Best Lesbian Erotica 2007

by Tristan Taormino

  “Fine, Mom! I’m fine! Nightmare or something!”

  “Well, all right.” Slowly the footsteps went back down the hall.

  “You almost got me busted,” Maude hissed, no longer laughing. She had pulled out and was holding Jenna tightly. “I won’t forget that. I told you to be quiet, and you weren’t quiet. You can’t follow the simplest rule. I won’t forget that, either, and next time you’re going to take your punishment, aren’t you, Cheerleader?” She reached for Jenna’s ass, roughly shoving aside the dress Jenna had yanked down, squeezing her cheeks, painfully raking them with blunt fingernails. Jenna shuddered.

  “Yes,” she said so softly she could barely hear herself. “Yes.”

  Maude pressed her lips together and shook her head, frowning. “Such a slut, such a bad girl. Someone obviously needs to take you in hand. Your boyfriend certainly can’t keep you in line, that’s clear, and he sure isn’t giving you what you need. So next time, we’ll go somewhere you can make all the noise you want, little Cheerleader. All the noise your nasty little heart desires. I’ll get you alone and you can just go ahead and scream and scream, but your friends won’t hear you, no one will hear you, no one will come rescue you. Now come sit on my lap and be good to me until we’re sure my mom’s gotten back to sleep and I can sneak you out of here. We have school tomorrow. Come here, Homecoming Queen. And remember. Be very, very quiet.”

  And Jenna was.

  SWEET DESIRES

  Tara Alton

  My coworker Sarah was really going too far. I had begun to dread going to my desk in the morning, afraid of what she might have left for me as a little present—to say hello. She was making me feel as if I was back on the playground in grade school with a girl/girl crush that had gone too far. It’s not that I’m opposed to the girl/girl stuff. To be honest, I was rather partial, but I couldn’t see myself with Sarah, and I don’t think it’s professional to bring your love life to work.

  You couldn’t say she was a bad-looking girl; a little nerdy or geeky maybe, with her pigtails and thick glasses. Someone once said she looked a little Asian, but I couldn’t really tell with her bangs in her face all the time. The worst thing about her was the way she dressed. Mostly, she wore little stiff cotton blouses over khakis and tennis shoes. That was her idea of business casual. I couldn’t believe our boss hadn’t said anything to her about it yet. You would never catch me wearing anything less than a pencil skirt, a silk blouse and kitten-heeled shoes to work.

  Oddly enough, I think her infatuation with me started when she learned about my migraines. I had to admit my headaches were the bane of my existence. Two or three times a month, they plagued me. It had become so bad that I couldn’t even eat chocolate or have an orgasm because it triggered another headache.

  Regrettably, I had let this piece of information slip to another coworker in the break room one day and Sarah overheard it.

  That was when I began to find candy left on my desk. Sarah was searching high and low to find things for me to snack on that didn’t include chocolate. Jelly beans, licorice and vanilla fudge all showed up next to my keyboard.

  At first, I thought it was a sweet gesture and I thanked her, but it only seemed to encourage her. I caught her giving me puppydog eyes all the time, her gaze constantly following me around the office. When a five-pound bag of candy corn showed up on my desk before Halloween, I couldn’t take it anymore. My desk drawers were starting to look more like a candy store than a place to hold office supplies. I lugged the bag of candy to her desk and told her that I couldn’t accept it.

  “But why?” she asked.

  “I’m going on a diet,” I said firmly.

  She looked as if I had slapped her, but to my relief, she put the candy corn in a dish for everyone.

  I thought I was in the clear with Sarah until the little stuffed animals started showing up on my desk. The first one was a little teddy bear wearing a bunny outfit. She left a note with it that said, Just something to brighten your day.

  Then one day she left a little rubber duck. It was a small one that fit into the palm of my hand, and it had blue eyes. Her note said that I should take it home and use it for my bath, which I thought was a little personal.

  I didn’t know what to do with all her unwanted attention, but I wanted it to stop. I asked my supervisor to have my desk moved to the other side of the room. I figured she might find someone new to latch on to if I wasn’t around her so much. When my supervisor asked me why I wanted my desk moved, I told her that my personality wasn’t meshing with Sarah’s and the conflict was distracting me from my work.

  Once my desk was moved, I felt things were going much better—until I felt another headache coming on one afternoon. I was having a very stressful day, and I could feel the tension beginning to radiate from my neck and shoulders. I went into the bathroom to run a paper towel under the cold water for the back of my neck when Sarah came in after me.

  “Did you like your rubber ducky?” she asked me. “Did you take it home?”

  I frowned at her.

  “It’s still in my desk,” I said.

  I started to put the damp paper towel on the back of my neck.

  “Oh, you’ve got another headache,” she said.

  She tried to grab my hand, but I pulled it away. What was she doing now?

  “I’ve been reading up on headaches and reflexes,” she said. “Please let me massage your hands. It’s supposed to help.”

  She gave me a beseeching look. I didn’t know what to do. Letting her have my hand seemed like a bad thing to do, but what if she actually helped my headache? I didn’t want to spend the rest of the day in pain at my desk.

  “What if someone comes in?” I asked.

  “I’ll just say I’m doing reflexology on you,” she said.

  Putting down my damp paper towel, I surrendered my hand to her. To my surprise, her massage felt even better than when my manicurist did it. Sarah had the most amazingly warm, nimble fingers. She opened my palm and started gently stretching the muscles of my hand. Then she massaged each finger and joint. I could feel the tension draining from my body. I was actually relaxing.

  Another coworker came into the bathroom. She gave us an odd look before she entered a stall. I looked at Sarah, waiting for her to explain about the reflexology, but she stood there mute, hanging on to my hand.

  Giving her a stern look, I whisked my hand away.

  “Please take the duck home,” she begged. “You’ll love him.”

  In the parking lot after work, I spotted Sarah. I was still a little peeved at her after the bathroom incident, and yet I had to admit the hand massage had helped my impending headache. Therefore, despite my better judgment, I had put the rubber duck in my tote bag so that if she started pestering me about it, I could at least say I had taken it home.

  “Night Sarah,” I said firmly.

  “I really need to talk to you,” she said.

  “Can’t we talk about it in the morning in the office?” I asked.

  “I can’t discuss it at work. Will you please get into my car for a moment?”

  Beckoning me over to her, she bit her lower lip. Cautiously, I approached her car. On her rear bumper, I spotted a sticker that read, I brake for Gumby.

  She motioned for me to get inside with her, but I hesitated. Though I wasn’t so sure about doing this, it might give me a chance to set her straight about ceasing with all these little gifts.

  The moment I shut the passenger door, my thoughts escaped me as I took in the interior of her car. It was like a mobile kitsch store with bobble-head dogs, Betty Boop stickers and Hello Kitty accessories everywhere, not to mention more little stuffed animals and bags of candy necklaces and ring pops lying all over her backseat.

  I clutched my tote bag to my chest for protection as she stared at me with those puppydog eyes again.

  “I wanted to give you these,” she said, ripping open the cellophane packaging on a candy necklace. “Here, put it on.”

&nbs
p; “Sarah, I don’t need any more candy,” I said. “I’ve eaten so much sugar lately my teeth are going to rot out of my head.”

  Her expression fell.

  “Fine,” I said. “Give it to me.”

  I hadn’t put on a candy necklace in years. The fit was a little snug, but I managed to get it around my neck. I was sure I looked ridiculous.

  “And a ring,” she said.

  Undressing a ring pop from its wrapper, I slipped the strawberry-flavored jewelry on my pinkie.

  “Is this why you asked me into your car?” I asked. “So you could dress me up in candy?”

  For a moment, I actually thought she was going to say yes, but she slowly shook her head.

  “I wanted to know, did the hand massage help?” she asked.

  “A little,” I admitted.

  She seized my hand again.

  “I bought a book on reflexology,” she said, motioning to a book on the floor.

  Once more, she began massaging my hand. I wanted to whisk it away again, but it felt so damn good, the way she worked my palm and made little circles around my knuckles. She had certainly learned a lot from that book. I was glancing at the book on the floor to see what the title was when a thought occurred to me.

  “Isn’t reflexology about feet?” I asked.

  “It’s both,” she confessed. “But I need to tell you something else. I really wanted to touch you, and I thought this might be a good way.”

  “Look Sarah,” I said.

  She was really holding my hand now, her fingers locked between mine.

  “I have the biggest crush on you,” she said.

  Before I could stop her, she kissed my hand, between the knuckles, featherlight kisses from very soft lips. This tingling feeling went up my arm. Turning my hand over to expose my wrist, she kissed up my arm, giving me gooseflesh the entire way.

  When she reached my shoulder, she turned my face to meet hers. Slowly, she took off her glasses and brushed back her bangs. She had the prettiest blue eyes I had ever seen.

  “I’m thinking if you were really to relax,” she said, “you might not get too worked up and get a headache when you orgasm.”

  “I don’t know,” I said.

  She pulled the rubber ducky out of my tote bag and squeezed his back. To my surprise, it started vibrating. Did rubber ducks do this?

  “Think about it,” she said. “You’re relaxing in a warm bath and you put your rubber ducky in your special place.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  She looked down at my skirt, between my legs.

  I swallowed, getting her meaning.

  “Shall I show you?” she asked.

  Words escaped me. Balancing the duck on my knee, she slowly moved it up my thigh, then flipped up my skirt when it got in the way. My breath caught in my throat. The duck was under my skirt.

  “Mr. Ducky wants to visit your happy place,” she whispered.

  Suddenly, I had a vision of Sarah using this duck at home in her own bath.

  “Is this your duck?” I asked.

  “No, silly,” she said. “I’ve got the full-sized one at home. I bought you the travel size.”

  This was feeling rather good on my thigh. It felt like an intense purring. She was backing him up tail first. His little yellow body completely disappeared under my skirt.

  I couldn’t help but shift myself in my seat as she angled him toward my inner thigh. The vibrations were more intense as she hit the softer skin there. His upturned tail was almost on top of my pubic bone. I opened up my legs a little. I hadn’t worn nylons today so he was touching my cotton panties. Wiggling him in deeper so the width of his body fit between my thighs, she used his flat base against me.

  I wasn’t sure how the vibrations managed to be soothing and yet stimulating at the same time, but they were. I could feel my clit beginning to beg for some individual ducky attention all on its own.

  The base of the duck suddenly just wasn’t enough.

  “Turn it around,” I said, thinking the point on the tail or the bill might just be the ticket.

  “No. It’s too soon.”

  “I’m ready. Do it,” I said.

  Turning the duck upside down so its bill was directly on my happy place, she nuzzled up to me and began sucking on the candy necklace around my neck.

  “Sarah, you’re tickling me,” I said, squirming.

  Picking up my hand, she stuck the ring pop in my mouth.

  “Suck it,” she whispered in my ear.

  I got a chill as the sweetness filled my mouth and she watched me lick the edges. There was so much desire in her eyes, as if I was a piece of candy myself and she wanted to eat me completely.

  Brushing away my hand that wore the ring pop, she kissed me again, licking and nibbling the sugary strawberry flavor off my lips.

  The vibrations from the rubber ducky were almost becoming too intense. My head was starting to throb. I started to push him back a little, but Sarah must have thought I wanted something else. Turning him off, she pulled him out from under my skirt, propped him on the dashboard and slid her hand back under my skirt, where she pushed aside the crotch of my panties.

  With her eyes nearly closed, she petted me as if I was one of her little stuffed animals. For a moment it felt strange, as if she was taking this to some weird place in her head, but then she found my clit under its hood. Pressing her fingertip just inside my lips, she got it a little wet and brought it back up to my clit. I gasped as she made little circular motions on top of it, massaging it much the same way she had paid attention to each one of my knuckles during her hand massages.

  Every time she made several rotations, she dipped down further inside me to remoisten her fingertip. She was getting so close to actually entering me that I was beginning to squirm with anticipation.

  The moment she entered me, she stayed there, sliding in one finger and then two. Keeping her thumb on my clit, she slowly finger-fucked me. My breath caught short. It was hard not to clamp my thighs down around her hand.

  “Suck the ring,” she said. “I want to hear it.”

  With the ring pop back in my mouth, I sucked loudly. She moaned and pressed her lips back to my neck. I could feel her teeth against my skin and the candy. She cracked the little sugar disks with her teeth, the thread getting moist as she reached over with her free hand and gave my breast a hard squeeze.

  Suddenly, I felt the sensation of my clit exploding like a firecracker. It was unlike anything I had felt before. Pow! My entire body shuddered as the sharp feeling washed over my skin, and then just as quickly as it had come, it was gone.

  Sarah was so caught up in what she was doing she hadn’t even noticed that I had an orgasm. Her fingers were trying to go even deeper inside me. It was too much. I was becoming too overstimulated. I could feel my blood pressure beginning to pound in my ears. I was going to get a migraine any second if she kept it up.

  “Stop,” I cried.

  She didn’t stop.

  Pushing my hands against her, I tried to break her grip on me.

  “Let go of me,” I cried.

  Suddenly, there was a rap on the window. We stopped and looked up. To my horror, our supervisor stood at the passenger door, a concerned look on her face. She must have heard my cries.

  “Are you all right?” she asked me through the glass.

  Quickly, Sarah jerked her hand away from under my skirt. Smoothing down my clothes, I rolled down the window, wondering what I looked like—out of breath, face flushed and clothes disheveled. Not to mention the half-eaten candy necklace around my neck and a soaking wet ring pop on my hand.

  Words failed me as my gaze met hers.

  “We’re playing with her rubber duck,” Sarah volunteered.

  Our supervisor gave me a quizzical look. I knew what she was thinking. I had asked to have my desk moved because I wasn’t getting along with Sarah, and now here I was in her car, candy everywhere, doing who knew what with her.

  Still, I
could salvage this. I could tell her that Sarah was still bothering me, but glancing over at Sarah as she pushed her glasses back onto her face, I felt a surprising affection for her.

  Picking up the rubber duck, I wiggled it in the air at our supervisor.

  “Quack,” I said.

  FRENCH HANDWRITING

  Zoë Alexandra

  It is pouring buckets in front of Beatrice’s steps where I sit beneath the overhang, pants already soaked at their bottoms. I am used to this. Bike messengers must learn to bear the elements. Bea is not home but her telephone number is smudged on the paper so I can’t quite make it out now. I want to call her. The pay phone is a block away. I could walk there and get even wetter, breathe into the receiver, say her name as if it is a blessing, a mantra.

  When I was little my mother used to tell me to cross my legs. The skirt was made of wool and scratched the insides of my thighs. Catholic school is the best place to meet whores or become a lesbian. I did both. In the bathroom I used to bum cigarettes from this blonde girl named Molly. I used to smell the tips of her hair as she walked away. They smelled like fresh mangoes and blackberry sherbet. She would always play hard to get. I would tell her I had to show her something important. It was in the bathroom stall. She would come in there with me, rub against the front of my skirt, kiss the insides of my wrists and bite my neck like a vampire. That bitch was crazy but I loved her. But this isn’t about Molly, it’s about Beatrice.

  I met Beatrice on the R train. My hands were locked around the pole I was holding on to. When the train stopped short, my bike would jostle around and so would I. She appeared like some fucking angel. Black hair, straight as a pin and the skinniest thighs I’ve ever seen. Her voice was paper thin and she carried a large backpack that wasn’t much bigger than she was.

  “Can I hold on here?” she asked.

  I nodded. I was thinking about Molly. Molly’s lips were bubble gum pink and her tongue tasted like oil pastels. I never tasted oil pastels but I’m sure that’s what they’d taste like. Beatrice held on next to me. Her hand brushed against mine. It was rough like sandpaper. My stop came. Astor Place. Beatrice spit and followed me out the door. I was halfway down the block before I noticed her there. She lit a half-smoked cigarette and looked up at me with those huge blue doe eyes.