The years passed slowly. With my job at the bank in town I was able to afford my own small place. In it, I luxuriated in the aloneness I’d always craved as a child while crushed in one house between my parents and six siblings. My new home was tiny, four rooms and a little verandah from which I could watch the world go by. Here, no one could see how miserable Alva’s absence made me. I wallowed in it, played our old songs and walked to my house, tearing open the shoebox to press her old letters to my face and drown in my memories.
And now she was here. In her father’s house, less than a mile down the road. I scrubbed myself in the bath; washed, oiled and braided my hair, and put on fresh underwear. Then I went to her. The house was filled with people, all curious to see what Alva looked like now, to see if she brought something for them from the foreign land. Cousins, friends from basic school, near strangers who walked by her father’s yard every day and waved good evening as they passed. They surrounded her, laughing, begging, entranced.
She was perfect: slim and tall, her hair straightened and tucked up in little troughs that rode on her narrow shoulders; skin the soft, teeth-tempting shade of figs and that lush, kissable mouth with the top and bottom lips that were perfect replicas of each other. Not even American MTV could have prepared me for such beauty. Her brown eyes were still quick and laughing, but I did not recognize the hardness around her mouth, the way her hands were still unless she was reaching for something. Those hands of hers used to say so much, chasing the air as she talked, lying open and receptive, pressing against my skin. I hung back, waiting to see if she would notice me, or even realize who I was. I knew that I had changed. I was softer, rounder. My teenaged slimness had disappeared under years of chocolates and bread and fried fish. My mother said that I had become another kind of beautiful. My sisters said I was fat.
In my dreams, Alva had stopped everything for me, brushed all other beggars aside to give coin in the currency of my choosing. But she never looked up, never noticed me standing there with my heart’s cup held out. After a half an hour I stumbled away, holding my tears until I walked down the dust-tracked lane where the sun sparkled green and gold on the foliage, mocking my unhappiness. The tears fell freely then. Though rich from the bounty of her new life, Alva had nothing to give me.
That night I made dinner for myself; peeled cassava, yam, and ripe plantains and dropped them in the boiling water. With each movement of the knife I kept seeing her face the last time we were together, the tears that limned its loveliness, the way she had clutched her lip between her teeth as I hovered over her, loving her and crying too. The time for tears was over. I had my life here and she had hers far away. Callaloo and saltfish simmered on the stove, releasing their rich essence into the kitchen. My thoughts of her burned.
I heard a knock at my door. Of course, it was her. She immediately became the most exquisite thing in my house.
“I got your letter.” Alva closed the door behind her and locked it. “I thought you didn’t…you couldn’t…anymore.”
“I never stopped,” I said.
A nervous smile came and went on her face. “I missed you.”
The words were clumsy on her lips, but welcome. Alva was not as poised as she seemed, and perhaps my palms were not so wet. She lurched forward suddenly and touched me. I flinched, but she was gentle, tracing the bones of my hand with her delicate fingers before reaching for more, shaping my arm, my cheeks, the new roundness of my belly.
“You’re gorgeous,” she said.
All she’d ever meant to me came rushing back a hundredfold, crashing over my senses until I staggered against her, kissing her. I drowned in the taste of her on my tongue, the silk of her skin against mine. It was too much. I pulled my hand, my self, away, but she followed. Ah, her eyes…I melted, moved toward her, this stranger with the American voice. She caught me up, pressed her cool palms against my cheeks.
“I missed you,” she said again.
Kisses like soursop ice cream melted over me, opened me. She was greedy. With her hands and silent mouth she told me what her letters did not, of her hunger for me, her thirst that the twelve-year absence had not dulled. My teeth pierced her lip, she gasped into my mouth and tugged at my dress, determined, but gentle. Her fingers plucked at my nipples, raked them to hardness.
On the stove, the callaloo bubbled and boiled, threatening to eject the pot cover. The strength in her pretty hands always surprised me. They lifted me, threw me on my grandmother’s old table. It was sturdy under my weight, solidly straddling the floor as she pushed my thighs open. Her fingers parted the moist hairs under my panties then slid home.
“I’m sorry I made you wait,” Alva said.
The fullness of her inside me felt so good that it hurt. Breath boiled in my throat. Soft, needful noises bubbled up in my chest and flooded out of my mouth as I held her close, not quite believing that she was there. Her coconut-scented hair brushed my face and I clenched my thighs around her.
“I should have come back sooner,” she breathed. “But I was afraid.”
The fingers inside me began to move. In twelve years of lonely nights I had dreamed of this, of her hands on me, the voluptuous wet of her mouth against mine. In a fever, I clutched at her shoulders. My nipples scraped against her shirt, sending electric heat burning through my body. She pushed into me, her breath coming in loud gasps as the table slammed against the wall and my dangling legs jerked in the air. Sweat churned to the surface of my skin, my insides tightened and swelled and my breasts tingled. I grasped at her one last time.
My moans sang out in the tiny kitchen as I twitched and shuddered in orgasm. Alva kissed my mouth and slowly withdrew her fingers. She licked them while I watched, limp from the table. The muscles in my thighs trembled.
“You’ve always been so effortless,” she murmured. “I forgot that too.” With quick, impatient motions she shrugged out of her clothes and tossed them on the floor. Almost as an afterthought, she twisted away to turn off the stove. My dinner was already ruined. “Show me your room.”
I laid Alva out on my bed and feasted my eyes on the newness of her. The clipped and neat pubic hair, her flat belly and the diamond-studded post threaded through her navel. Her fingers were manicured, cut close and polished a strangely alluring green. I kissed the backs of her hands, then her palms. My smell on her pulled a response, visceral and immediate, from deep in my belly. She smiled up at me from the rumpled sheets, all wet mouth and slumberous eyes. Oh, I missed this, her pliant, pleasure-seeking body under my hands, allowing me to do whatever I wanted.
Her skin smelled of a recent bath and baby powder and sweat. It yielded under my teeth and she moaned softly, arching her neck, widening her thighs. She whispered my name and asked for what she wanted. I slid my fingers against her slick wetness and she groaned, moving her hips against the sheets. The sound of my name on her lips sweetened the air again. I laughed with the pleasure of it and bent my head. She was a stranger to me, someone I had to relearn. I savored the lesson, cupping her soft hips as I charted the delicate geography of her forest and wetlands with my tongue. Hot sensation coursed through my body and pushed my hips against the bed in time to her groaning movements. Alva shuddered against my mouth, whimpering against the sheets as her body undulated and clutched, empty of everything except my love.
I knew she was not staying. How could she? Even now, her body under mine felt transitory, already in flight. Alva shifted until she was the one looking down at me, eyes tracing my face as if to memorize its every curve.
“Are you staying?” I asked.
“No.” Her fingers settled on my belly. “But I want you to come with me.”
I shook my head. Pain blossomed on my tongue from the fierce pressure of my teeth.
“We can’t live here,” she said, lacing our fingers together. “Not like this. Not like I want it to be. Come with me.”
I closed my eyes. After twelve years, she had finally made my dreams real. How could I give that up? Already my ski
n clawed itself at the thought of leaving hers. I turned to her in the small bed, the bed that I had bought for us, with one word on my lips.
“Where?”
STELLA LOVES BELLA
V. C. Clark
Two o’clock in the afternoon. I stepped out of the supermarket where I worked and into the real world; in the wet, cold, winter air; snug in my fuzzy black coat; my face hidden by my hood; my world suddenly changed. I forgot about my workday and remembered the reason I’d woken up this morning with ridiculously soaked underwear clinging to my hips and ass with warm sweat, my mind drowned by the images of a goddess.
That goddess is Belladonna. Yes, Belladonna, the porn star; Belladonna, the nastiest chica in the adult film industry; Belladonna, the object of my hidden desires. She’s the perfect example of the type of woman I want in my life: kinky, filthy, a butt-slut, a lover of ass gapes, a devourer of cunts, the mistress of fetish, the fearless sexual daredevil. She’s the kind of woman who doesn’t hide her raw sexuality, one who’s proud enough to share it not only with her lover, but with the world through the art of pornographic films.
In all honesty, if my girlfriend Mia was a porn star, stripper or exotic dancer, I couldn’t handle it. Part of me believes that it’s not right to share or sexually expose a lover to strangers. Yet, another side craves the spontaneity, the explicit high, the rush of seeing the one I love doing what she loves best: performing sex, fucking, making love, masturbating; dicks bulging, cum flying, cunts drooling; lesbian orgies, male and female gang bangs… I could go on and on.
I love Mia, but she’s not the most sexually adventurous person I’ve ever known. Hell, she doesn’t even like the idea of anal sex, a thing that she knows is my ultimate pleasure. She doesn’t understand how I can be aroused by half of the fantasies I’ve shared with her, some of them involving BDSM, animal training, rope bondage, veggie sex, tit fucking, pussy fisting, and just the simple act of role-playing in costumes—having sex with them on. She finds some of these humorous, the way she finds me humorous.
Mia gave me my first Belladonna DVD for my twenty-fifth birthday. She had no idea who Belladonna was but had heard about her from a friend who recommended the DVDs as a perfect gift. I popped the disc into my laptop and snuggled with Mia on our bed, my eyes glued to the screen.
First scene: a mighty fine dominatrix, reminiscent of Bettie Page, in control of a tied-up, gagged sex slave, teasing her, the naughty pet, and then fucking her with her fingers and then a medium-sized butt plug. I came in my panties, soaking wet; Mia was shocked, not too impressed, her pussy dry. Second scene: simply hot, my mouth watering, my pussy dripping; Mia not getting it, but kissing me, fondling me and licking my ear, acting like she was into it. Scene three: hella good, lots of toys and two hot gorgeous babes, fucking each other S/M style. Scene four: a trillion times better, the best! Belladonna, pregnant, with engorged breasts and round belly, gorgeous, horny, not giving a damn that the belly was in the way of her fucking and being fucked by another girl, the sorority type, the kind I disliked, but ooh honey, this chick was a wet dream. Belladonna and the other girl, reacting to their call to ravage each other, pillow fighting, nipple biting, booby sucking, pussy eating, ass fucking; huge dongs plunging in their tight assholes, Belladonna choking on a monster dildo: Oh, fuck, fuck me Belladonna!
“Okay, I’ve had enough,” Mia yawned. “It’s boring me now.”
The end. The best birthday present ever. If only Mia had loved it just as much.
Later in the evening when she was asleep, I watched the rest of the movie. Took out my eleven-inch rabbit vibrator that she despises because it’s too fucking huge and so fucking loud. I agree, but dammit, I wanted it. Crammed the bulbous head into my dripping cunt, turned on the bead rotation, the clitoral teaser buzzing, my eyes glued to the computer screen. Ooh, yeah, that’s it, the fifth and final scene of the movie: Belladonna stuffing humongous anal beads in this woman’s asshole—all of them, no holding back. I came; I screamed for more; I got more; I came again. I was convinced: Stella loves Bella. Mia squirmed, shook her head, giggled and muttered, “You weirdo,” and went back to sleep. A wonderful finish to a steamy evening.
The next day I ordered three more Belladonna films. More nights of masturbating, fantasizing, yearning, wanting, wandering, dreaming, craving everything Belladonna performed. I realized I wanted a woman like her. It’s rare to find a woman open minded enough to explore such filthy fetishes and kinks, desiring the things that I wanted in a fulfilling, daring and adventurous way. I kept telling myself that love was all I needed. But I want more than lovemaking, hand holding, kissing, missionary position, doggy style, shower sex, cuddling, and comfort in loving arms. I want ropes, whips, paddles, cat-o’-nine-tails, leather dresses, vinyl costumes, pony bit gags, ball gags, leather hood masks, wrist cuffs, ankle cuffs, anything and everything outside the vanilla spectrum.
After watching her first movie, I visited Bella’s website, becoming a member of her club. I wrote her a letter and sent her pairs of panties in the mail.
One month later, and here I was, walking home with Bella on my mind. The house was empty. There was a pile of mail on the table. I sat down and sifted through the mail. Bills, bills, bills and to my delight, something from Belladonna! She had sent back my panties, beautifully pink. I smelled them—oh! The odor of her cunt! There it was, her autograph, in black ink, oh, Bella! A faded lipstick mark was printed in the center. “Oh fuck, fuck, fuck, Bella, my bitch, I love you!” I cried.
My cunt felt ready to erupt as I hurried upstairs to our room. I closed the door, beads of sweat on my breasts, my nipples protruding through my red dress, knees shaking, wet patch in my panties. I wanted to explode! Still no sign of Mia. Fuck. I needed to masturbate alone without her. She won’t know, I thought. This was going to be a quickie. I grabbed my silicone butt plug and rabbit vibe, lubing them both up. This time, no Belladonna film. Just a mirror in front of me down below so I could watch as I fucked myself, and of course, my Belladonna souvenir. My asshole and cunt were ready. Here they cum. I squeezed the butt plug into my greedy bottom…how easy I swallowed it whole, the base pressed against my buttcheeks, my asshole clenching on it, not letting it go. I rode it, the power to punish, I loved it, watching myself, worshipping my body. My pussy was jealous; I had to give her some love too. I was eager and impatient, no little miss nice girl; I stuffed that humongous rabbit vibe deep inside, the clit teaser buzzing against my throbbing pleasure spot. I fucked myself, in and out, hard, pounding, vibrating, earth shattering. In minutes I was gushing with cum. I watched it pour out and slide to the side of my bumcheeks. All the while, my asshole was throbbing, the butt plug a part of my insides, being pushed inside more rapidly by the force of my body. I fucked myself more and more, full speed, sniffing the panties, powerful addictive odor of Bella-cunt, the master of my universe, the mistress of my soul. I could even see her face while I was pounding myself with a vengeance. Belladonna was mine, I was hers, she fucked me, I fucked her; oh, my, that was the greatest solo fuck session of my life.
I went to the bathroom and washed my playmates with soap and water. Beads of sweat slithered down my back. My dress was soaked with my musky scent. I needed to shower. When I walked out of the bathroom, my sex toys cozy in a towel to be fully dried, I stopped in my tracks. Mia was standing by the bed, next to the pink panties still sitting where I’d left them. She glared at them for a second, picked them up, smirked and stared at me. She looked gorgeous, her dirty blonde hair long and elegant, makeup on her face, prim and proper, Victoria’s Secret perfume on her skin, wearing a pink dress with frilly straps, showing off the beautiful curves of her sultry body, purse in one hand, the panties in the other.
“So you finally heard from Belladonna?”
“Yes,” I said. I blushed, my fingers shaking, I didn’t know why.
“It’s sweet that she actually signed it.”
She explored the panties with her eyes, trying to find something more.
�
��Yeah…” I giggled. “Um…I was just going to shower baby, want to join me?”
“Of course, I’m sweating like a pig.”
“I love you sweaty.” I smiled, walking toward her, putting my bundled towel of sex toys on the bed, shaking, nervous as hell, embracing her. I slid my hands up her dress and cupped her gorgeous, plump asscheeks in my hands, squeezing them gently, my lips against her lips, mmm, sweetness, the very thing I wanted, the thing I loved the most, the taste of her tongue, the warmth of her breath, the way she moaned, holding me by the waist, horny thing, trembling over a simple kiss.
“Let’s take a bath,” she whispered. “I’ll get it ready.” She went into the bathroom, and started the water running in the tub. I unbundled my towel, quietly putting my toys back in their hidden place. I realized she’d taken the panties with her. I went into the bathroom. Mia was on the toilet, the panties pushed up to her nose, smelling the odor of my Bella.
“I can tell that she sent you more than just an autograph…”
I gulped. Mia’s eyes looked devious, sexy, naughty, with the I am gonna kill you intensity that I only imagined her letting out in my dreams.
“Oh…” I was speechless.
“Why are you just standing there? Come to me.”
Her voice was fiery, demanding control. She grabbed me by the waist, nails pressing into my skin, forcing me down on her lap, my back toward her.
“I can tell that you’d love to be Belladonna’s bitch, wouldn’t you…?”
She sniffed the panties, her hand grabbing my right breast, squeezing it hard enough to make my nipples instantly pop…it hurt so good. I am usually the master; now suddenly I was weak and Mia was the strong one for the first time.
“Answer me.”
“Yes, I do, I admit it…”
“You filthy whore…”
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