Best of Best Lesbian Erotica 2

by Tristan Taormino

  Lou interrupts us, shoves Nanc back to her own seat, and pulls me out of mine.

  “C’mon, let’s go.”

  “Lou, man, we’re just talking. Geez, half the time you want her to find a new man. I was just testing the waters.” Nanc punctuates this with a sizzle sound.

  “We’re just going outside for a smoke. We’ll be back.”

  She leads me out of the bar, squeezing the pinkies on both my hands in her fist as she pushes our way through the crowd.

  Lou ignores me when we get outside even when I kiss her throat and try to jam my hands into her pockets. She has rolled us a joint she didn’t want to share with her friends and we lean against the wall in silence trying to hang in the shadows. She feeds me drags between her long puffs.

  Three women leaving the bar pause as they catch the scent and come over to ask directions to some other bar in an obvious ploy to get offered a hit. Lou vaguely gives them the information they want, and when they linger, she hands them the tight-rolled cig and they chat as they pass it around.

  Lou introduces herself. Then she introduces me as the insatiable curse who couldn’t be left alone for a minute without trying to make a pass at her best friend. Lou laughs it off and says that even if her friend had taken me into some back corner and tried to rustle up some lust, I would just have come crawling back to her.

  Lou tells them that last week I went to the bathroom between pool-shots and convinced someone to feel me up. How after the woman was unsuccessful at using her fingers to arouse anything more in me than a need to pee, I came storming out, saying I’d have to use a pool cue if I wanted to get off. She tells them how she caught me crawling back into her bed with chalky hands and a blue smudge on my nose.

  She complains that I am always picking up girls and going home with them, just to end up horny and frustrated and then have to steal cab money or hop a late-night bus back to her place. Like an alley cat who keeps wandering back in the window whenever you shut him out. With this, she let out a meow-moan and they laugh as if they know what it’s like. It is the first time I have heard her retell these tall tales and I can see her eyes sparkle with butch pride. I see how much of herself is tied to this reality I’ve been weaving for her.

  “Baby, tell them how no one can turn you on like I can.”

  I raise my eyebrows a bit and nod.

  “Shit, if you can do it, you can have her.” Lou says seriously as she sends the tiny butt around for one last pull from each of them.

  The three step back. They look at my boots, the sheer black stockings of my thigh, the skirt that has been inching its way up as I shift from one foot to the other. “I bet I can make the bitch wet,” one mumbles to another, meaning for Lou to overhear.

  Lou warns them that many women have tried, even a couple of men, with no effect. But if they are willing to give it a shot, they would be doing her a favor. She drops the roach to the ground and grinds it into the sidewalk with the heel of her boot, saying she would be glad to get rid of me so she could get some sleep for a change. She tells them that I’ve jacked up her phone bill and owe her money. So, for $50 they can have three minutes to get a chance to make me wet. Three minutes of kissing. Lou tells them that she doesn’t give a shit, throw in some tit- and ass-grabbing too if they want. She lays out the terms: They can’t touch my pussy and I have to keep my hands behind my back. But most importantly, if they make me wet, they have to promise to keep me away from her.

  The thought of her handing me over to these women, these biker chicks with their huge hands and rough talk and their cocky attitudes, has me on the verge of coming already. I am not sure if Lou is setting this up to be rid of me once and for all or if she wants me to prove my devotion to her in some grand Russian roulette gamble based on a lie I’ve been tickling her with for months. I am still wondering this when the most boisterous one of the group steps up to the bet. She watches Lou as if she is afraid it might end up being a joke worth fighting over and pulls her wallet out of her back pocket. Fifty dollars, surely an entire day’s pay if she is one of those lucky enough to have a full-time job. She holds it out, as if daring Lou to take it.

  Lou tells her that we need to make sure I am dry, to judge fairly. She reaches up under my skirt and with the sleeve of her shirt wipes my pussy off with a rough stroke. She turns back to the three, takes the money, and announces, “Whenever you’re ready.”

  I can feel Lou’s presence behind me. My pussy is already pulsing. I clamp down in an attempt to keep any moisture inside.

  Bulldagger number one steps toward me. She chooses the direct route, kissing me confidently, open-mouthed, with her tongue darting deep into my throat. Her hands are on my shoulders, pulling me in, bending my neck back. This eager suitor smells of leather, whiskey, and motorcycle grease—a scent so bewitching I could be Pied Piper down the street with it. I hold my breath as she strangles me with her mouth. I just let her go at it, barely kissing back, resisting the urge to correct her faulty style with a few quick nips of my teeth to her tongue. I try to force my mind to wander from the situation. I try to think dry thoughts. I will win the bet for Lou and make her proud.

  The three minutes are up and I have not so much as sighed. No groan. No pelvis seeking hers. No melting into her.

  Lou turns to me. “Anything, honey?” she asks.

  I shake my head “no” and lick the taste of whiskey off my lips.

  Lou sighs and says that it’s never as easy as it looks.

  Number one steps back, tries to laugh it off, saying I am an uptight, frigid bitch, a fucking ice queen. She starts to walk off but her friends stop her.

  The second dyke fumbles with her wallet and hands over the cash for her chance at the challenge. She apparently thinks that if the hard teeth-clanking kiss didn’t work, perhaps I am a soft femme who needs seduction. She has three minutes. She kneels at my boots, and I avert my gaze to avoid the pull of her green eyes staring up at me. She licks the rim where the leather meets my calves, runs her tongue on the underside of my knee, and slides her hands slowly up my inner thighs. Lou stops her just as her fingers disappear under my skirt. She is stopped just before I make the decision that calloused hands and warm breath are worth bending my knees for, moving myself down to cease the agonizingly slow pace. She is stopped just before I drop my cunt down to meet her palm. Temptation number two moves her hands to softly cup each breast. I stand still, knees braced so as not to lose my balance. My hands search behind me for Lou—she takes both of my pinkies into her fist and gives them an encouraging squeeze. If I can pull this off, I know it will be the best compliment I have ever paid her.

  Lou tells her that her time is up. I shrug, act unimpressed. The two who have tried, chide the third into an attempt, telling her it was a good three minutes whether they won me or not. Razz her about how all night she’s been lookin’ for a femmey girl and here is one standing on the street just waiting.

  The third bulldagger wants to know how we are measuring. She wants to see for herself if I am wet, wants proof. Lou reaches under my skirt and runs her fingers under the elastic of my underwear—quick, unceremonious, careful not to rub my clit. Her fingers barely skim the surface, but I gulp a breath of air at the long-awaited touch and they seem sure that she’s penetrated me. She takes her hand out from under my skirt, grabs number three’s hand, and rubs the definitely dry fingers along her thick wrist.

  Lou holds out her hand for the money and bulldagger number three hesitates slightly before lifting her wrist to her nose. Just the faintest scent of pussy assures her that she wasn’t tricked. She reaches into her pocket and pulls out some crumpled bills.

  Lou resumes her position behind me, taking hold of my pinkies. I take a deep breath, trying to figure number three out so I can prepare myself. She is slow, strong, suspicious. Lou clicks her tongue, worried. We are so close to winning this cruel game that I couldn’t bear to lose now. Couldn’t bear to disappoint her. I imagine the ways she will thank me for this public gesture of appreci
ation.

  Number three steps forward, trying to read my face for clues as she considers the best approach. She leans heavily into my body, wrapping her arms around me. Pushes her bulk into me. Our legs are interwoven and she pulls my hips into her thigh. She starts in on a brain-fucking whisper. “Oh you smell like sex just like I knew you would. I’ve been looking for a hot little woman like you. I want you so fuckin’ bad right now. I can feel your cunt heat on my leg, burnin’ a hole right through my jeans. I can practically feel it swelling. It’s making me so fucking horny just thinking about how slick and sweet you’re getting for me. I already know how I am gonna fuck you.” She hugs me into her and presses me harder down onto her thigh. I struggle to tilt my hips up so as not to catch the fullness of her leg rubbing my cunt. Lou’s fist closes down harder around my pinkies, tugging me back enough to relieve the pressure building on my clit.

  The bulldagger pulls me hard against her chest, breathing on my neck. “That round sexy ass of yours has been drivin’ me crazy since I first saw you. I am getting so worked up I don’t think I could stop even if you wanted me too.” She clamps a hand down on my asscheek and pulls my cunt up to meet the slow swivel of her hips.

  Lou puts her fingertips lightly on my back to steady me and I rest back into her hand. Allow her to ease me back and rescue me from this impending arousal. “When I get you home,” she goes on, “I’ll give you the fuck you’ve been looking for. I’m gonna work your hard little clit—just pull it right into my mouth and lick your sweet juices. Then I’ll open you up with my fingers, just slide in and out. Swirl my hand into you until you beg me to fuck you harder. Beg me to fuck you deeper until you come.”

  I think of throwing the bet and wrapping my legs around her, opening my mouth to hers. My cunt is tired from being clamped down for so long and I have lost track of my inhales and exhales, my breath starting to sound like whimpering.

  “I know how to satisfy a cat-in-heat femme like you. You won’t be stumbling home at night. You’ll be flat-out exhausted from all our fucking.”

  I wonder what Lou would do, wonder what proof would be requested after this test, wonder what I could get away with. My pinkies are locked in Lou’s fist and she twists them, bending them back into a stinging stretch, clearing my head. The three minutes is up and Lou makes sure contestant number three has backed away before she pushes me back up to hold my own weight. I am lightheaded and keep hold of Lou’s hand, looking down.

  “Sorry,” Lou says. “Like I told you, she isn’t as easy as she looks.” Lou takes my waist and turns to escort me inside, but number three grabs her arm and yanks her back so she can look straight at me. I know this look, the look of having found the soft spot and waiting for the tickle to take hold.

  The bulldaggers start throwing insults and accusations at us. Number three in particular thinks she’s won. She continues to talk to me, starting in the now-familiar whisper ringing in my ears, but each phrase rising in pitch of anger. “I know I made you wet. I know you’re just dying to grind that sweet cunt into me. Let’s finish this up and get out of here. Tell them how wet I made you. Didn’t I make you wet? Huh, bitch?”

  I try to ignore her voice, her words.

  Lou tells her to shut up for a minute and we can prove it to her.

  In a gesture too quick for me to stop, Lou pushes me back against the brick wall and yanks my skirt up. I take a deep breath and keep my pussy lips clamped together as tightly as I can. Lou pulls my panties down to mid thigh in front of these three bulldaggers whose wallets have just been emptied. Three bulldaggers with wounded machismo can see that I am not glistening.

  Lou takes number three’s hand and folds it into hers as she would a child’s, leaving two fingers out and the rest curled into a fist. Lou guides her hand from one pale thigh, over my pussy lips, to the other. Three bulldaggers who are feeling quite underappreciated hear her announce it. Dry.

  “I don’t fuckin’ believe it. She must be fuckin’ frigid. Whatever. Keep her, man. You deserve the bitch.” They saunter off, play-punching each other and grabbing their imaginary cocks.

  They round the corner and Lou turns to me, looking me in the eye for the first time in almost a half-hour. She smiles and tells me she is quite proud, tells me she guesses its okay if I stick around for a while longer.

  We go back into the bar and sit down at the table. I excuse myself and head toward the bathroom. “Nice hip-check,” I say as I pass by Nanc at the pinball machine. She follows me, leaving an unplayed ball, and locks the door behind us. After a quick slick finger-fuck that she has been promising me for weeks, Nanc leaves to resume her game and I pull my clean panties out of my pocket, wrapping the damp ones in a paper towel and throwing them in the trash. I return to the table to sit on Lou’s lap, whispering to her how I much I love her, that she is the only one who can keep me happy, how she is the only one who knows how to turn me on.

  Fee Fie Foe Femme

  Elaine Miller

  All night long she wouldn’t let me kiss her because—she said—our lipstick colors clashed.

  Checking the address she’d written on a piece of paper, I’d picked her up at her house earlier. Rosalie, the paper said, then her phone number and address. No last name. Dykes don’t need last names when we have attributes and ex-lovers to be known by. As a dyke I’m Jez the Goth, or Sharen’s-ex Jez, never Jessie Tate. And Rosalie…could be New-in-Town Rosalie, or Rosalie the Beautiful. Maybe if I was into U-Haul rental she could be Jez’s Rosalie by the second date.

  My heart skipped a beat as she’d appeared in the doorway dressed like an old-time movie starlet, her loose curls bouncing around her sparkling brown eyes. She’d taken my hand, and I’d leaned in for a kiss, which she dodged, laughing impishly. And explained. I was annoyed that she was right about the lipstick clashing. I was wearing my usual vampiric matte blood-red, and hers was something a worker bee would die trying to collect for her queen. Raspberry pink, glittery under the new-car deep gloss, her lips were startling and perfect jewels against her brown skin.

  I took Rosalie the Beautiful to LICK, the only full-time lezzie bar in town. Once there and seated at a table beside the dance floor, we lost no time in flirting. She pretended to lose one of her gold earrings in my cleavage, necessitating that she trail her fingers around my breasts, trolling for it, while I protested that she had to find it, quick, because I wear only silver with black clothing. And of course, I only wear black clothing.

  But she still wouldn’t kiss me. She would dance so close to me that the lines of her face blurred in our body heat, oh yes. She would let the slick material of her skirt smooth the way as she rode my thigh to the beat of the house music. Later in the evening, she’d let me hold her tight in the dark corners of the bar, one hand cupping her full breast, my thumb strumming across her nipple as she squirmed, my other hand tangled in the hair at the nape of her neck. But every time I tried to kiss her, throughout the evening, she just laughed and twirled away, leaving a cloud of girl-scent, a flare of her skirt, and the teasing word Lipstick.

  By the end of the night, I was cross-eyed with frustration. When Rosalie the Beautiful whispered a lewd invitation in my ear, I simply answered, “Yeah. Let’s go to my house,” took her hand, and pulled her out of LICK, past the approving smirks of my friends. And on the way home she wouldn’t kiss me. She teasingly said that it was all about preserving her shiny, glossy pink lipstick. Besides, she wouldn’t want to distract me from my driving.

  We tumbled in my door as one body with eight limbs, panting and pulling at each other’s clothes all the way to the bedroom. She didn’t seem to want to stop for a tour. We fell across my bed and I unzipped her dress and, with her wholehearted help, peeled off every item of clothing that could get in my way. I left her the pretty white stockings and garters, but threw her pinching high-heeled shoes on the floor. I’m a femme too; I know these things.

  I hastily shucked off my own clothes, especially my own damned shoes, and they made little black heaps a
midst the white piles of Rosalie’s clothes.

  She looked…well, you can guess how she looked, smooth-skinned and plump-limbed, all curves and soft lines. But you probably haven’t imagined with your other senses yet, so close your eyes and imagine the heat of her skin warming the air around us, and her scent like clean sweat from dancing, and just a hint of her sex.

  She lay back against the pillows and smiled at me. She didn’t say anything, but I just knew that if I leaned forward now she’d let me kiss her and to hell with the lipstick. I didn’t try. Instead I pulled a few coils of rope and some bondage cuffs out from the toybox and onto the bed, knowing that with what she already knew of me she wouldn’t be at all surprised. Not in the mood for protracted negotiation, I cocked an eyebrow at her in an inquiring gesture.

  “Sure,” said Rosalie the Beautiful, her eyes outshining her lipstick. “My safeword is ‘Untie me now.’ ”

  I tied her flat on her back, her hips held down by a wide belt of ropes crossing back and forth from two of the many eyebolts on either side of the bed. I clipped her hands to the headboard at full extension over her head, allowing her breasts to poke temptingly at the ceiling.

  I buckled cuffs around her ankles, and two bigger cuffs a few inches above each knee. I passed a long, slim white rope through the bolts near her hands, and ran it through the rings on the cuffs around her strong, plump, stocking-clad thighs, and as she squeaked in a surprised way, effortlessly pulled her knees high up toward her chest, exposing her sweet, wet cunt. With a quick knot at the ring of the thigh cuffs, I pulled the ropes down to either side of the bed and ran them through two rings there, parting her thighs further. As she began to squirm in earnest, I connected the ends of the ropes to her ankle cuffs and pulled her heels tight to the backs of her thighs, hindering her from kicking or moving her legs.