Best of the Best Lesbian Erotica

by Tristan Taormino

  She stripped my body and tied me up tight, and for the first time, I truly felt the pull of restraints placed on me by another, the weight of my own body, the limits of my own strength. And she stroked my face tenderly before striking me again, and again, and kissed the blood from my teeth and lips, so I could see it on her when she drew away. In a too-late moment of indecision, I tested the bonds and found them locked onto me, impossible to slip or lift off. And I knew what it meant to be truly helpless, at another’s mercy. Alone, with a person who was known for being merciless.

  I had no idea what she was going to do.

  I was terrified, because no one had ever bound me before.

  She brought weapons before me—silky, dangerous weapons like herself—and let me be romanced by them before they launched into brutality. Opening my bruised mouth, she commanded words from me, and got only sounds, and her fury was so magnificent that I knew she was beyond human. She demanded worship. And in the end, she got it. At a price so great, I was never to see her again.

  No, it didn’t happen that way at all.

  The first time I was bound, it was by words alone. “Stay there,” and “stand still,” and “don’t move,” uttered with a playful, casual simplicity, punctuated by stinging cuts, which threw ripples of distraction all along nerve endings. A light voice and soft hands, and a test that was designed for me to fail. I ground my teeth and set my body and keened lengthy screams that echoed in my skull but actually came out in hisses and gasps. And the more I obeyed, the harsher it was, until the agony exploded and waves of nausea swept through me. Drunkenly stubborn, I locked my limbs in place—I would stay there, stand still, and not move, until rivers of blood covered my body, until my lungs couldn’t draw another breath, until the starbursts of pain behind my eyelids became one bright red light and I fell to the floor and didn’t know anymore.

  And I did fall, but not to the ground. Instead, I spiraled inward, and my obedience to the commands left my body no choice but to ignore those petty, spiteful stings. They faded into distant jabs, which distracted me from myself, and when they rose in a flurry of angry impotence, I ceased to mind them at all.

  I didn’t know what was happening.

  I had never been bound before.

  Not much later, hands beat against my locked arms and fingers and bent me forward and at last I moved, and the sizzling, crackling awakenings of my body finally made me cry out. I could barely hear him, cradling me, his once cynical voice trembling with shame and horror and fear, as he asked over and over again, why I had not moved. I knew then that he could hold me no longer, and so I let him soothe me, and did not remind him whose bonds had held me so fast. I knew that he hated me then, and I allowed that hate to fill me with much-belated pain, and freed myself minutes after he left me for the last time.

  No, it couldn’t have happened that way.

  No, really, the first time I was bound it was after years and years of bondage, when I was handed two pairs of cuffs and told to put them on. When I passed under the bed legs the rope I cut the night before, and lay down in a genuine state of fear. Not of her, but fear that because I had never been bound, I shouldn’t have been there, hadn’t earned my way to that strange bed and those accurate hands.

  And with the two items I had brought and the one she had, she taught me what it was like to be tied, to be spread so wide that there were no safe places on my body. She taught me that wherever I had gone before was not accessible through her, and when at last the tears came, I gave myself to them wholeheartedly, never losing myself, never turning away.

  The cuffs were snug and light, and when I pulled against them, I did nothing but press my body wider for her. And in time, when I was turned and moved, it was her voice that held me and the bondage seemed almost superfluous. I struggled against the ties and sighed in agony as they refused to give, and in one blissful moment, reared against them, fingers curled and my entire body tensed to tear them from their anchor points. They held. What a luxury to be so tightly bound.

  “Luxurious, ain’t it?” she breathed into my ear.

  And I cried again, clean tears that poured through me, soaking my face, my hair, the sheets beneath me, because I was so grateful for that moment.

  You see, I’d never been bound before.

  And when the bonds were gone, I found that they had stayed with me anyway, and I slept in them and wore them for quite some time. The marks were not to fade from my body for months, years maybe, but the cuffs are still there, waiting for the rope under the bed.

  But maybe that wasn’t the way it happened at all.

  Maybe it’s still to come.

  Penetration

  Cecilia Tan

  You think I’m going to tie you down and fuck you, don’t you. You think I’m going to strap on a dildo, and do this intercourse thing, play butch boy for you, and let you scream and carry on, indulge your rape fantasies and all that good stuff, that stuff that gets you so hot, that makes you drip wet…. I can see you dripping now, from the way I grabbed you by the hair and forced you into the bonds, spread eagled on your bed. Maybe it’s the bed, especially, that makes you think we’re going to fuck, and maybe it’s all the hints you’ve been dropping me about the way you like it, the things you’ve done…you’re a smooth bottom, practiced, you’ve been with badder bitches and butches than me. So if I’m going to give you what you want, I know, I’ve got to give you something you don’t know you want. I’m going to start with my finger. I pull off my leather glove and toss it away, and work my index finger right between your wet lips, right into the hot spot, and into you it goes. I can see the look in your eyes—what, no foreplay? no clit action?—but as my finger slides as deep as it can go, your eyes close and you gasp with deep pleasure. Then two fingers. You don’t need foreplay, you don’t need lube, sweet thing, your cunt is hungry and I’m going to feed it. Next, I pull a dagger from my pocket. It’s not a dagger, it’s a letter opener, but you don’t know that. I see you gasp and flinch and squirm—you think I’m going to pretend to cut you, run the tip all over your flesh, across your nipples…. I see your eyes go wide as I dip it between your legs. Have you figured it out yet? I slide the dull metal into you, using the flat blade like a tongue depressor, to peer into the folds of your flesh. Your vagina convulses as you realize what I’m doing and you strain against your bonds, helpless to stop me. I know if you really want to stop me you’ll say the word. But you’re too interested, wondering what I’m going to do next. I pull a magic marker out of my pocket and write my name in flowing script across your belly, then cap the thing and hold you open with the fingers of one hand while I slide the hard plastic cylinder into you. Your legs are shaking as I move it in a wide circle…what are you thinking, darling? Have you ever put a magic marker up your cunt before? Is this something you used to do when you were a kid, under the sheets at night, terrified of being caught, but unable to stop your own lust—what did you turn to when your fingers weren’t enough? The marker is not large, but it is hard and foreign, is that what’s making you shake? The thought of this thing protruding out of your body, probing into places it was never intended to go? You almost laugh when you see the kielbasa, a thousand phallic puns half-remembered flicker across your face as your eyes take in the curve of sausage in my hand. No, I wouldn’t, you think. But I will, and I do, rolling a condom onto the end for full phallic effect and pushing the thickness against your lips until they give way and then inching it inside. You whimper, a sweet sound. It feels big, I know it, I see you clenching and relaxing, trying to take it in—good girl. It’s too soft to fuck you with so I settle for burying it a few inches deep and then leaning down to bite off the end. When my nose rubs your clit I stop my nibbling and pull the meat out of you, toss it away. Too late I realize I should have made you eat some of it, should have let you taste your own juice on it. No matter, there is more in store. The unlit end of a burning candle. You twitch as you feel the heat of the flame although I’m the one who gets wax on her hands as
I’m moving it from side to side inside you. A pair of black lacquer chopsticks, so thin you barely feel them at all, until I split them like a speculum and widen you side to side, top to bottom. I let you lick them when I’m done. What else can we stick into your cunt, my girl? I’ve used up the things that I brought with me, so I cast about your apartment looking for more. You’ve got dildos galore but they don’t interest me, cunt girl. I roll a condom over an Idaho potato I find in your fridge, cold and fat and wide, and I push the tip of it in as far as it will go. I fuck you with it until it is sliding in up to its widest point, and you are moaning and thrashing. Have you ever been fucked with something this big, cunt girl? You probably have, I don’t kid myself after all the hints you gave me. Have you ever slept with a man? The potato is getting slick and hard to hold onto, but I’m shoving it with my palm into you now. I bet you have slept with men, before, even if you haven’t said anything about it to me. How could that hungry cunt resist? A pole of hard, hot flesh, that fits snug and twitches in response. I’d love to have one, myself, love to have one to ram into you and feel your wetness on every nerve ending. But there’s no use wishing for things I don’t have, and what I have is you, wide open before me, your cunt is my cunt and I can put anything into it that I like. The potato slips out onto the floor and your head jerks up, your vagina gasping like a fish, so empty, so needy. A bottle of shampoo. The handle of a hairbrush. Pinking shears. Yours is the cunt that ate Tokyo. When I’m done with you there won’t be a phallic object left in your apartment that doesn’t smell like your desire. Everything will remind you of me. I am just beginning to wish I had a crusty baguette to go with the kielbasa when I decide maybe you’ve had enough. You sense the hesitation and look up, hope in your eyes. No, I’m still not going to fuck you. You realize it when I pack the harness back into my bag. You want to ask so bad, I see you holding back, you want to beg me for something but you aren’t sure whether you can abase yourself that way. Silly girl, you’ll let me stick anything into your slit as long as you’re tied up. Maybe next time, I’ll sit and watch while I order you to stick things up into yourself: a flashlight, a fake rubber dog bone, the old standby: a cucumber. Maybe I’ll take photographs of each of these things sticking out of your cunt to horrify my politically correct friends. You’re biting your lip with impatience—I’m sorry, my sweet. I get this way sometimes. For now, what kind of a top do you think I am? Don’t worry, I’ll get you off. After all, I’ve brought a whole array of things to try on your clitoris: fur, sandpaper, chains, a nail file, macramé rope, a hairbrush, a braided thong, and when I run out of those I’m sure there are more things here I can try. I’m not tired, not in the least.

  from Fist

  Elaine Miller

  I fucking love a woman who knows what she wants.

  She was so wet that my two fingers slid inside her, smooth, like they belonged.

  Her eyes were closed, a half-smile was on her lips. The hot, slick, sweet fucking pull of her lit a fire in my belly. I remembered her fingers measuring my wrist earlier, and smiled.

  She was tight at first, and I touched her gently, my fingers inside her, flicking up behind her clit, playing with her as she opened to me. One finger, then two, then three…back to one finger sliding in and out so slowly—and she hissed under her breath at me, frustrated, pushing her cunt at my hand, trying to capture more, more.

  I rolled her over fast, pivoting her neatly despite the rope at her wrists, and gave her six fast, sharp smacks on her quivering butt. She yelped with the first few and began kicking, so I held her legs for the last two, then rolled her over to face me again. Her round butt was way too tempting, and if I didn’t get it out of sight I might spank her all night.

  She waited, breathlessly watching, impatiently squirming, as I placed the bottle of lube in a hot water bowl, put a few extra gloves by the bed, and stripped. The tank top came off easily, boots with a bit of effort, then jeans and socks joined the pile on the floor.

  I snapped on a glove. When I glanced her way, eyebrow cocked, she flushed a little. Her eyes round and innocent, she bit her lip, pulled her knees up, and slowly parted them. I hurried.

  Climbing back on the bed, I touched her hands and arms, checking for temperature difference, ready to shift ropes if need be. As I felt one hand, then the other, she returned the squeeze. Her slim fingers went around my wrist again, an unmistakable gesture of measuring, of gauging the thickness of my wrists and the size of my hands.

  She was greedy and opened to me quickly, flowering around me as I fucked her deeper and deeper, doing the holding back for both of us as she thrust toward me. I took my time, making sure she was relaxed, going to three fingers, then four, tucking in my thumb and adding more lube. She was slick and hot and her core was calling to me—then she relaxed suddenly, pulled her knees up a bit more, and went still. She held her breath as I pushed past the last bit of tension and curled inside her, grasped by her wet cunt.

  Inside her. Struck by rapture, I could not move at all until she demanded it, couldn’t imagine a moment more perfect than this until she proved it to me, pushing herself farther onto me, wrapping her cunt around my forearm as she made a continuous purring sound, groaning with pleasure. I rocked my hand inside her, feeling her respond instantly to my changes of pressure and tempo.

  No matter how many times I fist a woman, one thing never changes: the sense of awe I feel as the thickest part of my hand slips past the tension and the last few inches of me disappear inside her of their own accord, slick and with a rush. My hand curls into a fist like a sleeping cat, and her cunt flutters around me, around my wrist. Sometimes she is so tight I can’t move for a while, and I sit there, shaken to my core at the trust and raw energy between us. Sometimes she has room inside right away, and I can pump inside her. My mind is entirely wrapped in my fist at times like these: wrapped in my fist and all the way inside her cunt, hot and slick and wet and pulsing. I can fuck forever like this, the familiar burn in my shoulder muscles ignored, almost unnoticed.

  I pushed the heel of my left hand against her clit, putting on a bit of pressure—just a little. Her sweet cunt convulsed around my fist again. She sucked in her breath and moved her hips against that hand now, grinding her clit against me, spiraling up toward coming.

  “Stop.”

  She blinked at me, hips still moving, faltering only a little. “Don’t move. Not even an inch.”

  I relaxed the pressure on her clit and stopped the motion of my other hand.

  “You’re doing just fine. You are so fucking hot, such a pretty nasty thing, impaled on my fist.” Her breath hissed out, releasing tension with it. “I love it when you want more. Play the game with me.”

  She relaxed against the bed, opened her legs farther, and concentrated on feeling my hands.

  I fucked her hard, suddenly, my fist pushing her limits, stretching her with each thrust. Mouth opened, she stared at the ceiling for a second, making no sound, then gave a muffled shriek with each inward push, louder as I got faster, until she was continuously wailing, stopping only for gasps of air. I caught her at the edge of hyperventilating, eased in and out of her more and more slowly, brought her down, and pulled my hand out of her, just part way.

  Gasping, she stared at me with disbelief. I poured a thick stream of warm lube into the convenient channel provided by my curled palm, then around my wrist. I smiled at her, feeling tender, drinking in the sight of her flushed face, lips parted, eyes half-lidded.

  “Remember, don’t move. Ready?” She started to nod, stopped, and arched her neck as I went in again, unbearably easily this time, feeling no resistance as it seemed she pulled me right to the bottom of her cunt. I replaced my left hand over her clit and pressed as I started fucking her again, slowly at first, then harder and faster, reaching a peak, then more slowly again, then still more slowly as she gasped a wordless protest.

  She groaned then as I slid in so slowly it took a full breath cycle to sink all the way into her. She lost control and bu
cked against my hand.

  “I thought you weren’t supposed to be moving...” I stopped, let my hand go limp inside her, went with her movements instead of against them so she couldn’t catch any friction or pressure, and took my other hand off her clit.

  Scream of protest.

  I ran my hand along her smooth brown skin until I reached her breast, grasped her erect nipple between two fingers, and rubbed my thumb over it hard. Another gasp and clench, as she pushed her body toward me. I gave her nothing.

  I could hear a slight noise and realized she was grinding her teeth.

  When a few moments had passed and she had not moved again, I brought my fingers to her clit and began strumming it slowly, trying to tease her into moving. When she was still, only whimpering slightly, I started fucking her again, still moving so easily inside her that I felt I could crawl all the way. She made such beautiful sounds, such cat-in-heat sounds… It was time to up the ante.

  “Now I want you to be quiet.”

  She cast me an incredulous look, more than blunted by her fuzzy expression, but she went silent, only the hiss of her breath, the flaring of her nostrils, and the expression on her face showing what she felt. I pulled her legs up over my shoulders, leaned over her, and fucked her hard again, watching the tug of emotion behind her eyes, which got wider and wider the harder we fucked. After what seemed like an eternity of pushing and pulling, sliding through her in an erotic haze, she whispered something I had to slow my movements to catch.