Best Lesbian Erotica 2015

by Laura Antoniou

  Without warning, there was a voice in her ear. “Come with me.”

  She looked up from her drink to see Liz’s retreating back. She was dressed in a pair of slim black pants and a dark maroon top that complemented her hair. Her hips were slim, but womanly. She had a sense of style, even in such simple clothing, which was very attractive. Jackie slipped off her stool and followed. Liz walked through the swinging door into the kitchen.

  Jackie had never been in a restaurant kitchen before and she stopped just inside the doors and looked around. Everything was stainless steel or white tile. Enormous pots hung from a rack above a work area. The stoves were wide black expanses of metal, with looming hoods. Liz was leaning against a counter, a beer bottle in hand. She was talking to another woman chef, presumably Dominique. Jackie walked over to them, avoiding the waiters moving across the space with trays of dirty dishes.

  Neither woman acknowledged her and Jackie stood by as they talked, completely out of place. It was the other woman, not Liz, who spoke to her first.

  “Hi, I’m Dominique Crenn. Welcome to my restaurant.” The hand she offered was very strong.

  “Jackie Mathis. Nice to meet you. I’ve read some great things about your work.”

  “I’m glad. Why don’t you go have a seat?” She nodded her head toward the corner of the kitchen. There was a stool alongside a high counter.

  Jackie looked at Liz. Her gaze was neutral. This whole thing suddenly felt like a serious mistake on Jackie’s part. Liz didn’t want to have dinner with her. She must be planning to embarrass her for the incident at La Jetee. Jackie’s face bloomed red, but she turned and took a seat on the stool. To her surprise, Liz picked up an apron and put it on. For the next half an hour, Jackie watched as Liz and Dominique worked together. It was a ballet—two bodies moving through space, aware of each other, barely touching as they passed, but in perfect harmony. The two women talked quietly and laughed together, occasionally glancing at Jackie, but never speaking to her.

  Jackie would have walked out, except for the way that Liz moved. She was mesmerized by the way Liz handled the knife, the way her muscular arms flexed as she sautéed something on the stove, flipping the food with a neat twist of her wrist. The bumps of her spine showed through her blouse as she turned to reach for something on the counter. Jackie’s body ached with the desire to take her into her arms, to feel the motion as she moved at the stove. Cooking had never seemed so erotic before.

  Finally, the women joined her at the counter with a series of plates. Each was a beautiful presentation: a perfectly prepared scallop, three tiny lamb chops on a smear of green sauce, several spears of asparagus covered in something red and shiny.

  Liz and Dominique took turns feeding her bites of food, describing the provenance of each ingredient, complimenting each other on the preparation. Neither of them ate a single thing. It was the strangest feeling, being fed by these two beautiful women, as if she were a child.

  When they were finished, Dominique looked her up and down.

  Jackie felt as if she were being considered for inclusion in some new recipe. “Thank you. Everything was delicious.”

  “Do you cook?”

  “No, not really. But I really enjoyed watching you both work.” She licked a bit of sauce off her lip and noticed Liz watching closely. “This was certainly not what I expected when I invited Liz to dinner.”

  Dominique laughed. “No, I’m sure it wasn’t. But Liz isn’t someone who does what’s expected.” She put her arm around Liz’s waist and kissed her cheek. “Now get out of my kitchen, I have work to finish.”

  They left through the back door, and stepped into the alley. Liz walked with purpose and Jackie hurried after. Just before they came out onto the street, Liz turned and pinned Jackie against the brick with her body. The kiss was hard and hungry, Liz’s tongue taking control of Jackie’s mouth, her hand between Jackie’s legs. Jackie was panting when Liz stepped back, a half smile on her lips.

  “I like the way my cooking tastes on you.” She reached out and squeezed one of Jackie’s breasts, her thumb rubbing across the hard nipple. “You have potential.”

  “Do I?” Jackie’s head was spinning from the whipsaw behavior; first Liz ignored her and then she fairly attacked her. What was going on?

  “Perhaps.” She stepped closer again and cupped Jackie’s pussy, her fingers pressing in.

  Jackie’s pussy was slick and hot and she wanted nothing more than Liz’s fingers filling her, her tongue parting her lips and suckling her clit. She leaned her head back and moaned. Liz pressed harder, her middle finger wiggling against Jackie’s clit. She pinched one nipple and the pain speared her. Just as Jackie was about to come, Liz stepped back, dropping her hands. She had that look on her face, the one from the previous week, of intensity and challenge.

  “Seven-fourteen Broderick. Nine o’clock. Monday. Bring some wine you like.” Liz turned and walked away. Jackie stared after her, then pulled out her phone to save the address.

  Liz welcomed her into a spacious third-floor flat, full of polished wood and lush textiles. The color palette was cool blues and greens, with touches of bright white. She led Jackie straight into the kitchen, which had obviously been renovated to the chef’s specifications. The space took up most of the front of the building, with plenty of work space and high-end appliances. There was a long, narrow wooden table across the front, with tall chairs. Pendant lamps and ceiling spots gave the place a very theatrical feel.

  Liz put the wine on the counter and found a vase for the tulips. She poured a martini and handed it to Jackie.

  “How did you know I like martinis?”

  “I saw what you were drinking at Crenn. Now don’t get too comfortable. You have work to do.”

  “Really?” Jackie sipped the ice-cold martini and arched a brow. “What sort of work?”

  “You’ll see.” Liz went to a door on the side of the kitchen. Jackie wondered if it was a bathroom, but when the door opened, she could see it was a large pantry. Liz came back, tying an apron around her waist. “Take off your clothes.”

  Jackie nearly choked on her drink. “What?”

  “You don’t want to get them dirty while you’re washing dishes.”

  “Is that what I’m going to be doing?”

  “That’s not all, but yes. You’ll be washing dishes when we’re done. You said you don’t cook, so I’m certainly not going to trust you to do that.” She cocked her head and looked at Jackie. “Take your clothes off.”

  Jackie walked toward the table and glanced back at Liz, who stood with her hands on her hips, waiting. This wasn’t like disrobing for a lover; it felt more like an inspection. So why did it make her nipples stiffen? Jackie slipped off her skirt and pulled her blouse over her head. She stood uncomfortably in a set of pale-blue bra and panties, along with her heels.

  Liz waved her hand. “Those, too.” She reached under a bench and held up a pair of clogs. “You can wear these to protect your feet.”

  Jackie laughed nervously. What about the rest of her? Didn’t that need protecting too? She walked naked back to the kitchen and stepped into the clogs. Liz stepped up and tied a handkerchief around her neck, the ends pointing to each breast. She caught Jackie’s shoulder-length hair in a ponytail and tied it back. Jackie looked down. Naked between the blue neckerchief and the clogs, she thought she looked ridiculous.

  “Now, stand over there.” Liz pointed at a spot to the side of the stove. “Have you ever heard of the brigade de cuisine?

  Jackie shook her head.

  “It’s the French system of kitchen management. I’m the chef du cuisine, the head chef. You are my assistant, my apprentice, and also my plongeur. That’s where the dishwashing comes in. Now, watch and listen, and hopefully you’ll learn something.” Liz laughed, as if she doubted Jackie would be capable of that.

  Somehow, the sound of her laughter made Jackie wet. She realized she wasn’t angry at being made to strip, being dressed in clogs and little els
e, not even at being the dishwasher. The way Liz spoke to her made her hungry in a way she’d never felt before.

  Liz pulled some dishes out of the refrigerator and stirred something in a bowl. “Give me your hand,” she said.

  Jackie held out her right hand. Liz turned it palm up and painted some green sauce from the bowl onto Jackie’s index finger and thumb. She raised the hand to her face as if to inspect her work and licked the sauce off.

  “What is that?” Jackie asked, more interested in why Liz was doing it, than what was in the sauce.

  Liz spooned some more sauce on Jackie’s palm, picked a piece of papaya off a plate, ran it through the sauce and offered it to her. “Mint-chili sauce. Do you like it?”

  “Very much.” It tasted tropical: hot and spicy, with a cool mint finish.

  Liz took the spoon and poured some sauce over Jackie’s left breast. She took a bite of papaya, then bent and licked the sauce. The chili made Jackie’s skin tingle and the heat of Liz’s tongue made her pussy clench. She reached up to put her arms around Liz, but Liz pushed them down.

  “Stand still and do what I say.” She licked Jackie’s nipple again. “I’m in charge of the kitchen.”

  Jackie stood still, trembling, as Liz continued to spread chili sauce on her breasts and then lick it off between bites of papaya. She fed Jackie a few bites and then put the dirty dishes aside, as if there were nothing unusual about the arrangement.

  The next course was a sushi roll made of thinly shaved cucumber filled with crab and an avocado sauce. Liz showed her how to use a mandolin to make the strips of cucumber and then instructed her on what ingredients to bring her. Jackie watched her turn the simple items into a delicious mouthful, but Liz never touched her. Jackie ached to be touched again. The pile of dishes in the sink continued to grow.

  The main course was a beautiful fillet of salmon. Liz seared it skin-side-down in the pan and basted it with hot butter. She tossed some freshly chopped herbs in at the last minute and their aroma rose in the kitchen. When instructed, Jackie carefully pulled a potato galette out of the oven, which Liz had made earlier. The rosette of thin slices of potato was crisp and smelled deliciously of garlic. A salad of lightly tossed greens completed the plate. However, there was only one plate. Jackie wondered what Liz was planning, as she opened the wine and poured a glass of the zinfandel.

  “Bring those and follow me.” Liz walked over to the table by the windows and lit the candles. Sitting in the chair at the end, she indicated where Jackie should put the food. Liz slid her hand up Jackie’s leg, resting on the curve of her buttocks. “Tonight, I want you to feed me.”

  Jackie moved to sit in the chair next to Liz’s place, but Liz stopped her with a stinging smack on the bottom. “No, stay here.”

  Jackie stepped back beside Liz’s chair. Liz slipped her hand between Jackie’s thighs and up to her pussy. Her fingers wormed between Jackie’s lips and came out wet. Liz brought them to her lips and licked them. Jackie shuddered. Liz casually slid her hand back between Jackie’s thighs and indicated for Jackie to begin.

  There were no utensils. Jackie broke off a morsel of salmon and offered it to Liz. The first bite was taken delicately, but soon Liz was opening wide and sucking the food from Jackie’s fingers. She licked off the fat from the potatoes and the herbs from the salmon. Her hand was doing a subtle dance against Jackie’s pussy, rubbing and pressing. Jackie widened her stance, tilting her hips in hopes of more contact.

  “Greedy girl, aren’t you?” Liz asked, licking her lips. “Give me some wine.”

  Jackie picked up the glass to offer it, but Liz laughed. “No, I like this better.” She took the glass and poured some over Jackie’s breast. The ruby liquid ran over her breast and down her belly. Liz pulled Jackie close and reached up to suck the drops hanging from her nipple. Her teeth tugged as she flicked Jackie’s clit with her thumb. Jackie caught her breath, desire snaking through her body. She wanted to put her hands in Liz’s fiery hair, to press her face against her breast, but it seemed like the wrong thing to do. Liz was in charge of the meal and of her.

  Liz ran her tongue from the bottom of Jackie’s breast to her belly, gathering drops of wine as they lingered on her skin. The moment her mouth touched Jackie’s mound, she began to come. The heat exploded in her belly, sending tremors from the top of her head to her feet. Her knees buckled as Liz pushed three fingers into her pussy. The wave of orgasm continued. Liz suckled her nipple again and thumbed her clit, causing Jackie to cry out. She had never come so hard, or for so long. When Liz released her, Jackie planted her hands on the table and dropped her head, panting.

  Liz wiped her sticky fingers along Jackie’s flank and smiled. “Delicious.” She casually picked up the glass of wine and took a sip. “I’d like some salad, please. To clear my palate.”

  Jackie straightened up and laughed.

  “What’s so funny?” Liz asked.

  “I may never learn to cook, but I’m certainly learning how to eat.”

  WET DIRT

  Tina Horn

  On days like this, Grace was so grateful to have short hair.

  She glanced to her left and to her right, at the other girls in line for the bathroom. Their hair was either standing high on their heads in ponytails, or pulled to the side, framing their faces. These bitches look good, she thought, but they must feel so stifled. Her watch read quarter to noon, and it must already have been one hundred degrees.

  Grace’s hair was clipper buzzed in the back and asymmetrically long in the front, dirty blonde and curling ever so slightly over her brown eyes. Her bare neck was sweating with the heat of the first truly hot day of the San Francisco spring.

  In Dolores Park, the public bathrooms are located in a small concrete building right in the center of the park’s steep slope. A palm-tree-lined walkway led the length of one city block uphill. Flanking it on either side was another block’s worth of green grassy slopes. Every single sexy person who lived in the Mission district, and many others from around the Bay Area, seemed to have “called in well” to work and headed straight to the park to lie on the grass, soak up the sun, day drink and cruise.

  The line for the women’s room was snaking up the hill. Grace had made the mistake of waiting until she really had to go before getting in line.

  Grace wore leopard-print shorts, a neon-pink baseball cap and a black halter top. The morning’s warmth was already making her feel limber and open. She traced her fingers over her golden-tanned skin, the smoothness of her abs and the soft beer paunch of her belly. Her pale-ale nipples felt puffy against the thin cotton of her shirt.

  From the looks of it, there were about a dozen women in front of her in line. Experience had taught her that each one would take about five minutes for a simple piss while she stood there hopping from foot to foot in anticipation.

  “Ugh,” she muttered.

  Discomfort or not, there was certainly plenty to watch while she waited. Bodies were bursting out of summer clothes like blooming flowers. Everywhere she looked there were perky asses in brightly colored spandex shorts, metallic triangles and string that counted as bikini tops, hairy calves in tube socks. Loose dresses revealed every curve and movement. Clavicles already shone with perspiration and vitamin D. Fraying T-shirts had been cut off that morning at the sleeves, sometimes all the way down the sides to the hip, revealing love handles and the sides of breasts. Backless dresses betrayed the absence of bras. Inner thigh flesh rubbed together. Pheromones steamed from belly buttons and biceps.

  “I’ll bet there’s nobody in the men’s bathroom at all,” the girl who was getting behind her in line complained loudly.

  “Yeah, I used to just go in the men’s room,” another girl chimed in, “but one time a dude complained, and I got a ticket with a hundred-and-twenty-five-dollar fine. Fuckin’ gender policing highway robbery.”

  “What’d they do, a dick check? Different-gendered bathrooms are such bullshit anyway,” Grace agreed.

  “I’ve nev
er understood why women take so damn long in the bathroom.”

  This last voice came from the person in front of Grace in the slowly moving line.

  It was difficult to see her face; a dark umbrella obscured her. The umbrella was jet black with a lace-like bordering, and seemed to be made of a dense canvas.

  “They’re probably fucking, not pissing,” Grace snorted.

  The umbrella turned.

  Beneath it was a girl. A girl that Grace instantly found enormously attractive. Her hair was dark, like her umbrella, with a flat shine to it. She wore enormous dark shades adorned with silver rhinestones, the kind that movie stars wear to both conceal their identities and call attention to themselves. Grace couldn’t exactly tell, but it looked like the girl was staring directly at her.

  She wore a dress that was knee length and strapless, with sheer black nylon material that covered her cleavage and arms to her elbows. The skirt billowed around her, obscuring her thighs. Though the dress was far from formfitting, it was clear this girl was well-endowed and luscious. On her feet she wore ankle-high leather boots with pointy toes, and nylon stockings also covered her legs. Her skin was pale as a sheet of paper, completely unblemished, which perhaps explained her need to shield it from the sun.

  They held each other’s eyes for a moment.

  “Nice umbrella,” Grace said. They were now far enough ahead in line that she could lean against the wall.

  The girl sniffed.

  “It’s not an umbrella. It’s a parasol with UV protection.”

  “Wow,” said Grace with the sarcasm of someone whose method of flirtation is teasing. “So it’s like a giant pair of fancy sunglasses for your entire head.”

  The girl was unfazed. Her obscured face made her expression nearly impossible to read, which gave Grace much-welcomed cold shivers.

  “The sun gives you lots of healthy vitamins, you know,” Grace continued. She was also wearing shades, of course, and a billed cap, but her body was much more expressive than this girl’s, and her intentions were more difficult to hide.