Best Lesbian Erotica 2007

by Tristan Taormino

  “Do it!” she snarled, so ready that there was no need for lube. I thrust into her, slid out, thrust again, and then she was pumping herself onto me, heaving, panting, her cries rising higher as my other hand pinched her nipples. When the spasms struck, tightening her cunt around my hand and wrist like a trap, I supported her until her grip finally loosened and I could withdraw, gently, holding her wide open for a few seconds and admiring her glistening folds.

  “Dusky rose,” I said softly. “Like the sandstone layers of the canyon wall at dawn.”

  Maura whispered something I could barely hear. I leaned closer.

  “Was this the ‘better place’ you had in mind?” she said.

  “No,” I said honestly, not sure whether she was working up to another challenge. “This was just an opportunity seized. You’ll know when you get there.”

  And she did.

  It wasn’t along the rim trail or at any of the famous points where cameras clustered, not even Pima Point at sunset when the river winding far below to the west turned briefly into a ribbon of gold. It wasn’t the moonlit vista of the canyon as we leaned together against a spreading branch of the pinyon pine outside our own cabin. It wasn’t anyplace that easy.

  We were up at dawn the next morning, breakfasting on the Bright Angel Lodge terrace. “Why ‘Bright Angel?’” Maura asked.

  I told her about Major John Wesley Powell’s exploration of the Colorado River, and the story that after his men named one muddy incoming stream the Dirty Devil, the Major had compensated by dubbing the first clear creek they came to Bright Angel, flowing down from the north to join the river across from what later became Bright Angel Trail. I thought, watching Maura’s beautiful face, as luminescent in its own way as the morning light suffusing the mist rising from far below, that he must also have been thinking of Lucifer before the Fall, Milton’s “angel bright” of Paradise Lost. Or, just possibly, he had known someone like Maura.

  Three hours later we were far below the rim, three miles along the Hermit and Dripping Springs trails. Maura’s cheeks and forehead were smudged with rock dust, and sweat trickled down between her breasts. Her hair was tangled and tied back with a bandanna. Her eyes had never been brighter.

  “Just a little farther,” I said, urging her past the spring, its fringe of greenery lively with small birds. “We’ll fill our water bottles on the way back.” A hundred feet off the trail, through a crevice between boulders, we were on a narrow shelf out of sight of passing climbers at our own level. Our view of sky and rock seemed as wide as infinity, and hikers and rafters deep in the canyon could see us easily if they looked up; see us, but not clearly enough even with binoculars to recognize Maura’s features from past magazine spreads or future appearances on the big screen.

  Maura stood with her arms outstretched like wings and her back to the cliff. Just above her head a twisted juniper grew out from a cleft in the rock, casting a tracery of shadows across her face.

  “This is the place,” she said with certainty. “Right here. Right now.”

  I drew a wet trail with my tongue along her dusty cheek and kissed her, for once, gently. For once, she allowed the tenderness, kissing back with more sensuality than challenge. Maybe wearing her out was the secret. Or did the vastness of the world spread out before us make petty conflict seem too insignificant?

  More likely, it was just that she had grander things on her mind than private games.

  “Roby…do you think anyone is watching?” Her fingers scrabbled in haste at the buttons of her shirt, and when she’d cast it aside and yanked off the tank top beneath, she went to work on the silver Navajo belt buckle purchased just yesterday. Sunlight glinted from its highly polished surface like spears of fire.

  “I’d bet there are at least a dozen pairs of binoculars and as many cameras aimed right up there,” I told her, pointing out the peregrine falcon riding the breeze above us, undoubtedly watching for one of the small birds by the spring to stray from the sheltering shrubbery. “And now that you’ve been wriggling hard enough to flash signals from that silver mirror sliding down along with your pants, most of them must be checking you out, and calling their buddies to look, too.”

  Maura kicked aside her jeans and raised her arms. Her fingers could just grasp the gnarled trunk of the juniper. “Tie me,” she said.

  I pulled the bandanna loose from her hair. A twist around slender wrists and up over the juniper, and she was bound just far enough out from the cliff for me to slide behind her and press my thigh hard up against her butt, bending my knee slightly, taking some of her weight. That juniper must have been clinging to life here for a hundred years or more; I hoped to spare its roots for another hard-won century, in spite of her thrashing. And she would thrash.

  “So show them what you’ve got, girl,” I muttered in her ear as I pulled on a latex glove. I’m not sure she even heard me. Her focus was far out over the bright canyon, past labyrinthine ravines and spurs and phallic turrets carved by water, wind, and time. The sharp pinch of my fingers on her breasts grabbed her attention, though, and over her shoulder I watched pink nipples swell and darken into nubbly peaks as wildly beautiful as any rock formation. To my tongue, they would feel tender as well as rigid, straining, begging to be sucked, hard….

  No. In this tableau, this ritual of exposure, I belonged behind the scenes, only my hands coming between Maura’s offering of her body and the sun-struck gulf of space and stone.

  I reached around her and my hands went to work, one alternately flicking and squeezing her breasts, one stroking between dampening thighs. When she tried to press toward my touch, I moved the top hand down to knead her belly and hold her steady while the fingers of the lower one approached the growing slickness of her cunt. Approached, but refused quite to enter, slipping forward and back in the wet folds just short of where she needed me most.

  Maura began to twist and strain. I nudged her clit erratically, lightly, too lightly; she rocked and bucked, muttering curses interspersed with gasps, making the juniper’s trunk creak. Bruised bark added its scent to dried sweat and the intense musk of sex rising from both of us. The friction of her firm ass against my crotch was driving me toward the edge along with her.

  “Now!” I thrust up inside her, fingers twisting, pressing forward, my upper hand sliding down to give her seeking clit the hard, fierce strokes it demanded. Short, sharp gasps punctuated my movements, intensified, accelerated…until, abruptly, she tensed, the arc of her slim body between tethered wrists and denim-bound boots so beautiful that I ached to capture the vision on film, but could only try to fix it in my mind. “Now! Let it out!”

  And out it came; her long, triumphant cry, echoing from rocky outcroppings, vibrating through her body and into mine as I crushed my mouth against the nape of her neck to muffle my own cries. Through the soft dark tangle of her hair, out of the sun-dazzled corner of my eye, I thought I saw, for the briefest moment, bright angel wings soaring off into the golden distance.

  Then Maura slumped back against me. I cut her down from the juniper and crouched with her in my arms. Another beating of wings caught my eye, but it was only the falcon veering off toward her hidden aerie. Maura would fly again, to far-off places where I couldn’t or wouldn’t follow; but for this rare moment of surrender I knew exactly who she was.

  PUBLIC PET

  Cynthia Rayne

  “Come on, pretty. It’s time to go out,” Lisa purred. “You’ve been such a good pet by putting all of our things away. Your reward is a walk.” She unfurled the leather leash she used to lead me. It snapped open easily. “Come here.”

  I felt a rush of illicit pleasure at her words. She was actually going to take me outside the comfortable confines of our hotel room and show me off. Lisa and I had played bondage games in the privacy of our own apartment plenty of times, but this was the first time we’d be doing so in public. I kept my head bowed, my mouth shut, and my legs apart as instructed. When doing a scene, Mistress Lisa was very strict. Deliciou
sly so.

  I still couldn’t believe I was doing this. I’d had fevered fantasies about being put on display for ages, which I’d confessed to Lisa when we first got together; now I was really going to do it. I trusted Lisa completely. We both worked at a law firm in Chicago and she was my boss. We’d fallen into a relationship quite by accident. She told me she could see my desire to submit to her in my eyes. When I was late for a meeting once, she’d taken me in my office and berated me for my negligence. I was rushing to explain myself when she smacked my ass with a file folder. The anger had quickly elevated to sexual arousal. Lisa had watched with a knowing expression as my nipples peaked under my silk shirt and my breathing grew a bit shallow. We’ve been together ever since.

  Now she fisted a hand in the short dark curls that framed my face. “Where is your head tonight, pet? Take off your shirt. I want to see my property.”

  I immediately complied. I stripped off the black tank top and neatly folded it before I placed it on the bed. I was left in my black bra and the leather miniskirt that my Mistress favored. She slowly walked a circle around me. It was a game we played often. She liked to make me nervous, but tonight I was in awe of her.

  She was dressed in a pair of black leather pants and a red silk shirt. Mistress Lisa was over six feet tall and very thin, with long golden blonde hair that she kept in a ponytail. Her breasts were barely a mouthful and I loved to suck them. The hair between her legs was bushy; she smelled musky and sweet at the same time. Mistress reached over and undid the catch on my bra. I knew better than to try to stop her. It fell to the floor.

  She pinched my left nipple, which was already stiff and upright. “Did you know that it’s legal for women to go topless in public in Canada?” She grabbed a breast in each hand, roughly squeezing them.

  I shivered. “No, Mistress Lisa.” I only spoke when asked a direct question.

  “It is. And tonight, I’m going to take you out, just like this. I want everyone to see these ripe breasts. But first,” she said, slapping my right breast just slightly, “I need to get them ready.” She grinned as she shoved a hand in her pocket and pulled out a long silver nipple chain. It had two alligator clips on the end so that it could be affixed to the nipples. Mistress Lisa had gotten me accustomed to nipple clamps. She always liked my nipples clamped and she’d stretched them daily. She pulled the right nipple out and clamped it, then did the same with the left.

  I let out a small yelp. There was some pain involved but not enough to really hurt. It was exciting, more than anything else. I liked how sensitive they made my breasts.

  “There you go, pet.” She smacked both breasts slightly, enjoying the pretty shade of crimson they turned as they bounced. She slid her hand down my sides and over my hips. “And we can’t let your pretty pussy go outside all covered up.” She pulled my panties down my legs and reached up between them to smack my pussy lips. “Pets should always be accessible. Don’t you agree?”

  “Yes, Mistress.”

  “Good girl. What are pets for?”

  “Fucking, Mistress.” The instant I said it, I knew it was true. It’s what I had always dreamed of and Mistress Lisa was the best there was.

  “That’s right. You are such a good girl.” She pulled me close to her and claimed my mouth with hers. She kissed voraciously, as if she were trying to fuck me with her tongue and lips. When I was breathless, she pulled away. “Now, let’s put your collar on.” She took it out of her back pocket and fixed it tightly around my neck. It had a large O-ring in the front that she snapped the leash on. “Remember the rules, pet. Others may look but no one touches you without my permission. You may only speak when I ask you a question. Pets are for fucking. Not talking. Understand?”

  “Yes, Mistress.”

  “Bend over and show me that sweet ass of yours.”

  I obeyed, bracing my hands on my legs and thrusting my behind in the air. She lovingly caressed the smooth white flesh before she brought her hand down sharply. “How does that feel?”

  “Good,” I moaned.

  She smiled with satisfaction as she tugged the leash and I followed behind her. I was nervous and so excited about being seen by others like this. She pulled me down the hallway and into the elevator, which was empty. I wasn’t sure if I was relieved or disappointed. Then, she dragged me past the front desk of the hotel. The night manager was on duty and his eyes nearly bugged out of his head.

  Mistress Lisa decided to have a little fun at his expense. She pulled me along with her to the desk. “My pet and I need more towels in our room.” Lisa played with my right breast, making it jiggle in her palm. “We shower after I fuck her,” she explained. “So we shower a lot.” Her smile was wolfish.

  “Yes, Miss,” the manager, said, eyes straying to Lisa’s talented hand as it manipulated my breast, enhancing my pleasure. Between her mauling and the tightly clamped nipple, I was having trouble not making a sound.

  “Thank you,” Mistress Lisa said, turning and pulling me along behind her. “Come on, pet.” She’d found a club near where we were staying called the Velvet Dog. It wasn’t quite a fetish club, but it was fetish friendly. It catered to those people who’d had vanilla sex all of their lives but were too afraid to try something really different yet themselves. Those who were in the lifestyle were welcome to play in the club, as long as they let people watch.

  Mistress Lisa had to give a password to the doorman but we were let in without a hassle. Inside, the lights were lowered; the windows were draped with long black velvet curtains. There were candelabra on every table. The music was low and throbbing with the chords of sex. There were several people doing scenes throughout the room. It smelled of sex. Middle-aged couples sat on long comfortable benches, waiting for someone exciting to join them. Mistress Lisa thrived in an environment like this. She was a sleek, predatory cat in a room filled with dozy mice.

  She picked a couple in their late thirties to sit with. The man had been avidly watching us as we entered the room. What is it with men and lesbians? The woman looked nervous but her eyes kept darting toward us with a hint of excitement.

  “Mind if we join you?” Mistress asked.

  They both nodded and made room for us. “You needn’t scoot over so far. My pet won’t be sitting with us.” She turned her attention to me. “Why is that?”

  “Because I should be on the floor at Mistress’s feet.”

  “And why is that?”

  “Because pets don’t have furniture privileges, Mistress.”

  Lisa sat down and pushed the table away from everyone, so they could view me between her legs. “My name is Mistress Lisa and this is my little pet. What are your names?”

  “Jane and Scott,” the man answered. It was so obvious that they were fake names. “How long…how long has she been your pet?” He had a big boner in his pants. Disgusting.

  She pulled at the chain on my breasts and I cried out. “A few weeks now. She’s a good little pet pussy that knows her place. In fact,” Mistress said, eyeing the prim and proper wife’s white skirt and matching sweater set, “why don’t you ask this nice lady if she’d like a little head from you, pet?”

  Jane’s eyes widened. “Oh, uh, thank you but that won’t be necessary.”

  I was turned on by the idea of servicing a stranger. It was another first. I was already dripping wet, just feeling the couple’s eyes on me was so terribly exciting. I hoped I could get through my performance without embarrassing myself. I crawled to Jane on all fours and rested my head in her lap. “May I please pleasure you?”

  “You should let her, Jane. My little pet licks pussy three times a day, sometimes more. She’ll give you the best head you’ve ever gotten.” There were other folks in the club licking and sucking each other. Nudity wasn’t something that was prohibited. “Come on, Jane. What do you say?”

  Her husband nudged her. “It’s okay, honey.”

  Jane blushed. “Well, I guess it would be all right.”

  I smiled and very deliberate
ly licked my lips. I heard Mistress snort with laughter behind me. If I’d done it to her, she would have smacked my ass. I pulled up Jane’s virginal white skirt and parted her thighs. She wore plain cotton underwear.

  “Let me see,” Scott said, pushing the skirt back, exposing his wife further.

  I pulled the panties down and put my hands on her thighs to push them apart. Then I gently pulled her ass forward, so that she was wide open to me. She was beautiful, with angelic blonde hair and white cream-cheese thighs. With a sigh, I bent my mouth to her. I lapped at her like it was my job. The small little berry of a clit, I took in my mouth and suckled. She tasted so sweet, almost innocent. She shouted and writhed against me like a wild thing. I bet her husband usually did a few obligatory tongue strokes and then shoved his dick in her. Not me. I was all tongue, all the time. I couldn’t get enough. I licked her to completion, savoring the sweetness of her juices on my mouth and cheeks. I made a big show of wiping her juices from my face and licking my hands clean, like a cat.

  Jane was undone. Her thighs were open, her face was flushed and she looked a little dazed. “So good,” she whispered quietly. She patted my head.

  “Make her do me,” the husband ordered, going for the zipper on his pants. “Tell her to suck my cock.”

  “Sorry, my pet doesn’t do pricks. She’s strictly for pussy.”

  Scott looked like he was about to get angry but Mistress Lisa glared at him. “Can I watch you fuck her, then?” he said.

  “Now, that I’ll happily do.” Mistress Lisa snapped her fingers. “Take off your skirt and get on the table, pet. Spread yourself like a good girl.”