Best Lesbian Erotica 2015

by Laura Antoniou

  I caught her wrists in my hands and kissed her again. Her arms strained to be released, but I kept them pressed against her sides. My leg brushed against her pussy. She let out a groan of frustration, and her cunt left a gratifyingly wet trail on my pants.

  “I’ll only let you go if you keep your hands where they are, and don’t touch me,” I said.

  “Okay.” She nodded. I released her wrists and she obediently held her hands against her sides. Keeping my mouth on hers, I ran my hands over her waist, her shoulders, the nape of her neck, her soft, firm breasts, anywhere but her pussy. I dug my fingers into the tops of her thighs and pushed them farther apart. She wobbled in her shoes, and allowed me to spread her legs to shoulders’ width. I wanted her to feel crazy with arousal, desperate enough to beg. Judging from her eyes, she wasn’t far off. Her pupils were huge, her expression submissive and pleading. I felt her body trembling. I was almost crazy turned on myself. I’d ended up going commando today—washing machine issues—and the friction of my clit rubbing on the seam of my pants was almost enough to tip me over the edge. I ran my fingers along the tender crease of her thigh, barely brushing her labia, and, at last, I got the reaction I wanted.

  “Please,” she whispered. At the same moment, a silver drop of wetness ran out of her and hit the floor, and then another. We both looked down at the tiny pool and her face flushed crimson. I cupped my hand below her pussy and received another two drops. I closed my fist, as if I had a handful of diamonds.

  “Maybe this is what I came for,” I said, holding her gaze. “What if I left you now?”

  “No. Please. I need you to fuck me!” she said, her voice breaking with desperation. All coquettishness was gone, replaced by pure, unadulterated need.

  “Okay,” I said slowly, as if I was deliberating. “But I’m only going to fuck you from behind. Do you want it like that?” She hesitated, then nodded, biting down on her lower lip.

  “Yes, I do,” she said.

  “Then bend over the sink.” Immediately, she did as I asked, putting her weight on the sink cabinet, thighs pressed against the edge and her face not far from the mirror. “Legs apart,” I said. She widened them, and I gave her shoes little kicks until they were spread the width of the cabinet. Her ass was perfectly exposed. Her cunt looked swollen, and she was soaking wet.

  I smiled to myself, deeply gratified to have turned her on so much without even touching her. I spread her labia with two fingers.

  “Nice wet pussy,” I commented. Then I spread her asscheeks. Her asshole was as immaculate as the rest of her. “And nice asshole.” She whimpered, and in the mirror, I saw her cheeks reddening again. My hand brushed her pussy, just enough to pick up her wetness, but the contact made her body jerk.

  “So what kind of slut comes to a gay bar and begs a lesbian to fuck her?” I asked, casually. Seconds passed and she didn’t answer. “That was a genuine question,” I said, and slapped her ass hard with my wet hand. She cried out, but still didn’t answer. I slapped her again, and again, alternating cheeks, until her entire ass was red. She had pressed her own hand across her mouth, to stifle the cry that came out of her at each one.

  When my hand was tingling with heat, I stopped, and stood back and looked at my work with pleasure. I brushed her pussy again, and her body jolted, even more violently than before. I had never seen someone so desperate, and I loved it.

  “Where’s your phone?” I asked.

  “What?” she asked shakily.

  “Your phone.”

  “Oh—in my bag—over there.” I rummaged in her silly, girly handbag and found it.

  “What’s the code?” Her face showed reluctance, but she told me.

  “Two-eight-six-one.” I unlocked it. I found the camera app, aimed, and took a perfect shot of her red ass, and her swollen pussy and asshole. I put the photo in front of her face. “Looking pretty good, huh?” I said. She looked at the photo and her eyes widened. She made a small noise: “Um.”

  “Look, your asshole is even gaping, begging me to fuck it.” I moistened my finger at the entrance to her cunt and circled it around her small hole. She gasped. “You want me to fuck you here?”

  “Anywhere!” she said, her voice breaking.

  “Well, I’ve decided I only feel like fucking you anally today,” I said. “Are you sure you want it?” She nodded. “Then tell me.”

  “I want you to fuck me in the ass,” she said quietly.

  “Good. Keep looking at the photo.” I circled my finger around her hole. It was truly gaping a little. Making sure my finger was wet enough, I pressed it against her anus. She groaned and my finger slid in easily, past the first joint, then the second. She felt tight and soft and hot. I moved my finger in and out, in and out, in slow strokes, and she started to breathe hard.

  “Are you still watching the photo?” I asked. I could see she was, and that it seemed to be turning her on more. I slipped a second finger into her ass. Her anal muscles were tight around my fingers. I began to fuck her harder, all the way to the knuckle. She started to whimper and hyperventilate and I could feel her tensing around my fingers.

  Suddenly, I pulled them out of her. She groaned, a sound of disappointment. Her asshole twitched closed, then opened again. I spread her cheeks, enjoying the sight of the helpless, pink gape. Carefully, I inserted three fingers into her, her small hole easily widening to accommodate me. She cried out again. She wasn’t looking at the photo any longer. Her head was turned to the side, her eyes were closed tight and her breath came in gasps. I pumped my fingers in and out of her anus, and she pushed back on them, craving more. I wished I had my seven-inch monster cock with me. At last, I took pity on her. With my other hand, I found her clit. It was huge, bursting. I flicked it ten, twenty times, pressing my weight against the hand that was buried in her asshole, and she came violently, shouting out, her ass spasming hard around my fingers.

  She stayed bent over the sink for a long time, and I carefully withdrew my fingers, feeling like they’d been swallowed. At last, she turned her head and met my eyes, her surprise at what we’d just done seeming to match my own.

  “Give me the phone again,” I said. Wordlessly, she handed it to me. I took another shot. From farther back this time, her face just visible, her pussy slick and glistening, and her asshole stretched open by my hand. I showed her the photo, and her lips curved into a smile. She eased herself up, as if her muscles were cramped from holding the position for so long. Her skin had a sheen of sweat. She turned the taps on and splashed her arms, her breasts, her stomach with water. She started to turn around, but I wasn’t done with her yet.

  I forced her back down, pressing the side of her face against the counter. I unfastened the fly of my pants and slipped them over my hips. Then, I pressed my burning clit against her asscheek. I loved to grind on girls’ asses more than anything. The wetness from my cunt spread all over her ass, and I pushed her hard against the sink, riding her back and forth. My hand twisted into her hair, and I held her firmly, her sounds of discomfort increasing my arousal.

  I was close, almost on the point of coming, when, suddenly, with an incredible force, she stood up and pushed me off her. She spun around to face me as I stumbled against the wall, completely taken unawares. I stared at her in amazement. This wasn’t some fragile girly-girl; there had been real strength behind her actions. Dazedly, I noticed for the first time that her arms and legs were tautly muscled with the graceful athleticism of an athlete.

  “I play football. For the state,” she said, noticing my reactions. “You weren’t expecting that, were you?”

  “No,” I replied, chastened, and embarrassed at the fact that I was slumped against the wall and my pants were halfway down. She stepped toward me and lifted me by the waist so I was standing up straight. Kristie had some crazy, Amazonian strength. She held me against the wall with a hand at the base of my neck, and I could only stare at her in shock. She looked into my eyes.

  “I think I need to teach you some manners
,” she said. She slapped my cunt hard with her other hand. I yelped. She slapped me again, and again. I tried to get away from her, but she could have been made of rock—she didn’t budge one bit. She stopped slapping me and looked me up and down. “Now, what should I do with you?” She paused, weighing up her options. “Hmmm… maybe I feel like bending you over the sink and probing your orifices?”

  “No!” I almost shouted, struggling against her unyielding hand.

  “Oh. Let me guess. You don’t do penetration?”

  “No, I don’t,” I said, with a stab of real fear. This girl was strong enough to hold me down over the sink, and there would be nothing I could do about it.

  “But maybe that’s what I feel like doing?” She pulled me away from the wall and dragged me toward the sink. I fought against her, but she resisted me. As she bent me over, my pants fell all the way down. She held me down and her hand brushed my cunt. I cringed, bracing myself for what was coming next. I felt her finger probing my entrance.

  “Please don’t!” I shouted out.

  “What was that?” she said.

  “I said, please!” I was breathing hard. “I’ll do anything you want, just please don’t do that!” She lifted some of her weight off me.

  “Anything?”

  “Yes!”

  “Oh, okay,” she said affecting surprise. “Well…in that case, I want you to fuck me again. But like a lady this time!” She pulled me back from the sink by my hair. Then, she lifted herself onto the counter and propped herself up with her back against the mirror and her ass just on the edge of the sink. I had recovered enough to be aware of how hot she looked, still naked, with her thighs spread, exposing her perfectly shaven cunt.

  “Lick my pussy,” she said. She didn’t need to tell me twice. I leaned over her and slid my tongue into her cunt. She tasted good, with the sweetness of the orgasm she’d just had. I forgot about my ordeal and focused on pushing my tongue as deep inside her as I could. She sighed and jerked her hips. I licked her pretty, pink inner labia and then moved on to her clit. Her hips jerked again, harder this time, and I sucked on it a little, and her body responded, encouraging me to do it harder.

  “Slip your finger inside me,” Kristie commanded. “In my cunt.” I did as she told me, the incredible softness bringing back my arousal. “And another one.” I fucked her with my fingers, as far as I could move them in my position, and I let out a sigh of desire. “You can touch yourself if you want,” she said. Keeping my mouth on her pussy and my fingers inside her, I fingered my clit with my other hand. It felt as swollen as hers had earlier. I was so turned on that the sensation was intense, and I felt my face flushing. I flicked my tongue against her clit quickly in time to my own finger on my clit, and before long, I was at the point of orgasm again. Then, I felt her go very still. She was motionless for a few seconds, and then she exploded again, her cunt spasming around my fingers. This made me come too, a rough, shuddering orgasm, my sounds muffled by my mouth on her pussy.

  Kristie was the first to recover. She pushed me away from her and stood up. Then, she retrieved her underwear and started getting dressed. I fastened my pants up, as well as the buttons on my shirt that had come undone. Kristie took some things out of her handbag and started fixing her makeup in the mirror. I stared at her wordlessly. My ears were ringing, and I couldn’t remember having felt so shell-shocked before in my life. She ignored me until she’d finished.

  “Are you ready?” she said at last. She unbolted the door and we went out.

  Dumbly, I followed her down the stairs, watching her stepping cautiously in her heels, once again looking like the girly-girl I’d mistaken her for. I rubbed my eyes, unable to square the sight of her in public with what had just happened. We walked back into the bar. It was still dark, but only just, and the place was almost deserted.

  “Come on, let’s get a drink to celebrate,” she said. More than anything, I wanted to go home and digest what had happened, but I was now somehow under her power, and I let her pull me to the bar.

  “The usual, Kristie?” the bartender asked, smirking at her. I shot surprised glances at each of them, but Kristie didn’t acknowledge my reaction. She nodded to him.

  “Please, Jamie.” He came back a minute or so later and put two dark, alcoholic-looking cocktails in front of us. “I call these transformations,” he said, with a cocked eyebrow. “Because once you’ve been with Kristie, you’ll never be the same again.”

  “Cheers!” Kristie said, and bumped her drink against mine. She grinned at me broadly and, in a flash, I understood. She was ten times the player I thought I was. I grinned and toasted her back.

  LEARNING TO COOK

  Nan Andrews

  Jackie glanced over her shoulder as she turned the corner and headed up the steep sidewalk, but there was no one there. No footsteps following her out of the fog. This neighborhood wasn’t that safe, or so she’d heard. She’d never actually been here before, but that wasn’t the real reason she was nervous. She reached number 714 and climbed the steps. The house was nondescript gray stucco with a metal grate at the entrance. There were no names on the three mailboxes, but she’d been told which buzzer to press.

  Jackie hesitated, shifting the bottle of zinfandel from one arm to the other, the tulips tucked under her elbow. She felt so off balance, like the first time she’d ever worn high heels. Liz did that to her. She wasn’t sure if coming here was going to help her find her balance or if she liked feeling askew.

  She remembered the night they met. One of her business clients wanted to try a hot new restaurant called La Jetee, near City Hall. Jackie liked to eat out, primarily because she didn’t cook. When she was home alone, she ate simply: fruit and cereal, salad, takeout. The restaurant was modern—dark wood, silver accents, spot lighting. The menu was very spare and wasn’t at all what she expected; she’d assumed it would be a French place. There were large framed photos that the client said were from an obscure French film. That was as French as it got. The special that night was a fillet of beef.

  “I’d like that cooked well done,” she told the waiter.

  “I’m sorry, but the chef has specified that this dish will be served rare.”

  “But I don’t want it that way.” She wasn’t going to let the waiter or the chef tell her how to eat her food.

  “Miss, may I ask you to reconsider? The chef has a very special way of doing this dish and I think you’ll appreciate it.” The waiter was trying hard not to offend, but she could tell he was hesitant to take her order to the kitchen. Was he actually afraid of the chef?

  “I’d like to speak to the chef myself.”

  The server retreated into the kitchen; after a few minutes, the dividing door sprang open and the chef stalked out in a blur of black and white. She was wiping her hands on a pristine white apron as she made her way through the crowded restaurant to the table.

  “What seems to be the problem?”

  “I’d like the fillet and I’d like it cooked well done.” Jackie smiled up at her certain that, as the customer, she would be obliged.

  “I’m sorry, but this dish is served rare. If you’d care for something else, the pork chops perhaps, I can burn them for you, with pleasure.”

  Jackie stared at her, taken aback. She wasn’t used to being spoken to that way by a service person. Who was this woman? With creamy skin, flushed pink from the heat of the kitchen, and fiery red hair escaping from under her toque, she was whippet thin and had a stare that would frighten a pit bull. A shiver went down the back of Jackie’s neck, straight to her pussy, at both the challenge in her manner and the intensity in her face. The hell with the steak; she wanted to rip off the white chef’s jacket and fuck her right on the table.

  “Why don’t you make me whatever you think I’d like,” Jackie suggested with a smile.

  The chef stalked back into the kitchen. Ten minutes later, the server returned with an enormous piece of beef, bloody rare in the center. It was delicious.

  Alo
ng with the check, she’d gotten the chef’s name and number from the waiter. Elizabeth Brennan was twenty-nine, just a year older than Jackie, single and a rising star in the culinary world. It took Jackie nearly a week to catch up with her. She worked Wednesday through Sunday nights at the restaurant and spent her days god knows where. She didn’t take Jackie’s call until her next day off.

  “Liz Brennan.”

  “Hi, Liz, this is Jackie Mathis. We met at La Jetee the other night.”

  There was no sign of recognition on the other end.

  “I had a…um, a special request about the fillet of beef.”

  “Oh. Dead beef. Yeah, I remember.”

  “Look, I’m…I’m sorry about that. I really did enjoy the fillet that you cooked.” She hurried on. “I was wondering if you’ve tried Atelier Crenn yet? Could I take you there for dinner?”

  “Sure, I know Dominique. She was my sous-chef at Luce. Her food’s excellent. She has a real feel for her product.”

  Jackie realized that she was hunched over her deck, her phone pressed to her ear, as if she were about to be yelled at again. She straightened up and pushed her shoulders back. “So, about dinner. Tomorrow night, eight p.m.?”

  “Make it ten. I’ll meet you there.”

  “Um, I think they close at ten.”

  “Then be a few minutes early.”

  She hung up before Jackie could say anything else. No goodbye, no polite conversation. What kind of evening was this going to be?

  The next night, Jackie arrived at Atelier Crenn at quarter of ten and was seated at the bar. She had spent a long time after work deciding what to wear and settled on a short black skirt, a blue top that matched her eyes, and her favorite pair of boots. She ordered a martini and waited. At ten o’clock, there was still no sign of Liz. She was afraid she’d been stood up. She considered leaving, but the bartender asked if she’d like another drink, so she ordered a second martini. The last few tables were finishing up; Jackie watched the couples leaving in the mirror behind the bar.