.”

  “A producer will be out to speak with you in a few moments.” The receptionist took their application and smiled at them. “Three others couple have already been in today, but I think you two really have a shot.” She buzzed them into the lounge.

  Charlie wasn’t sure they could pull this off. Ruth hadn’t exaggerated about security; they had to go through two metal detectors and a pat down to get in the door. Hidden by a dense wood, the building itself was completely surrounded by an electrified fence. It was the perfect place for some crazy cult to make its last stand.

  Toi pulled Charlie close and began playing with her ear. “Don’t be nervous,” she whispered between nibbles. “You are Diana, I’m Tara, and we’re just here because we need that ten thousand dollar prize money to go on a cruise.”

  Taking the hint, Charlie relaxed and tried to get in character. “Easy for you to say. No one is talking about fixing you.”

  “That’s because I’m perfect.”

  A mousy looking production assistant appeared with clipboards for them. “Your applications aren’t complete,” she said. “Neither of you signed the waiver.”

  It was more than a waiver. It was three pages of archaic language written in miniscule print. “We’d have no problem signing the waiver if we were actually chosen for the show,” Toi said. “After our attorney has vetted it.”

  The woman was visibly shocked. “You can’t move forward in the interview process—”

  “I think we can make an exception in this case,” said a husky voice from behind. It was Rockalene Shea, the host and executive producer of “Butch Ambush.” Next to her was April Gorey, the femme half of their production team. The pair began circling Charlie like hungry sharks. “Sister,” Rockalene began, “you look like you’ve lost your way. Tattoos and piercings everywhere—you look like a perpetual beach bum. Is that makeup?”

  Seeing as Rockalene looked like a football player turned mortician, Charlie decided not to take the criticism personally. “I like following my own path.”

  “Are you really following a path or just letting the cards fall where they may?”

  “I bet she doesn’t open doors for you,” April said to Toi. “Does she cater to you or does she take your femininity for granted?”

  “We do all right,” Toi responded.

  April put a sympathetic arm around her. “But that’s just it, sweetie. If you wanted to settle for just ‘all right,’ you wouldn’t be here.”

  Toi sighed. “I guess.”

  The production assistant cleared her throat. “Okay, then. You will have one-on-one interviews with Rocky and April. If they decide to take on the project, we will need to get your signatures.”

  Charlie was ready to follow Rocky into the hallway when the elder stateswoman shook her head. “I know deep down inside you are eager for some of this wisdom, but I’m interviewing Tara. She needs to learn how to recognize a good butch when she sees one.” With a grand gesture, she offered Toi her arm and escorted her away.

  “Come on, Diana,” April said. “I get to give you a full evaluation and suggest a course of treatment.”

  “Whatever you say, Dr. Gorey.” On their journey Charlie made note of the restroom and utility closet.

  The tiny office actually looked more like an interrogation room. There was a desk, two chairs, and a small window overlooking the trash compactor. The worn folding chair creaked and groaned as Charlie tried to find a comfortable position.

  They spent the first few minutes in silence while April poured through the application. Occasionally, she stopped shuffling papers to make notes. “I see you two have an open relationship. You don’t mind if someone else fucks Tara?”

  Charlie grinned. “Nope, and I don’t mind if she fucks someone else. Not everyone is meant to be monogamous.”

  “Why are you really here, Diana?”

  “For the money, of course.”

  “Do you really need money?”

  “T wants to go on this cruise—”

  “Do you want to go?”

  “Well, I don’t really—”

  “So, you let your girl bully you to get a makeover you don’t want and go on a cruise that you don’t want to be on.”

  Charlie shrugged. “People who love each other compromise.”

  “And what has Tara ever given up for you?” April didn’t give her time for an answer before going in for the kill. “You are spoiling her—and that’s not what she wants. A femme doesn’t want to run roughshod over her butch; she needs boundaries. She wants to be put in her place.”

  Examining the scuff on her sneakers, Charlie appeared to be in deep thought. Ruth had
briefed them on the pitch April used to suck in potential contestants. “T wouldn’t see it that way.”

  “Maybe not consciously, but she did turn you in.” April switched to a more sympathetic tone. “Let us help you become the woman she needs.”

  “Whatever. If she’s not satisfied with me, she’ll tell me. Y’all can ambush someone else.”

  “Now, your girl would be pretty upset if you walked away from this without even trying. It’s just seven days.”

  “Okay. What would it take for you to reject our application, to tell Tara that I don’t qualify for butch lessons?”

  April partially drew the blinds and sat on the desk. “Tara’s application says that you need to learn proper table etiquette.” She opened her legs to reveal a well-coiffed pussy. “Let’s see if you can eat this sweet poontang without making a mess.”

  This wasn’t in the script, but Charlie didn’t hesitate. “No.”

  The femme hostess extraordinaire frowned. “Don’t tell me. You’re the type that can’t fuck without some false extension of manhood?”

  “I didn’t say I wouldn’t fuck you.” Charlie retrieved a safe sex kit from her back pocket and snapped on a purple glove. “I’m just not going to eat you, no extensions needed.” She put April’s left foot on her shoulder. Gentle tongue strokes made the tightly toned legs tremble.

  A salty-sweet aroma greeted Charlie as her cheek glided along April’s thigh. Spreading open the glistening lips revealed a fat little clit that had thrown off its hood. She stroked it gently with her gloved thumb. “Do you like that?”

  “Yes,” April whispered between labored breaths.

  A chill went through Charlie’s body as manicured nails raked lightly through her short afro. Pulling April to the edge of the desk, she stood up to relieve the pressure on her own throbbing clit. “Hold on tight, baby. You’re about to go on a ride.” The thumb didn’t break its stride as one and then another finger slid into the eager pussy.