Best of the Best Lesbian Erotica

by Tristan Taormino

  We began my lessons that evening. I found that, from my first taste, I loved that dick. I was a natural, pulling her into my throat, sucking her skin against the roof of my mouth, running my tongue along the length of her. I have a big mouth for a little girl, and I nearly wet myself the first time I was able to take all of her, swallow her whole, and hold on to her ass while she buried that dick in my face. I liked feeling the length of her stiffness disappear into my mouth, and letting my tongue play at the ridges, while my nails raked the underside of her balls, then, lightly, flicking my tongue catlike at the head, barely tasting her, tickling the tip until she could no longer stand my teasing and grabbed the back of my head, forcing herself down my throat, jamming her cock, hot and swollen, into my face, fucking me full-force until I was so full of her I thought I would cry. I became an avid dick-sucker that summer. I loved my newfound way of pleasing my lover, on her terms. My physical acceptance of her cock was my way of embracing her butchness, of surrendering to her will. I never licked her clit again after that. It was me and the dick—anytime, anywhere she wished. We’d go out to dinner and she’d be packing the smaller one, and I’d make a game of rubbing the ball of my foot against her under the table. I would cup her hardness in the cab on the way home and she’d struggle to keep a straight face as I went down, right there in the back seat, the knees of my stockings getting dirty as I knelt before her, smearing my lipstick on her pants, then deepthroating her butchness, taking as much of her into my body as I possibly could, wanting her dick, her desire to completely engulf me. When we got home, she’d relax before the television, legs spread, in the silk boxers I’d bought her, her dick poking through the fold in the fabric and I would have to stop whatever I was doing and go to her and try to get her attention, by kneeling at her feet, massaging them, then working my way up to her hard-muscled thighs and finally playing with her cock as it stood there, at attention. I would roll her hardness between my hands before taking her into my mouth and she would play games with me, looking over the top of my head at the television, but getting gradually more distracted by my grunts of pleasure as I noisily sucked at her, allowing her rubber to slap against my lips and the roof of my mouth. Once I got really into it, my whole head bobbing up and down on her rigidness, frantically fucking her with my face, she would have to take note, and though the TV would still be on, the program was abandoned, as we fell to the floor, her grunting and thrusting her hips towards my face to give me more, more, as I let her feel my teeth and sucked her as hard as she had fucked me the night before. She grabbed a fistful of long disheveled hair and held my head still as she had her way with me; I kept my lips in a perfect tight O as she rocked back and forth and then slammed her body into me full-force, coming hard into my mouth. I sat still, holding her in my mouth, cradling her dick between my lips until she quieted down and gently pulled me up onto her chest, which heaved under her ribbed tank top. Her dick was strong and beautiful and possessed us both with a force that can barely be put into words. I just know that I have never felt so powerful, so sexy, or so very femme as when I am before a lover on my knees, taking her into my mouth and giving her all I have to offer.

  Don’t get me wrong: I love getting fucked—fingers, dildos, fists—but nothing beats the exchange of power when I am sucking my butch off. I give a good blow job, and I love it, and I love the way it makes my butch feel. I can tell, because in addition to “sweetheart” and “honey” she calls me “the best little cocksucker in the world”—a title I am proud of as it is my way of giving back the love my butches have so freely lavished on me.

  Every Boy

  Dorian Key

  Every boy has his beginnings, some starting place, a point of conception. Although my boy evolution started long before, every time I was called “young man” in the barber shop; every time I saw myself in the mirror and realized I looked more and more like a picture I had of my teenaged grandfather, a sweet pretty boy with a severe haircut; every time some chickenhawk fag cruised my ass, it really sunk in, stuck me hard with a needle of perverse stickiness, with the smallest strongest phrase and the loveliest of positions.

  “Please, Daddy,” I utter. Your hand clenches my shoulder and you breathe in roughly, quickly. And then I descend further into my new life as you shove me down until my chin touches the glossy wood floor. From there all I can see is your boots, for which I start the lowest possible approach. Your boots, boots I want to lick and suck, sweetly, voraciously, in the same way I want to move my mouth and tongue over your daddy-cock. I crawl with my elbows bent out, my bare stomach and chest sliding across the cool floor, my ass rounded in the air. I again look up at you, my daddy, finally looming over me, stroking the bulge in your Levi’s. I wait trembling, my lips opening hungrily; slightly and for several long beats, you lock gazes with me as you continue stroking yourself.

  Until your deep whisper, “Kiss them,” frees me.

  Relieved, I murmur thickly, “Thank you, Sir,” and then lean forward until my lips graze the gleaming black surface covering your right foot. Then, with a hint of swollen tongue, my mouth skims the pungent smoothness.

  “Boy!” you snap, “I want to feel you working!”

  “Yes, Sir,” I mumble into your boot. I press harder, my lips becoming tender against the firm leather as I work from your left to your right foot, but your impatient exhalation of breath tells me that you’re not happy, yet. My kisses become pure pressure as I try to give you more sensation, until you hiss, “Use your teeth, boy!”

  “Y-yes s-Sir, thank you, Sir,” and I eagerly dig my small, sharp teeth into your boot.

  Your whisper breathes out, “That’s right.”

  Encouraged, I outline your foot with my mouth and teeth, teeth that are happy to bite, to sink into something so good. Teeth that focus my frustrated young energy into a wild animal cling. And cling to you I do, losing myself in my jaw’s grip on my daddy, losing myself in the boy I am becoming, who like a pup nips and clutches desperately for attention.

  “Stop,” you growl. “You’ve got to leave some space for other marks.”

  Panting and trembling, I drop from my lock on you, a difficult thing for a boy who didn’t even know he so desperately needed a daddy until earlier that evening.

  “What I’m really looking for,” you said, leaning back comfortably in you chair at the café as the lines on your handsome face deepened around your broad smile, “is a boy.”

  Clutching my cooling cup, I jerked out of my well-practiced coffee house slouch to prime attention as my good boy with good posture zinged into every bit of my being. All it takes is for me to hear a gorgeous older butch-boy, such as yourself, utter those beautiful words.

  “W-well,” I sputtered. Unable to articulate clearly, a rare thing for my wordy self, I struggled on, “Uh, uh, I-uh…” Finally I gave up and awkwardly gestured toward myself, myself being a tall, lean boy-dyke with a military haircut and an angular pretty-boy face, then taken over by a smile of delight and the extreme happy desire to please.

  You ignored my offering and continued, “And what I really want to do is play daddy and boy.”

  My attempt to swallow some coffee halted abruptly as I gagged and coughed on misdirected liquid. When my coughing continued, you stood, moved closer to me, and hit me on my back a few times. Finally my choking stopped and, red-faced, I looked up into your concerned paternal gaze. Then you smiled and said, “Good boy, good boy. Let Daddy help you.”

  “Oh god, yes,” I said thickly, slowly allowing this to begin. “Please do, Daddy, please help me,” and I permitted my needy words and starving gaze to seek from you what I then knew I wanted, and must work hard to prove I deserved. You leaned down, disengaged my hands from the mug, took them in yours and pulled me up, helping me to stand on suddenly wobbly legs. And then it was me, with a beaming face, looking down at your short, white-blond hair and intent face. You reached up and sweetly traced the line of my smooth jaw with your fingertips and then moved down to clasp my right hand.
With a sudden tug, you pulled me toward the door.

  The cold night air cleared my head and my normally talkative self returned. “Gosh, I’ve always been into boy-on-boy stuff, but I never really thought of daddy and boy until you mentioned it. And I must say, it certainly sounds appealing.” I continued on in a quick ramble of words and you smiled indulgently at me, you, my teacher of so many things, now guiding me into a new lesson.

  I chattered on excitedly until we got to your place, but my voice quieted as soon as the door thudded behind us. Again I felt that pained, embarrassing inability to articulate anything of sense. “Uh, uh...”

  “What’s wrong? Can’t talk?” You smiled, secure in knowing exactly what it takes to shut me up, what it takes to give my overly active mind something to wrestle with and impede my power of speech.

  And I was mind-wrestling with this daddy-boy image of you and me, which crowded my thoughts in enclosed spaces with you so near. So close that your breath grazed my cold face as you tilted your head up and pulled me toward you. Your lips deliberately, smoothly pressed into mine as you eased me slightly open, open enough for you to dart your small, sweet tongue into my mouth. I breathed in your taste deeply and you pulled back, smiling wickedly at my thoroughly dumbstruck self.

  Now it is the heady scent of your wet, well-marked leather boots that I breathe in, savoring the taste, savoring the end of my wait.

  “Boy,” your soft voice triggers my heart and mouth, both overly eager to work their way around you over and over. And you let me try by saying, “Show me how much you want Daddy’s cock.”

  I move back, stretch my body flat on the floor, and reach out to you with my hands. Then I begin pulling myself toward you, slowly, dragging my belly, and my breasts with painfully stiff nipples, across the cold floor. As I close the distance between us, my mouth seeks out blindly, by taste, where you begin and your boot-tips end. Lightly skimming over the spit-shined boots with my lips and tongue, I move up to the tops of your laces. Then I angle my head up to look at you. With the slightest nod you encourage me to continue. I pull in a deep breath and clasp my hands around the backs of your legs and slowly follow with my grasping, hungry lips. The dull, dry texture of your jeans fills my mouth, making me want your dick, slick with my spit, even more. I suck and pull myself hand over hand, lip after lip up your firm thighs to where they join and your jeans try to hide my destination. As my hands squeeze your ass, my mouth tests and begs softly and then harder as I press my teeth and tongue against your bulge. Your hands rest on your black leather-belted hips as you watch me work, as as you watch me try to show you how much I want my daddy’s cock. And I really want it, as my escaping whimpers testify.

  “Boy, tell me how much you want it. Beg me.”

  “Sir,” my voice cracks. I clear my throat and try again. “Please, Sir, let me suck your cock. I need it so much.” You gaze down at me, weighing my request. “Please, please, Sir!” I plead.

  “Well,” you answer, “I’m not sure if you really deserve it.”

  “Oh god, Sir, Daddy, please. I’ll do anything! Just let me taste you.”

  “Hmmm...” Your serious face twitches slightly with a smile, letting me know how much you are enjoying this. “Well, if you need it that badly. You’re not done proving to me that you really deserve my dick in your mouth. But I’ll deal with that later.” And with that you signal me to unbuckle your belt with my suddenly poorly functioning fingers.

  “Take it off, all the way,” you instruct when my fumbling finishes and I’ve managed to disengage your buckle. I halt in my eager reach for your button fly, and resolutely pull your belt out carefully, loop by loop, until it rests freely in my sweaty hands.

  “Set it over there,” and you motion to a corner of your room. As I move to get up, you shove me back down. “I didn’t say stand. Crawl.”

  “Yes, Sir. Sorry, Sir,” I mumble, as heat travels up my body, flushing my face with embarrassment. I carefully place your folded belt in my mouth. I crawl to the corner, wincing with the pain of bony knees pressed to hard floor. After I return, you motion me to continue. Finally, I think. I grab the tops of your jeans and painstakingly begin unfastening the thick denim that covers your pale skin peeking out over your black harness. I pull your pants down and your thickly veined black rubber dick slowly emerges. This I move to cover inch by inch with my warm, wet mouth after its brief exposure to the cool night air.

  Until you stop me, again. “Boy, aren’t you forgetting something?” and you pull away from my mouth. Concealing a sigh of disappointment, I look in the direction of your finger-snap, to a stack of condoms resting on your nightstand.

  “Of course, Sir, sorry, Sir.” Again I painfully crawl off in in the direction you’ve indicated. After grasping a single foil-wrapped, unlubed condom in my teeth, I come back to you and then open the package. I place the condom between my teeth and lips and then lean forward to push it down over you, slowly, carefully, so that my teeth don’t tear the latex. When your dick is bulging in the taut rubber I pull back.

  “Well...” your voice drawls out and then summons me to work in a staccato burst: “Get to it, you little cocksucker, you little fag. Show me how well you can suck dick!”

  My desire, which I’ve tried to hold back all night as if I were a thirst-crazed animal, propels my mouth forward. I draw the tip of your cock into my mouth and then circle the rim with my tongue. Licking sideways down the shaft, I trace each vein until my mouth meets your harness. Then I travel down to the tip. I continue my slow savoring to the rhythm of your shallow breathing and then pull back. Your hands cradle the back of my head, fingers splayed, twitching with tense anticipation. Again I suck only the tip of you into my mouth, humming with satisfaction, and I linger, my tongue licking around and around, loving every second of serving you. Finally I plunge my mouth down your shaft, swallowing as much of your thick seven inches as I can, till your cockhead nudges the back of my throat. There I stay, pulling, feeding on you. Your fingers have stilled and now you grip me tightly and ride my mouth, grinding against my lips, your low moans telling me how much I am pleasing you. Finally your grip relaxes and I draw my swollen mouth off.

  “Good boy,” you say, smiling, causing the hairs on the back of my neck and arms to rise. “Now work up and down the side like you did before. Daddy really likes to watch you do that.”

  And so I do, teasing you with soft lip glides, moving into rough and sloppy licks, sliding my tongue down and around you, occasionally slipping and letting your dick slap me across the face. Then I concentrate on one side at a time before settling on your right and increasing my mouth’s pressure in a desperate, fierce grip, bringing from you, “Oh yes, that’s right, you little cocksucker.”

  Not stopping my work, I look up to see you gazing down at me, you absorbed in the vision of me mouthing your cock. Right here—I think—this is the only place I want to be, on my knees, serving, sucking off my daddy—and I am completely happy. Until you jerk your dick out of my mouth, leaving me to pitch forward, thrown off balance as any boy would be when separated from the source of his life’s blood. As I steady myself, I can’t contain a moan of disappointment, which soon trails off into a pitiful whimper.

  “What do you say?” your harsh voice catches me.

  “Thank-you, Daddy. Thank-you for letting me suck your dick.”

  “That’s better. Don’t worry, we’re not done yet.”

  My heart lifts in expectation until you tuck your cock back into your pants. Then you lift me up by my chin and lead me to your bed, where you throw me down on my belly, and bind my hands.

  “I’m not sure, but I think you enjoyed that just a little too much, so Daddy needs to punish you,” you say.

  First you use your hand, then you graduate to harder and meaner instruments as my ass pushes off the bed to meet your blows. Finally I am pulling and trying to twist away from you until I am pleading for you to stop. And you do for a bit, sending jolts through my body by running the tips of your finge
rs over my bruised and swollen ass. Your touch is soothing. My tense body slowly relaxes its tight hold on itself, and I let the bed fully support me.

  “Just a little pink,” you murmur disappointedly as your hands continue tracing my ass. “Well, we’ll have to fix that.” And with a hard slap you shock me back to you, making me squeal like a girl. You laugh and then say, “But first Daddy has to blindfold you.” You tie a bandanna securely around my eyes and then push my head back into the bed.

  As your finger strokes continue, I begin to relax again. Your hands travel up my ass toward my shoulders. Then you lower your mouth to the nape of my neck. Pressing your body down until I feel your entire weight, you kiss my neck, building into a teasing bite as your hands slide under my breasts and lightly cradle me. Instinctively my ass rises up to meet the bulge in your crotch, and you begin rubbing against me. Soon we are grinding together and I am begging you to fuck me.

  You murmur into my ear, “You’d like that, wouldn’t you, little boy, Daddy’s big cock sliding in and out of you?”

  “Mmhmm,” I moan, pushing harder up into you, and then just as I remember that my hands are tied, you squeeze and twist my nipples hard and slam down on me. My whimper of frustration rolls into a wail with this new sensation, this pain, this taunting pleasure. But you force me with your body’s weight to lie still, to absorb the twitches and shudders of my body.