Best of Best Lesbian Erotica 2

by Tristan Taormino

“Jerk off.”

  I shiver at the hoarseness in her voice. Nothing has changed for her. For her it was just six weeks of celibacy. For me it was the death of a loved one, my guide, my ticket to success.

  She pinches my nipple savagely and I put my finger to my clit. It’s dry for all its hope and I slip my finger down along her cock to pull up a little juice and swirl it around that nub, trying to concentrate on her cock.

  She plays my nipple gently and fucks a little. I slide my finger around my clit, hoping to hit the spot that would find the eager humming we used to create, her in her slot, me in my slit.

  When she slaps the back of my thigh, I scream and the pain shoots its accustomed warmth right to my pussy while she ups the ante and my finger finds the hum of pleasure and we ride it to the crest.

  When I am ready to slip over the edge, we both feel it—just the tiniest welling from my center, but unmistakably Rain Woman. Linda smirks and then I am coming, a shuddering pleasure that wriggles across my numb belly and pulls its tender muscles.

  “Aighh” becomes a groan as I come, satisfied in body and spirit. She’s there, recovering. I am not maimed. I can still feel and I have not lost her, either of them. I am chagrined to think of how much time I have wasted fretting over a possibility blown over into nothing.

  A little while later Linda tweaks my nipple and says, “Wanna go to the play party at The Zone tomorrow?”

  I consider playing as I relax in the glow of pleasure and of Linda, the opener of my ways, next to me, watching me, eyebrow lifted just that littlest bit, waiting.

  “Next time. I’d rather we put in a pool that waters a garden, a really nice one like we saw on that show last week.”

  Farewell, Rain Woman, fare well, for I shall.

  Etched in the Flesh

  Sacchi Green

  The lonely wail of the train whistle echoed through the empty place inside me as we pulled into Brattleboro. I needed Kaitlin so badly I couldn’t think straight. Long train rides always get me horny—the vibration, the swaying undulation—and that wasn’t even the half of it. This trip, the first without her in years, had stirred up emotions I just couldn’t handle alone.

  But Kait wasn’t there to meet me. Instead, it was Jenna standing beside the station wagon holding out the keys.

  “Where the hell’s Kaitlin?” I asked, and Jenna winced. Why did she have to be so damned jumpy around me? With anybody else, customers, suppliers, even Kait—and I knew she had a thing for Kait; who wouldn’t?—Jenna was all common sense and competence.

  I tried to tone down my irritation. “Everything all right?” Nothing I’d just been through was her fault.

  Funerals are such damned, surreal blips in time. Trying to play the dutiful daughter I’d never been, moving ghostlike among people and places so familiar I’d had to block the pain with distance, sensing my grandmother’s emanations of love and hate as intensely as when she’d been alive…I was so disoriented that only Kait’s warm, abundant flesh could anchor me in my own.

  So maybe horniness was at least half of it. I even found myself eyeing Jenna. Not bad, but too young, too raw, marginally pert. Pert bores me. In Kaitlin’s generous mysteries I could lose myself. In Kaitlin’s generous mysteries….

  Dammit, where was Kait?

  “Everything’s fine,” Jenna said in a rush. “The shop’s been really busy, and then that sales rep for the card company was late for her appointment, so Kait couldn’t get away in time.”

  Made sense, but I still brooded. Kait knows what train rides do to me. Did she think I’d jump her right on the platform? Would she have minded? She didn’t mind that time I demonstrated how really roomy the handicapped restrooms on Amtrak are. That’s the kind of thing it’s a kick to have done once, without wanting a repeat performance. She’d had striped bruises on her lower back for a week from the safety handrail on the wall. Flaunted them, too, in a backless halter-top.

  Kait in a backless top. Or out of one. I hurled my bags into the station wagon with unnecessary force, turned to grab the keys from Jenna, and changed my mind. “Go ahead. You drive.”

  She stared in amazement. I can’t stand letting anybody else drive, except maybe Kaitlin. I won’t even take a bus. A train is about as much as I can handle; at least I don’t have to see who’s in control.

  “Are you OK, Andri?” Jenna asked when I was settled uneasily in the passenger seat.

  “Fine. Just tired.” And just wanting to give you a vote of confidence, I thought, with the added attraction of being able to close my eyes and visualize Kaitlin. “She could have let you handle the card order on your own. You have a good sense of what will sell.”

  The extra bit of reinforcement made her pale, freckled face light up. I watched her through half-closed eyes, since riding blind turned out to be more than I could manage, not to mention the fact that half an hour of visualizing Kait would make me so wet I’d be lucky to be able to walk without getting sore. And not to mention the tension that seemed to radiate from the paper-wrapped packet in my jacket pocket. “For Andrea’s Woman” was scrawled across it in my grandmother’s slashing handwriting. She’d left little bundles all over with people’s names on them, declaring them sealed with curses so that nobody else would open them.

  “Andrea’s Woman.” But she’d known Kaitlin’s name perfectly well. I was tempted to risk a curse I didn’t quite believe in, to make sure Kait wasn’t in for some unpleasant surprise. The one time they’d met, the old termagant had pronounced that, since I’d damned sure never find a man who’d put up with me, it was just as well I’d found a good woman. That had seemed close enough to approval. I forced myself to stop fingering the packet and allowed myself to think instead about touching Kait, just a little, just the curve of her cheek, maybe down to the base of her throat, maybe just down to where her breasts begin to well…maybe to….

  I sprinted for the back door of the shop before the car had quite stopped. The bedlam inside was intense. Tourists seem to descend on Vermont earlier and earlier every fall; there’d been no way we could both be gone at this time of year. It wasn’t even the weekend yet, and peak color was at least a week off, but you’d have thought it was Provincetown in August the way they were milling around. And buying, too—books, crafts, cards, toys; at this rate we should make it through the rest of the year okay. I would have been elated if there hadn’t been so much else on my mind, and if I hadn’t seen the exhaustion on Kaitlin’s face, in spite of her smooth handling of customers.

  I slid behind the counter. “Take a break, Love,” I said into her ear as I pressed my crotch against her magnificent posterior. She moved ever so slightly backward into my heat without missing a beat of making change.

  “You must be tired after the long trip,” she said, her voice doing that number on me it always does.

  “You know damned well how I am after the long trip,” I murmured, and smiled blandly at the harried father trying to get his kids to settle on their purchases. I massaged the nape of Kait’s neck under her thick, russet braid. The muscles were tight. “You have a headache. Go get rid of it before I get home.”

  “Where’s Jenna?” Kait glanced around, but Jenna was already forging order out of the chaos at the other cash register. Ricky, our new part-time clerk, hadn’t handled a foliage season before.

  “I’m on it,” I said. “You go get some rest. Plenty of rest.” I edged around and nudged her away from the register with my hip. She copped a substantial feel as she departed, leaving my ass tingling.

  “See, guys,” I said to the two squabbling boys, camouflaging my private grin in professional affability, “this model rocket goes higher, this one goes farther. But what matters most is skill. You want separate bags?”

  Their father looked at me with relief, then added one of Kait’s CD’s to the pile. “Does this ever take me back!” he said. “I used to see you two at folk festivals, way back when. You wrote most of the lyrics, right? Really dug ’em. And Kaitlin…what a voice!”


  “She’s still got it,” I said with feeling, and his knowing grin answered mine as he shooed the kids onward.

  There are worse ways for folks to make you feel old.

  A tour bus spilled its load outside just then, and we went into overdrive. Kait tried to come back to help, but I scrawled a note and shoved it at her. When she read it, she laughed and almost challenged me, but changed her mind.

  “If you don’t get your sweet ass out of here, I’m going to fuck it right across the counter,” I’d written. And meant it, too.

  Kait was in the garden when I got home, gleaning a few of the hardier greens that made it through September. “I didn’t expect you so soon,” she said, her rich, lazy voice affecting me like a lingering touch.

  “Jenna offered to stay and close up after the last few stragglers.”

  I put my arms around her from behind and snuggled my face into her neck. She was wearing one of my old dirty flannel shirts with nothing underneath, so that my scent blended with her heady aura of honey and fresh bread and earth and arousal. HomeKaitlinHome….

  “Jenna is a treasure,” she said, as though she didn’t notice what my hands were doing under her shirt, but her nipples told me otherwise. After the first compulsive cradling of her abundant, heavy breasts, I had eased off, circling my palms so that I just brushed the tips, making them strain for my touch. Which they did. Which made my own breasts ache, along with pretty much every other part of my body that could get my attention.

  She started to turn in my arms. “Wait,” I muttered, thrusting my knee between her legs, rubbing my crotch against her round, round ass. “You go full frontal and you’re going to get it right here in the dirt and cabbages.”

  “It was fine in August, in the herbs,” she said, that musical cello throb beginning in her voice, “but it’s a little chilly now.” She turned toward me anyway, slipping a hand between my thighs, pressing it up against my ache so that I arched into her touch and forgot to hold her tight.

  “Come on, Andri, get a grip. You can make it!” Then, having made nearly sure I couldn’t, she slipped out of my arms and dashed toward the house, unbuttoning the flannel shirt as she ran.

  Not that the bed wasn’t a good idea. But I caught her at the top of the stairs, and she let me press her against the wall, hard, as though trying to merge my whole body into hers. She reached up to stroke my cropped hair, raising her breasts high against mine, and I bent my face into their full, warm comfort, needing comfort, needing something else even more with an urgency that rocked me.

  Cream, honey, silk; there’s no adequate metaphor for the sweetness, softness, of Kait’s skin. No way to describe the sounds she makes when I touch her, primal moans vibrating through her flesh from deep within. I worked my open, hungry mouth over her bountiful curves, growing more ravenous the more I devoured. I could do this forever, if the throbbing pressure in my groin would let me. Or if Kait would let me.

  Her moans grew rougher. She forced my mouth onto a swollen nipple, and pushed my hands from where they’d been kneading her rounded belly down into the unzipped waistband of her jeans. And lower still. “Dammit, Andri, bed! And get your clothes off!” She scrabbled at my belt, but I held off a little longer, sucking and licking at one breast and then the other, working my fingers delicately over the hot, wet clit that was as engorged as her nipples.

  Then she bit me, hard, on the side of my neck, and squirmed away, and threw herself on the bed. Watching her wriggle out of her jeans was so engrossing, I had a hard time fumbling with my own clothes.

  As my jacket hit the floor I remembered the mysterious packet, but the heat of my blood and heart overwhelmed the chill of my grandmother’s shadow. Mind and senses had a more compelling focus in Kaitlin’s abundant flesh. On some deep, unthinking level, I understand the impulse that made our forbears carve full-bodied goddesses out of stone and ivory. Who’s to say some of those sculptors weren’t women?

  She stretched sensuously, grinned, and stuck out her long, mobile tongue; and when she arched her hips upward I was on her, no frills, needing nothing between us this time but our own heat.

  Sometimes, when it hasn’t been too long, when we can focus, yoga-like, with contemplative intensity, we can meet mound to mound, breast to breast, in slow, exquisitely precise strokes. Not this time. I straddled her, rubbing my wetness across her tender belly, then shifted so that I rode her thigh, mine pressed hard into her crotch. She clutched at my back, then my ass; her breathing came hard and fast, in counterpoint to mine. We moved against each other, with each other, and the tension mounted until I was dizzy with it.

  “Now, Love, now, dammit! “Kate gasped, as harshly as her honeyed voice could get, and tugged at my arm. I braced myself with the other and slid my fingers over her damp mound, between her slippery folds, then deep, deeper into the hot, sweet, demanding mystery of her cunt.

  She arched and writhed, and I picked up her rhythm, held it, accelerated along with her wordless, pleading moans; and at last she spasmed around my hand, and a sound like a chord played on a feral cello tore from her throat.

  Better, more profoundly needed, than to come myself. As if I had a choice. Kait would never leave me hanging. She didn’t wait to catch her breath before she began to work her mouth and hands over my body, and all my self-control began to melt, as always, under her touch. But suddenly the ripples of anticipation transformed into a violent shivering that my lowered defenses had no power to resist. “Kait….” Unshed tears burned in my throat.

  “It’s all right, Love,” she said, knowing unerringly that what I needed now wasn’t what I needed ten seconds ago. “I’ve got you safe.”

  And she did. Her warm, sustaining flesh moved over mine, her unbound hair flowed around me, sheltered me, formed a private space for the weakness that only Kait was ever allowed to see.

  “She’s gone, Kait! That vicious, domineering old woman… gone! And I never told her that I loved her.”

  “She knew.” Kait kissed me hard and deep. “She knew,” she repeated, coming up for air and leaning back. “She told me how hard it was, teaching you self-discipline, or as much as you ever did learn. She said the devil in you was nearly a match for hers.”

  “She told you that? But you only met her once!”

  “Once was enough. We had a lot in common. But she made me promise not to tell you some things while she was still alive.”

  That sounded like the convoluted working of my grandmother’s mind. I was still hurt. “All she said to me was that if I didn’t treat you right she’d lay a curse on me.”

  “Damned straight, too, and don’t you forget it.” Kait wriggled against me, and the impulse to treat her really, really right began to revive, but she rolled off. “It’s getting chilly; where’s that shirt? If you ever desert me overnight again, Andri, be sure to leave me some flannel you’ve sweated into. It’s good company. Maybe I’ll even ask Jenna for a copy of the tape she made of us.”

  “What tape?”

  “Didn’t you know she listens to us, sometimes, when we get too enthusiastic outdoors?”

  She knew damned well I didn’t know. “But…she can’t….” “Let it go. I’ve talked to her about it.”

  I noticed she didn’t say she’d told Jenna to cut it out. “I can’t exactly blame her for wanting to hear you,” I said, “but….”

  “It’s not me she wants to hear. It’s you. She showed me her diary: ‘Andri howls like a regiment of bagpipes going into battle, pennants flying, the sound enough to tear through flesh and spirit.’ ”

  “Why the hell are you telling me?” I wasn’t prepared to deal with this at all. I’d vaguely noticed bagpipe tapes being played in the apartment Jenna rents in our renovated barn, but I’d figured she was going through a phase of getting in touch with her Hibernian roots. At the moment I didn’t want to consider what else she might be getting in touch with.

  “Because she’s right. That’s what you do to me: tear through flesh and spirit, open me up, and fill
me.” She leaned forward and pressed her mouth hard into the hollow of my throat, which meant that her opulent breasts pressed hard against my ribs, and the smoldering ache began to flare again. “And maybe to caution you not to be too hard on her, but not to be too nice, either.” Then she pulled away, even though my arms were tightening around her, and stood up.

  “So,” she said in a lighter tone, veering away from a subject she might not want to deal with just now, either. “Are you going to sweat a little for me if you have to leave me again?”

  The way she flaunted her luxuriant ass as she crossed the room was meant to distract me. It did an outstanding job. “Sure,” I said, “if you’ll let me take along some of your seasoned underpants.”

  “Deal.” She bent provocatively to scoop up my jacket, and the packet fell out. “What’s this? A present?”

  “A bequest,” I said, and told her about the protective curse, bracing myself for whatever lay ahead.

  “I can just hear her saying that.” Kait hefted the packet, flat, with a thickly cylindrical object attached. “Shall I open it now?”

  I wanted to say no, touch me now, I need you now, but somehow I had to get through this first. “What the hell. Why not?”

  Kait turned on the bedside lamp and sat beside me, holding on to me without touching. She forced the knotted string off the corners of the package and peeled away the tape from the edges. “It’s a picture in an old frame.” We stared at a brown-tinged photograph of two girls arm in arm in front of an olive tree. My grandmother’s dark eyes bored into ours from a face absurdly young to hold such challenge.

  “Andri,” Kait whispered, “that’s just how you looked when I first saw you.”

  “No way,” I said, but it was true, in spite of her antique clothes and long hair and the fact that I’m considerably taller. “Who is that with her?” It was a rhetorical question; I was startled when Kait knew.

  “Her name was Allesandra. She was killed spying on the Germans in Sicily in 1943.” Just from the way the girl stood, the look in her eyes, the way she filled out the peasant blouse and skirt, it was all too obvious how she’d been able to get close enough to spy. “Your grandmother showed me this picture and then…then she said, ‘But I had my vengeance for her death!’ ” “She what? How do you know all this? Why would she tell you and not me?”