Best Lesbian Erotica 2012

by Kathleen Warnock

  He laughed, and refused me, continuing to lay pain onto me as I writhed, moaning, sobbing with it, blazing. I begged him not to stop, to please keep hurting me, claiming me with his belt. Saying that I needed it, needed his marks on me. He was ruthless and I shuddered with it, a conflagration of need taking me over. I was in that place where I felt like I could take all the pain in the world, eat it all and spit the flames of it right back, a burning circle between us, for as long as he wanted, perhaps longer.

  He stopped. Let me writhe in hunger, aching for him, wanting more, begging him to hurt me. He just smiled his cruel smile and watched me, as Sir covered my mouth and nose with his hand, taking my breath and holding it. He made me come, as he held on to my breath, orgasm exploding in my head, sounds escaping my mouth around his hand. I started to move my head, fighting to breathe. Finally, he let me breathe.

  “Thank you, Sir.” I said, my eyes locking on Christian’s, thanking him for so much more than just the privilege of breathing.

  Dexter got on the bed with us, reaching for me, and I could feel Sir relax a little. This was what he wanted. They smiled at each other, and there was such intimacy in it, a thousand scenes, hundreds of nights of shared enjoyment. They had missed each other. It was palpable in the room, this aching hurt in their throats. Together again, after seven years, able to connect again. I was one of the conduits of that connection, I could feel it. I was being offered, and with me came new possibilities.

  When Dexter’s knees came to rest on my thighs, spreading them even wider, I gasped. Then I felt his mouth on my nipple, subtle, precise, a dozen points of pleasure concentrated together, and I began to writhe. His hand gripped the other nipple, thumbing it gently, and I could not be still. My nipples are very sensitive, gentle touch is intense, and firm touch hurts. He was being gentle, and it made my cunt grab for something, aching to be filled. I was spread wide, writhing and empty, and it was overwhelming, this pleasure so close to my heart. I began to cry.

  He moaned around my nipple, and Sir began to stroke my hair, forcing gentleness upon me, making me stay with it. My ass was so full and my cunt so greedy, my mouth formed this O of ache, tears streaming down my cheeks. Sir told me that I could come, as many times as I wanted, as long as Dexter was touching my nipples, and I sobbed, looking up at him, devastated by this. Dexter’s hand left my nipple, and instead I felt Sir’s gloved hand on my chest, pressing into my breast, just holding it firmly. I came, moaning, begging them to stop; it was too much.

  They knew better, and made me take it, as Dexter’s tongue wrote pleasure on my skin, and Sir’s hand held me. Dexter’s hand pressed down onto my cunt, cupping me, the heel of his palm pressing onto me, firmly, and I came again, shuddering, whimpering. He began to suck my nipple, and I begged him to stop making me come, I couldn’t take it, it was too much. He didn’t stop; I knew he wouldn’t, and I couldn’t stop sobbing.

  Sir began to stroke my throat, Dexter licked a line across my chest to the other nipple, and it undid me. I couldn’t do it anymore. Anything but this. Give me pain, force me to take it for your pleasure, fuck me ruthlessly, don’t just give and give like this. I began to try to fight my way free, Sir’s thigh holding me down, Dexter’s weight sinking into me, not letting me free, as he tongued and sucked and tortured my nipple with gentleness, his finger reaching down to stroke along the side of my clit. I held on to the bed as tight as I could, coming, begging them to hurt me, to fuck me, to stop doing this to me, the pain in my thighs from Dexter’s knees anchoring me.

  “Please, Sir. Please hurt me. Please. I will do anything. Please. Please hurt me. I need it. Please. I can’t stand it. Please hurt me.”

  Finally, he did. His teeth sunk into my nipple, and it was so good. He had me tight between his molars, and ground my nipple between them, and the pain was lightning intense, and exactly what I needed.

  “Please don’t stop. Please, Sir. Please don’t stop.”

  Sir’s hand gripped my other nipple and twisted it between his thumb and finger, and I screamed, so grateful, begging them not to stop.

  “Come for me,” Sir said.

  As I came, I felt the baton sliding between my thighs, entering my cunt. It was hard and cold and slippery and I wanted it deep inside me now. My cunt grabbed on to it, my ass contracted around the plug and my breath caught in my throat as I realized how full I was going to be. I began to beg louder for him to fuck me, now, hard, fill me, thrust it into me. I needed it. He kept it right there at the entrance, teasing me with it, as Sir began to run his nails along my nipples, smiling down at me.

  They felt good at first, sharp intense sweetness. But soon they began to just hurt in a tormenting stomach-constricting way. They made my ass grab on to the plug and my skin shiver and I could not stop my toes from clenching over and over, my eyes locked to his, begging him to stop. The baton burrowed into me, and it was so hard. My cunt grabbed for it, spasming around it, and I started to cry. It was too much, too overwhelming, and I begged them to stop. The baton went still inside me, and it was too fucking much to have it there, insistent, the hardest thing imaginable. My ass was full, my cunt stuffed, my legs spread wide, my arms held down, and I could not take it, and yet I had to. They were giving me exactly what I needed, what I had begged for, and I didn’t want it anymore, but I still took it. Tears were sliding along my neck, and I couldn’t even form words anymore, just whimpers.

  Sir smiled down at me, put his hands round my throat, and ordered me to come for him. My body responded before I even thought it, just began to move, wracked with pleasure so intense it hurt, my hands clasping on to the bed as hard as I could. As I came, Dexter held the baton there, not letting my spasms push it out. It was relentlessly wooden and stiff inside me, and I ached to be impaled upon it. He pulled it back just a bit, and pressed up with it, in that perfect spot, twisting it inside me, and I sobbed, begging to come, not sure I could stop it from happening. Sir gave me permission, and I spurted all over that baton, my entire body shaking.

  Dexter slid it out of me, smiling into my eyes, and stroked my skin, feeling me tremble. I whimpered for him, eyes begging, lost. Sir fed me water, smiling down at me. Dexter lifted his head to look at Christian, raising his brow and gesturing. Sir nodded, and Dexter gave him a wicked grin.

  “That kind of girl, eh?”

  “She’s very good,” Sir said, and the words sunk into my skin, calming me just a bit. “She will do it, for me.”

  Dexter pulled out his cock and told me he was going to fuck me now, that he hoped it would make me cry, because he loved nothing better than to fuck girls as they were crying. Sir hooked his boots around my thighs, spreading me so wide I could feel the muscles pulled taut. He attached clover clamps to my nipples, and gripped the chain tight, pulling on it so I could feel it tighten the clamps. I stopped breathing, staring at Dexter’s cock, not sure I could do it. He scared me, the way he wanted my tears.

  Sir told me that I could come as much as I wanted to with Dexter’s cock inside me, and that I had to take it for him, for as long as Dexter wanted; that I was his to offer, and I needed to make him proud. He said he would help me, give me pain, hold me down, spread my legs, keep me in his arms. It was my job to take it.

  I didn’t think I could do it. The slightest touch felt so intense. The steady pull of my thigh muscles, the twisting pain in my nipples after all that, and I could barely breathe. I could feel my eyes go wild, could sense the panic brewing.

  He took me. He just rammed his way home, hilt deep, and it felt so right. My cunt needed him. His eyes grabbed mine, his weight pressing me into the bed, my head shifting until I felt Sir’s cock curve around my neck.

  I was surrounded by them, covered in them; it all blended together, swirling into a maelstrom of sex and need and pain and helplessness and pleasure, as he pounded into me, his eyes holding mine captive. All I could do was let go, give myself over to it. The lightning pain in my nipples, the cock slamming into my cervix, the plug so thick in my ass, the
bruises on my thighs and ass aching, Sir’s cock sliding along my neck as he began to pant just a bit.

  It was a storm of sensation and I finally found my calm in it, letting go of everything, my body limp, feeling myself filled again and again, the center of connection between them; feeling them squeezing into every crevice of me. Sir reached for Dexter, resting his hand in the center of Dexter’s back, and the electricity shot through me, slamming me as I screamed.

  I writhed between them, caught, trapped, feeling them smash into me, both of them, as Dexter reached for Sir, and they held each other, me between them. It built in my chest and cunt, this intense ache, and Dexter drove it out of me with his cock, Sir yanked it out of me with that chain, and I let it out, pouring from me, sobbing, coming, desperate, losing all sense of ground.

  Dexter roared in satisfaction, shoving his cock into me even harder, so fast I could tell he was coming too, pushing another orgasm out of me before I finished that last one, and I was sure I was not going to make it, and started whimpering as I cried and shook my head. He began to growl as he fucked me, ramming into me, telling me I had to take it for him, that he was going to fuck me as much he needed to, and I had to take it. I was sobbing and shaking my head, I couldn’t take it, it was too much, too hard, and I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t let go any more. I had to hold on to something. He was merciless, grinning down at me as I cried, moaning and grinding his cock into my cunt in time with my sobs.

  He shuddered inside me, his eyes feral and frightening. I didn’t want him in me anymore, he was too scary, too much. I couldn’t do it, I didn’t know how to please him, wasn’t sure he really wanted me to let go. I shook my head harder, crying, and looked up at Sir, desperate.

  Sir told me to just let go and take it for him, that he needed me to please Dexter. There was no escape from it. I was trapped between them, helpless. I took a slow breath, and looked up at Dexter, aching for him to tell me what he wanted from me.

  “This is how I like it. I like fucking you as you cry. I like knowing that it’s my cock that is making you cry. I like claiming your cunt with my cock as the tears slide down your cheeks, knowing you are helpless to stop me. That’s my good girl. Cry for me.”

  I felt the tightness in my chest release. He did want me, he did want me to cry as he fucked me. I could really let go. I wailed, and held his eyes as I did it, feeling his cock ramming into me, letting it all out, showing it to him, feeling how it made him come. It felt so good to let go. He was really going to catch me. I was safe. He leaned over, and slid his finger along my cheek, sliding it into his mouth and grinding his cock into me as he tasted my tears. Then he lifted up, and pulled Sir’s mouth down to his.

  “Taste her tears on my lips,” he said reverently, going still inside me, holding his breath as he waited for Sir to complete the motion and kiss him.

  I held my breath too, knowing how much they both needed this, how important it was. I trembled, waiting, trying desperately to be quiet for this moment. Hoping.

  When they finally kissed, I was aching to breathe, and couldn’t. It was like a prayer at first, and then filled with hunger, and sadness, and so much love it made my heart burst and my cunt explode, and I couldn’t be quiet anymore.

  They began to writhe with me as they kissed more fiercely, cocks shuddering as they came, growling into each other’s mouths. And after we came, we broke into laughter, falling all over each other, sweaty and joyous, limbs all confused and tangled, eyes smiling.

  My Sirs wrapped me up that night between them, holding me as we slept, hands gently stroking me, heads resting against mine, slow steady breath on my skin. They had found each other again, and we all knew that they would not let go this time. It was what we all wanted, needed. They were big enough, powerful enough, and cruel enough, to hold all of my aching desperate need, wring every ounce out of me. And I was glad to be held by them, used by them, claimed by them both.

  VACATION

  Ali Oh

  This is my vacation. It includes waking up at 5:30 or earlier every morning to Jae’s screaming nieces, sleeping on a couch because I, in my infinite wisdom, forgot to bring my air mattress, and most of all: stress. The lesser stress of worrying that her family doesn’t like me and is judging my every motion, word or thought. (I’m sure they can read minds, right?) And then there’s the greater stress of her family having too many people, too little money and certainly not enough time.

  Yet Jae and I want to make this our vacation. We’ve taken time off from work to relax. And we…well…we can make some adult fun happen.

  It starts in the car on the way back from Orlando, after dropping off her brother’s computer for repair. We’ve been teasing all day—remarks here and there, subtle touches. Jae slapped my thigh while we were waking up. The tension had been building and all I wanted to do was fuck. I said so. I told her we had to make it happen. And she kept saying, “We’ll see, we’ll see.” Which I understand. How, in a house with so many little monkeys, can adults have their own time-out? I’ve made an executive decision to take it outside the house. Jae is driving and I am so hard that I ache. The blood rushes in and makes me stiff, makes my face flush. I reach my left hand under her seat belt and pull her button loose, slide my hand farther down. There’s a sensory aspect, something about just feeling. I feel things I don’t usually notice, when I’m not staring at what I’m doing. I run one light finger up and down—she opens out, flower-like and just as soft.

  “What’re you doing?” Jae always asks this when I’m being especially naughty; especially forward. Harnessing my attraction is not my strong suit, so I hear this phrase often.

  “Playing, baby boy.” I keep running my finger over her slit. I watch her. We aren’t naked, so I can’t see her body. I can barely see her eyes for the sunglasses, but I can watch her face. I can feel her tense up every time my finger brushes her clit, like that spot makes electricity just for me. She jolts as I find it again and circle around it with one finger. She grabs the wheel, and I see her knuckles white against the black leather. I slide her between two of my fingers, rubbing on either side. She’s wet for me—judging from how much, I think maybe she’s been wet for a while. When did it start for her? She moves a hand to her face, puts one delicate finger between her parted lips, a silent sigh held back as my slick finger plays. She’s my boy, sure. But there are moments when I see her vulnerability; where I see how much she wants me to top her. This’s one of them.

  I keep making her gasp. She’s supposed to be driving seventy, but she’s at sixty-four and falling. Cars are zooming by and I say nothing—I want her to lose her mind. I don’t want her to worry about the landscaping truck next to us, the driver attempting to watch. I can’t take it anymore—she’s so beautiful, and as she gets more slick I can’t help myself. I rip my button open, tell her I’m not wearing underwear, start touching myself as I’m watching her at the wheel. I’m louder (I’m usually louder). I start to moan and she inhales sharply. I know exactly what she wants—she need not ask. It’s written all over her open mouth, her hands gathered at six o’clock; in the way that she shifts, trying to get my fingers lower, into her opening. She wants me to fuck her on the highway.

  “Can you drive?”

  “Yes.”

  I inventory my fingers, numb from the seat belt pinching my wrist. But I don’t care—I want to feel her envelop me, come all over me. She feels like silk. I fuck her first with one finger and finally, I hear a noise. A squeak and a whisper. Two. She opens for me and I feel her drip down my fingers. I slip one finger into me. Then two. “Fuck me harder, baby boy.” She likes when I play like that. When I tell her how thick she is, how much she fills me up.

  I make her come on the hour drive back to her mother’s house. She squeezes my fingers and I am so lit on fire, burning so hard, I start to squeeze my own clit. “Baby, I’m gonna come. I’m gonna come all over you.”

  She never speaks—she never says how she likes it, how she’s gonna come, how she’s fucking
me. She doesn’t need to. She’s pulling my fingers in now, gasping and checking that she’s still driving straight. We come together, all over our seats at sixty-four miles per hour.

  “Did you like that, baby boy?”

  “Fuck.”

  We aren’t the same for the rest of the day. We need more. We wait until everyone’s asleep before I start again. I climb on top of her, wasting no time. But Jae surprises me. Every so often, she wants to own me. And it just so happens that today, I want to be owned. I give in, no fighting. I don’t flip her back over after her hand slides under my boxers; I don’t make a fuss as she stretches them so she can fuck me hard, three fingers pushing me apart and splitting me open. My baby boy wants to take me, and for once I’m going to let her. I ride her hand, rocking back on her lap, pushing her farther into me. She stops. “I think we need to put you up on the kitchen counter.” I’m surprised. She doesn’t do this, not in her mom’s house. After a whirlwind of movement, I’m perched on the counter tiles, boxers on but stretched to allow her mouth. She wrenches my legs apart and pushes me against the cabinets. Her head is between my legs and I grab a handful of her hair as my blood heats up, and I feel myself get wetter as her tongue circles my clit, as she flicks languidly up and down, over my slit. It’s hurried—we need this. We need this so badly that neither one of us is out of her pajamas. This is necessary.

  I come in her mouth like a punch and I scream soundlessly into the dark kitchen. I claw at her back, mouth open and wanting to receive her. I’m wishing we had a single toy in our suitcase; wishing she could strap on a cock and I could suck on her until she comes in my mouth, return the favor. I want to unhinge my jaw and swallow her whole—I feel raw, animal. I try, after I stop twitching. I slither off the counter and I want to flip her. To make her mine—own her. But she stops me. “You made a promise.” I did. I forgot. I said I wouldn’t top her here, not when the screaming could so easily reach prying little monkeys’ ears. But she made me no such promise. Without ever discussing it, I turn. I switch my hips out, press into hers. She’s facing my back and she breathes into my ear. “Fuck.” Her hands are not masculine, but they aren’t feminine either. They’re strong. Hers. They can cradle me and command me all at once, the latter being a power she usually skims over. Her hand is on my shoulder now, and she shoves; lays me out on the counter as if to say she’s not finished yet. I feel I’m dripping down my legs—this is unlike her. But we haven’t fucked in a week (and that is a long, long time). I swell again, blood on fire, pounding through every part of me and stopping to make me hard. Is she fisting me? That’s not possible. We don’t have lube on this vacation. But I feel my hips spread apart, ease open and pull her hand. Three fingers, perhaps. Maybe four. She fills me and I brace myself on the counter, legs trembling. The smooth tiles are teasing my fingers and I wish I could yell, bite something. But I am left to my own devices and I’m holding my scream in my throat once again. I keep pushing back—I feel her directing me, telling me how to move, how to receive. (It is not something I’m used to.) I feel teeth on my ass. I hope it bruises as she bites me—I love being marked. Her tongue slides across, on an adventure to find a spot that makes me squeal, push and beg to be fucked. She finds it as she starts rimming me and I ball my fist, smack the mocking white tiles. I don’t know how she touches me, fills me from every direction. But she pours herself into me, somehow. My legs become useless wooden stilts as I come again, arms scrambling to support the weight of two women wrapped in complete rapture and forced silence.