Best of Best Lesbian Erotica 2

by Tristan Taormino

  The all-but-deserted bar of a vast Victorian hotel.

  Dark Lincrusta covered the walls and the rings of generations of damp glasses marred the oak tables. Emily ran her fingers up and down her glass. I raised my drink and savored the best single malt whiskey the bald-headed bartender had to offer. Watching Emily over the rim of my glass, I drank. The old codger’s best was pretty good. I took another taste, holding the whiskey in my mouth and working it over my tongue before swallowing.

  Emily’s manicured nails tapped the side of her glass. She hadn’t tasted it beyond a first sip when I’d proposed our mutual health. “Drink up.”

  “You want to go home?” Her eyes were dark with unspoken wants.

  “I think we both need a nice, hot bath.”

  Her full lips parted. Slowly lifting her glass, she tilted it and drank half the whiskey down with one swallow. I expected her to choke and splutter but she just smiled. “That’s good.” Her glass made a dull thud on the table as I nodded.

  “I never settle for less than the best you can have…or give,” I said. Her hand rested on the table, palm down. I covered it with mine. Her skin was still cold. Emily moved her hand so our fingers meshed. There was no mistaking the look in her eyes. She would appreciate what Alec had refused.

  She bit her lower lip with one very white tooth. “I’m glad Alec is at work.”

  “So am I.” I swigged the last of my whiskey almost as fast as Emily did hers, ignoring the burning as I swallowed.

  We were back in the house in minutes and upstairs in seconds. On the landing, with its ornate railings and decorative cornice, I paused. Her room or mine?

  She settled that. Sweet, quiet Emily dragged me into the bathroom. Squeezing my hand, she leaned over the claw-foot tub. Steam rose, misting the gilt-framed mirror as Emily stood upright, and hesitated.

  I didn’t. I reached out and released her hair from the pale-blue scrunchee. As she shook her head and ran her fingers through her hair, I unbuttoned her blouse.

  Did she and Alec share this tub? How hard did he get, seeing her firm, creamy skin swelling above her pink lace bra? Did he lust after her young body? Who was I kidding? They were married! They did this every night. Except when he hared off to save the day and left her alone. But today Emily wasn’t alone and she hankered for me. Her nipples weren’t hard from the cold this time.

  I unsnapped her bra and cupped her breasts. They were round and sweet, just like her. I pushed aside the lace and slipped the straps and her shirt off her shoulders and unsnapped her jeans. She wore a pretty lace thong that matched her bra. They ended up together on the floor. Her legs were long, her thighs smooth, and her tummy flat. Her breasts hung high and firm with nipples the color of the inside of a Venus shell. I’d looked like that once, back when Alec had rejected me. Now I had crepe thighs and a belly stretched by three pregnancies, but along with the cellulite, I’d gained experience and I knew what pleased women.

  I eased my hands down her belly and watched her face. My mouth curled with anticipation. Emily smiled back. I didn’t wait any longer. Cupping the back of her head with my hand, I pulled her face to mine. I started soft and slow, just a brush of lips on lips, but she opened her mouth and swallowed the kiss and my breath. Her lips were warm, moist, and as eager as a virgin’s. Hell, she most likely was one, with a woman. I kissed back, trailing my other hand down between her shoulder blades and holding her steady in my arms.

  As I broke off the kiss, I whispered, “Get in the tub.” Like a good child, she obeyed. As she stepped in, I couldn’t resist skimming my hand over the curve of her lovely, smooth haunch.

  “Aren’t you coming in?” When I nodded, she reached for a bottle and poured fragrant oil into the bath. The room was now filled with lavender-scented steam. I dropped my clothes on the tiled floor and joined her.

  Perfumed water rose to our breasts as I sat down. Brits may not have figured out about ice in cold drinks, but they have hot baths right. As I soaped Emily’s breasts with scented foam, she closed her eyes, sighing as my fingers trailed lower. I soaped her all over like a child, having her kneel up as I washed between her legs and down her thighs.

  After I rinsed her with a damp washcloth, she washed me with a touch that left me impatient and ready. Damp and heated, we patted each other dry with warm towels that wrapped us from shoulders to knees.

  Emily raised her fingers to my face. “Jasmine,” she said, her voice tight and her eyes bright with curiosity and need.

  “Come on!” I grabbed her hand and led her down the hallway to the room I’d slept in last night.

  She tugged me in the opposite direction.

  It took a couple of seconds for me to register where we were headed. She pulled open the door and pulled me inside. After all these years, I was, at long last, ending up in Alec Carpenter’s bed.

  I grinned as I yanked back the covers, climbed in, and pulled Emily beside me. She tumbled onto her belly and the smooth expanse of her back and lovely, curvy butt inspired me. “Don’t move! I’ll be back in a minute.”

  I was down the hall to the bathroom and back with a jar of lavender lotion in less time than it takes to tell.

  “What are you doing?’ Emily asked, looking over her shoulder as I walked through the doorway.

  She hadn’t moved.

  “Pleasuring you.” I squeezed out a dobbit of lotion and rubbed my hands together to warm it before easing my palms across her shoulders and down her back to the curve of her waist. She sighed with pleasure, so I reached for the lotion again. I anointed her. Kissing her neck and shoulders as I stroked lotion into her back and arms. Fluttering my tongue on the soft pale skin behind her knees as I massaged her thighs and butt. She went limp and relaxed under my touch. Lovely. But I didn’t want her too loose. I needed her sweating with want as her body arched under me and her eyes blazed her need.

  I rested a hand on the curve of her hip and nudged. “Roll over.”

  Emily didn’t need asking twice. She flipped onto her back, giving me an uninterrupted view of her delicious, firm breasts. I ran my tongue up from her rib cage to her nipple and felt her excitement as I worked it between my lips. She gasped as I pulled it into my mouth, and let out a slow moan of contentment as I worked my lips to her other nipple.

  “Don’t stop,” she whispered as I pulled away.

  “I won’t,” I promised.

  I could smell her arousal over the scent of lavender but I took my time, running my fingertips over her curves and tasting her skin. As I rested my hand on her bush, she was whimpering with need. I spread her legs with my shoulders and opened her with my fingertips, reveling in the scent of her sex. Gently I breathed on her moist flesh and ran the tip of my tongue from fore to aft. Her head came off the pillow with a jolt, and the eyes that met mine were wide as her cunt.

  “Jasmine!” It came out on the tail of a gasp. “There? No one ever….”

  Can’t say I was surprised. Alec always was a selfish bastard but… “Shhh.” I didn’t say anything else. My tongue was busy.

  She was sweet and fresh as morning and as ready as sunrise. I’d hoped to take longer but in minutes she climaxed with a series of little cries and frenzied jerks of her hips as frantic hands grasped my hair.

  She was still gasping, her breasts rising and falling with each pant as I eased up the bed and took her face in both hands. I kissed her very gently, letting my lips linger before opening her mouth so she could taste the joy I’d given her. She was halfway to fainting when I let her go. I settled for gathering her close, delighting in her warmth and scent and, I have to be truthful here, thrilled that I’d upstaged Alec.

  Nasty of me. Bitchy of me. But in the circumstances….

  “Jasmine?”

  “Yes.” I smiled at her as I ran my hand over her hair.

  “You haven’t come?’

  I shook my head. “Not yet.” It could wait. I was enjoying a different satisfaction.

  Emily disagreed. Propping herself on one elbow,
she bent her head to my breast and carefully worked her way down. When she reached my cunt, she delved in with the enthusiasm and ardor of a convert. I came three times before she finally paused and I insisted we take a nap. She might not need a rest at her age, but I did.

  We slept the day and night around, waking as the early sun streamed in through the open curtains.

  After a slow morning loving, Emily lent me Alec’s toweling robe to eat breakfast in. We sat in the bay window, sipping coffee and spreading creamy butter and tart Seville marmalade on butteries. These were heavy, fatty pastries I’d have disliked in anyone else’s company but now they tasted of Emily.

  We were debating the wisdom of more coffee, or back to bed, when Alec walked in, clothes rumpled, hair on end, and eyes red from lack of sleep. I was scared he’d smell the sex on us but all he seemed to notice was food. Muttering a couple of sentences about idiot crews who don’t maintain equipment properly, he wolfed down the remaining four butteries and the better part of the second pot of coffee his nice wife Emily fixed. Apparently Alec had not enjoyed the past twenty-four hours as much as his wife and I had, and unfortunately, he wobbled off to bed to restore himself so that put paid to an encore for us. But there would be other times. I was a patient woman.

  “So glad you two get on so well together,” Alec said that evening as we walked down the platform to my sleeper. “Some people have been unbelievably snooty. Peter hardly talks to me now.”

  Can’t say I blamed Peter. He was bound to take his sister’s part. Heaven help me! Had I really loved this man? He was so self-centered, patronizing, and just plain thick! I had, once, when I was young and equally thick, but now I was well and truly cured. “Nice of you to ask Emmsy to your book signing in Edinburgh,” Alec went on, as I hugged her goodbye

  “It’ll be nice to see someone I know.” I gave a wave and hopped on the train. “I’ll let you know the date.” Something good had come out of the hurt of Alec Carpenter. I was going to have to call my publisher and insist they add Edinburgh to my next book tour. They wouldn’t need to provide any escort. I could arrange that. I settled back in my seat, thinking. I was a trifle torn between genuine fondness for Emily and our promising affair and the certainty that Penelope would get a kick out of knowing I’d made Alec a cuckold.

  Gravity Sucks

  Skian McGuire

  “Oh, shit! Fuck! Goddamn!” I sucked my bleeding knuckle in spite of the grease and shut my smarting eyes against the shower of rust and undercarriage gunk that sprinkled down on my face like fairy dust from hell. Between that and the sixty-watt droplight frying my ear, I never noticed the garage door closing.

  There was no point wiping my eyes. Nothing on me was clean enough. I blinked against the tears and groped for my lost wrench, cursing again. How far could it have gone? I scooted the creeper a little ways out and froze. The radio had come on. Holding my breath, I listened while somebody tuned it to a country station.

  For one foolish moment, I imagined I would be invisible if I stayed completely still, like a rabbit. As if half of me wasn’t hanging out from under the rattletrap ’67 Mustang I called Baby. I forced my voice to work.

  “Who’s there?” I tried to sound gruff. Big and butch. Yeah, they could see my big threatening butch legs. Right.

  No answer. With a shaking hand I switched off the light and squinted into the dark, willing my eyes to adjust. If I could see, I could recognize the intruder’s ankles, maybe. If they happened to be in the quarter of the garage available to my sideways, immobile vision.

  No such luck. “Fuck,” I whispered, barely audible over my jackhammer heart. I dug in my heels and pulled the creeper as hard as I could, right into something solid and warm against my upraised knee.

  Someone giggled.

  “Natalia?” I breathed, relief flooding in.

  The leg that had stopped my creeper pressed against the inside of my thigh, shifted, and then there were two, pressing my legs apart.

  “Jeez, Nat,” I said in a rush, “you nearly gimme a heart attack. I thought maybe an ax murderer…,” I trailed off. What would an ax murderer do, hack off my feet? Still, the thought gave me a shiver. “Natalia?”

  The feet stepped back. Awkwardly, I pulled the creeper out and came smack up against the legs again.

  Again, the giggle.

  Now I was getting pissed. “Come on, Nat. I gotta get this frigging thing off so I can put a new parking brake cable on.” I was whining, and I knew it. I tried to sound calmer and more reasonable. “If I don’t put a new cable on, the parking brake won’t work. If the brake doesn’t work, it won’t pass inspec—” Cool fingers pushed aside my waffle-knit shirt and grappled with the button of my jeans.

  “Whoa!” Startled, I sat up. “Yah!” My head hit the frame. I dropped back, eyes streaming. “Fuck,” I whispered and spit a mouthful of rust and gunk bits, hands useless at my sides.

  More giggles. The hand worked my zipper down. I lay there, forehead throbbing. I heard a rustle and a little grunt as she knelt between my feet.

  Fingers pushed past my underwear and dove unerringly for my snatch, zinging my clit with what seemed like an electric charge.

  “Eeep!” I squeaked. Reflexively, I tried to close my legs. She shifted her weight and shoved them apart even harder. Her forefinger set up a hypnotic rhythm, insistent but not drubbing, teasing but effective. My clit hummed to its tune. My legs fell open, suddenly nerveless.

  “Eeeeeeeeeee,” I breathed. She laughed out loud. My head didn’t hurt at all.

  Fingers spread my lips and dipped into the flood of juice I was producing. Wet fingers slithered and danced between clit and hole. My hips bucked. “Ohhhh, jeeez!” I moaned.

  The hand yanked out of my pants. “Awww!” I protested, my heels shifting for purchase. I don’t know where I thought I was going.

  Her hands seized the waistband of my jeans. “Upsy-daisy,” a familiar voice said. Familiar, but Natalia? While my fuckfogged brain tried to puzzle this out, my hips obliged her, all by themselves. Hands tugged my jeans and underwear down past my butt, past my thighs, past my knees, coming to rest at my ankles. I sighed, quivering with anticipation. A cool draft wafted over my thighs as I waited. And waited.

  “Natalia?”

  Stillness. Silence. “Uh, Nat?” I tried again nervously.

  “Whoa!” Hauled by the jeans around my ankles, my legs shot into the air. The creeper trundled backward. Under the car, my arms flailed for something to hang on to. “Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Hands scrabbling on the concrete, I tried to pull my legs down. My bare knees thumped against cold metal.

  “Relax,” that familiar voice said, “you’re bungeed to the door handle.”

  “Oh,” I said, as if that explained it. I craned my neck for a view. All I could see was a denim bell-bottom and the hem of a long crushed-velvet coat. I ransacked my mental inventory of Nat’s wardrobe and came up blank.

  The air in the garage was more than cool on my naked ass, but I was sweating in my long-john and filthy Carlux hoodie. Before I knew it warm breath had enveloped my pussy, and her mouth touched down like Soyuz docking Mir. “Na’zdorovye!” I shouted, inspired.

  Her tongue flicked back and forth and sluiced up and down my labia, darting into my hole like a fish. Her lips closed over my throbbing nub and sucked. Her teeth teased my clit hood and tugged at my short hairs. My legs bounced on their tether as I strained to meet her mouth, the creeper rocking and rolling ever so gently as I moved. I was weightless, trapped in a tin can, floating in space.

  My arms stretched out, Christlike, for ballast as I swayed. There was my wrench: the thought drifted through my brain. I panted and licked rust-gunk off my dry lips. Orgasm was inevitable; my lower half was on autopilot. Now that less of me was under the car, maybe I could see my benefactress? No. My own pale goose-pimply thighs blocked the side view. Straight down the middle, tucking my chin hard into my chest and scraping my forehead—“Ouch!”—against the car, only the top of a dark brown head was
visible. Carefully, I drew my arms in.

  Her tongue moved faster. She stuffed it into my dripping hole, and I clenched and opened, rising to it, trying to draw the slithery coyness of it deeper.

  “Oh, yeah,” I moaned. In slow motion, my hands met on the silky bobbing top of her head. I twined my fingers in her hair. Her rather longish hair. Had it gotten that long since I’d seen her last? How long had it been? I’d seen Nat two weeks before. No, wait, it was only….

  Under her relentless tongue, the heat and pressure in my groin achieved supernova. Her thumbs dug into the soft flesh of my thighs as I came, bucking, a tiny lightship tossed in the solar wind.

  “Cosmic,” I breathed.

  Her giggles were warm, moist puffs against my engorged clit. I shivered.

  “Oh, Natalia,” I breathed, the last spasms twitching through my rapidly cooling flesh. “Natalia?” I unwrapped my fingers from her hair—gee, how long was it, anyway?—and groped toward her face like Helen Keller with a load on.

  “Ah, ah, ah!” she said, pulling away. Without thinking, I grabbed for her.

  “Aaaack!” The creeper teetered sideways. My head hit the car. My shoulders slid toward the floor. My arms, trapped between my pinioned legs, came back too slow to keep my sweaty ass from stuttering off the canted creeper onto icy concrete. My splayed thighs slapped against the car door and bounced maddeningly on the bungee.

  “Shit,” I muttered. A giggle tinkled out from across the dark garage, somewhere behind me. I didn’t dare open my eyes. I spit oily crud and called out, “Natalia? Wait a minute, honey. Help me get out of….”

  The garage door opened. And closed.

  I snaked a ten-inch breaker bar out from under my left ass cheek and scooted sideways. Far and wee, a twangy male voice tunefully exhorted God to bless Texas. I thought of Houston, and Ground Control, and empathized with all those nameless astronauts who came down hard on dry land in dark little capsules and waited, waited, waited, to be set free.

  In the end, I toed off my sneakers and tugged numb feet and ankles out of their denim prison, my numb legs flopping uselessly back to earth. I thought about the glory days of Mercury and Apollo while the circulation gradually returned and my cold bare behind absorbed spilled transmission fluid and waste oil from the grimy garage floor. I thought of Natalia—it was Natalia, wasn’t it?—and unearthly bliss and my own shocking touchdown on the unforgiving planet.