Best Lesbian Erotica 2015

by Laura Antoniou

  Grace was not good at being coy.

  “The sun,” the girl replied in that same impassive tone, standing still as if she was an ice sculpture of a swan, “makes you wrinkle.”

  “Your skin does look fantastic!”

  The line continued to shuffle forward.

  “You have a funny way of flirting. You make fun of me and then you compliment me. You’re like something between a ten-year-old boy and a debonair dyke.”

  “I’m Grace,” Grace said immediately, holding out her hand. “I would ask you for your number but it seems you already have mine.”

  This melted the ice swan ever so slightly.

  “Claudia,” the girl said. As they shook, Grace imagined this pale hand being used to pick up teacups and re-shelve reference books.

  “Aren’t you hot in all that black?” Grace asked, resuming her boyish method of picking on girls she wanted desperately to kiss.

  “I like black. Goes with everything.”

  “No offense, but I can’t stand to see people covering their bodies on hot days like today. I take one look at you and I feel oppressed. Especially places like underarms and the back of the neck and ankles. Don’t you get irritable?”

  “No. I keep cool.”

  “All right, ice princess over here. Don’t let me tell you what to do. I just hope you’ll let me buy you a Popsicle is all. Don’t worry about the bright colors, I think coconut would go great with your skin.”

  “You are very entertaining. I bet you’d enjoy watching me eat a Popsicle.”

  “Are you kidding? The only thing I love more than a girl with a push-pop in her mouth is a straight dude eating an ice cream cone. It is so clear that someone doesn’t know how to suck dick from the way they eat something cold and sweet that’s melting all over their hands.”

  “You are vulgar.”

  “You like it.”

  Claudia’s red mouth turned up ever so slightly.

  Grace couldn’t help but grin a wolfish grin. “You know, there are other places to pee in this park,” she said.

  “You don’t say.”

  “I do say. I could show you.”

  “But we’re finally at the front of the line,” Claudia noticed.

  Grace leaned over and looked inside the dingy bathroom.

  “Please,” she said. “Has anyone who wasn’t at least a little drunk taken a piss in that disgusting bunker?”

  “Maybe that’s why everybody takes so long.”

  “Or maybe, like I said before, they’re too busy getting off.”

  Sure enough, at that moment a loud moan and a wet sound that was definitely not urine hitting porcelain emitted from one of the stalls. Everyone in line started angrily complaining.

  “Wanna get out of here?” the ice princess asked.

  “Well, what is summer for if not instant gratification?” Grace agreed.

  They began marching side by side up the hill.

  Grace and Claudia came over the crest of the hill on the west side of the park, and looked down at the Muni tracks below.

  “I’ve never been over here,” Claudia said.

  “Really? It’s so great.” Grace pointed to their left, under the tunnel made by a cement bridge that ran over the tracks. “That’s where boys go to cruise.”

  “Is that so?” Claudia was smirking now, twisting the handle of her parasol so it spun.

  This drove Grace crazy, and she reached out to grab both of Claudia’s hands in hers.

  “Sometimes,” she said, “When people are doing really cute things I feel like I have to stop them.”

  “Is that so?” Claudia repeated deliberately, but did not pull her hands away from being enclosed in Grace’s.

  “I think it’s a control thing.” Grace stepped closer.

  “Fascinating.”

  “Yeah. Mind if I join you in your little tortoise shell?”

  “You have to be invited.”

  “Ah, this is like a reverse vampire thing, huh? Day walkers have to be invited out of the sun?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Well,” Grace suddenly remembered her rather urgent need. “Who needs you and your transportable shade?”

  She turned, and pulled her Hanes boxer-briefs and bike shorts clean off her body, stepping out of them one foot at a time. She then squatted into a wide-legged position, bracing herself with the heels of both hands.

  It didn’t take long for a strong stream of piss to shoot from her urethra. Grace gave a satisfied sigh as it did. The position combined with gravity combined with Grace’s strong pelvic muscles sent the piss in an arch on its way down the hill.

  Grace had drunk a lot of beer already, and a lot of icy lemon water. For a while, she watched her own piss with fascination and pride. It smelled potent and sour, though not unpleasantly so. Then she turned her head to look up at Claudia.

  “Show-off,” Claudia said.

  Her piss finally over, Grace shook the remaining drops off by thrusting her hips into the air a few times.

  “Maybe so,” she replied, pulling her boxer-briefs and shorts back on. “I read somewhere that Sharon Mitchell, who was this badass seventies porn star, was once arrested when the cops were busting a Times Square live sex show. So she’s in drag, and the cops are arguing over whether she’s a boy or a girl. They say they want to watch her pee, and if she can pee standing up she must be a dude. And she’s learned how to pee standing up from doing golden showers, you know. So she walks up to the urinal and pisses and so they agree she must be a man.”

  “Is that how you learned to do it?” Claudia asked.

  Grace’s face blushed redder than it was already from the sun.

  “Nah,” she said, “I like people pissing on me.”

  “Is that a fact?” asked Claudia, with the even tone of someone who was asking someone else to read between the lines.

  “Want me to hold your panties?” Grace asked, holding out a hand.

  “That won’t be necessary,” Claudia replied.

  Grace paused, then grinned, and threw herself on the grass, on her back.

  “Com’ere.”

  Claudia faced uphill. She bent and picked up her skirt one-handed, without disturbing the parasol’s position protecting her head. She stepped to the side over Grace’s face and squatted as daintily as one could expect someone to squat.

  There was a moment, as Grace stared up into the dark folds of Claudia’s skirt, during which she could see that the other girl’s nylons were lace stay-ups.

  And that she was not wearing any panties.

  Then Grace’s world went dark.

  It was humid under Claudia’s skirt and pitch black. The noise of the rest of the park was muffled. Bereft of all this input, Grace was in a world of scent. Claudia smelled like she spent a great deal of time making sure she didn’t smell like anything. She probably exfoliated and moisturized and wore things that were very laundered. But the heat has a mind of its own, and the ripeness of her cunt hit Grace like a freight train.

  Grace had just begun to marvel at this when she smelled something even riper. And then the first drops of piss hit her face.

  Claudia had been drinking coffee, perhaps several cups, with sugar but no milk. Grace knew coffee-piss well. It was dehydrated and suffocating and she loved it.

  Grace had a date named Sally who loved to piss on her in the morning. It had gotten so she could recognize what the piss had once been. Sally would deliberately arrange quizzes, and reward her when she was correct.

  Sally’s piss was thrilling, but Grace knew her, fucked her, slept next to her. The intimacy of being someone’s routine had always been a clear part of the fun. But Grace didn’t know this Claudia person at all, except that she was kind of a bitch and Grace definitely loved that. All of a sudden, piss tasted humiliating and powerful. It was new to Grace and very, very good.

  Claudia had good aim, though Not quite as good as mine, Grace thought. She was, admittedly, also doing it without seeing what she
was aiming for. Which may have been part of the point. A lot of urine found her mouth, and Grace worked to swallow it, becoming a gulping machine. Some of it hit her chin and throat, dribbling down her neck into the grass, turning it muddy. The piss heated up Grace’s little head cage considerably. The smell of piss-mud and grass took over what little air there was, like eucalyptus oil and ice water poured over steaming hot sauna coals.

  The piss ceased, and Grace lay there panting. Her head was in a haze and her cunt was instantly wet. As fun as this was, she was looking forward to a breath of fresh air.

  But Claudia didn’t move. What felt like minutes went by in seconds before Grace realized what she was being invited to do.

  Obediently, she opened her mouth and searched blindly for Claudia’s bare, piss-soaked cunt. It may have been dark but it was pretty much the only other thing under Claudia’s skirt besides Grace. All she really had to do was follow the substantial thighs.

  As soon as Grace’s mouth found it, Claudia’s pussy opened, pleased. Grace felt her shift slightly, placing her knee on the ground in the piss mud. Now that’s dedication, thought Grace, who was pretty damned dedicated herself.

  Not every cunt is wet to the touch. Some require a spit in the palm of the hand, or a push-bottle splooge of lube directly dripping onto it. Some cunts require finesse, slow warmth, tenderness. Grace loved to make sure they got it.

  Heat-wave cunt has a life of its own.

  Heat-wave cunt is insane, and manic. It’s hungry not for sustenance but contact. Heat-wave cunt is hungry, eager, sucking you right up inside like a matter of life and death.

  It was muffled, but Grace could hear Claudia whimpering that obscure language of nonverbal instructions from head-getters to head-givers.

  Claudia’s pussy was totally bald and smooth as an egg, and her outer labia were slender. Her inner labia hung down ever so slightly, and Grace tugged on them.

  Grace stuck out her tongue and flattened it, licking one long lick from Claudia’s hole to the base of her clit. Undulations of pleasure rewarded her. Repeating this a few more times, she reminded herself to be slow—although all she wanted to do was lap ferociously like a puppy at a water bowl. She brought Claudia’s lips back into her mouth and pouted them out.

  It didn’t take long for Claudia’s pussy to heave, and pour cum all over Grace’s already piss-covered face. Sticking out her lower lip, she dragged it along the same sweet route. She rubbed her lips together against Claudia’s hole. Piss and cum and mud were starting to mat into her hair. Grace lapped up the cum like the piss. It wasn’t dissimilar—Grace was getting a taste for Claudia’s juices. They tasted somehow cool despite being so hot, like peppermint tea.

  The cum only encouraged Grace further. She was past the teasing phase. She knew what Claudia wanted. She wrapped her lips around Claudia’s clit hood and tugged lightly, using the warm folds to jerk Claudia off. The clit began to grow fatter and longer in her mouth as she tugged, emerging from inside the hood. Grace continued to work the hood and stuck her tongue onto the clit itself, just touching it as if testing something she wasn’t quite sure about (though that was certainly not the case). She was rewarded with another orgasm, a tensing up that pushed the clit deeper into Grace’s happy mouth. As it got longer from cumming, Grace pushed the hood back and began to work on the clit itself. She pursed her lips together and pulled them along the short length of it, sucking and hollowing her cheeks. Her head bobbed, and she could feel her hair squishing in the mud.

  She wished she could see Claudia’s face but there was something incredible about being trapped under this skirt. Pussy was her entire world and she had one job to do. She just wished she could see Claudia’s labia—wished she could see it change color as it got more engorged and aroused. She wished she could see how it looked drenched and shuddering.

  Grace began licking again. Instead of flat, full-pussy licks, she pointed her tongue and pushed between all the folds of Claudia’s pussy. She loved the crevice between inner and outer, finding it often got neglected and responded well to attention. Her tongue was a paintbrush trying to get into a complicated door-frame molding, like those of so many Victorian Upper Haight apartments Grace had helped to paint robin’s-egg blue or cabernet red. She wiggled in these little canyons, first the left then the right, teasing Claudia, who was clearly ready for another cum. Just when she was sure Claudia wouldn’t be able to take it anymore she returned to the center of her project, sucking on the clit, which shuddered into her mouth in about five seconds flat. She kept sucking through this orgasm, licking up and down and side to side and diagonally, stirring it like something she was trying to get to dissolve in a soup. She even dared to nibble gently, and was rewarded with another thrusting orgasm.

  Claudia’s pussy was now so open over Grace’s mouth that it would have taken some effort not to begin fucking her hole. She did this with animal lust, turning her tongue into an erect undulating phallus for Claudia to ride. It was already difficult to breathe, but Grace just relaxed and concentrated, taking small gulps in through her nose in time to Claudia’s thighs bouncing against her ears. Her own pussy was sore and ravenous, but she couldn’t really reach it, and Claudia was certainly not obliging.

  Grace remembered reading some magazine factoid that the most sensitive taste buds are at the tip of the tongue. The magazine explained that this is why we love to eat ice-cream cones even more than a bowl of ice cream. It’s the licking that sends our sensory receptors into pleasure frenzies. Ice cream, Grace thought, is great, especially on a hot day. But if that thing about taste buds is true, it would be much more effective to explain why we love to give head. Or why she loved it anyway. Grace could never understand why people treated it as a chore, or even something nice to do for your partner. For Grace, pussy eating was 100 percent self-gratification. The front of her tongue, one might reason, had some very greedy buds.

  By now, Claudia was full-on riding Grace’s face, and who knows what anyone might have thought if they had walked by and seen her crouched and humping in ecstasy. Grace was mostly concerned at this point with keeping her tongue boner up and useful in Claudia’s vagina. Every so often she would grab Claudia’s entire labia, and suck it into her mouth before thrusting up again with her tongue. This released the cum that had built up inside, drowning Grace’s face even more.

  Finally, as Claudia was grinding her entire crotch onto Grace’s face, she came one last, shuddering, convulsing, lovely cum, pouring out another offering. Grace knew she was finished, at least for the moment, as the pussy hovered, shaking over her face. After a moment, Claudia stood with surprising swiftness. Incredibly, the early-afternoon summer air felt cool on Grace’s cheeks after the pussy steam room she’d been enjoying. She lay there gasping in a puddle.

  Claudia burst out laughing.

  “You look horrible,” she said.

  “Well, I feel great, so fuck you,” Grace grinned.

  Claudia snorted. “You should be so lucky.” She twirled her parasol, smoothed her skirt.

  Grace pushed herself up on her elbows. “Well, what do you call that?”

  “I call that a good alternative to that stinking little girls’ room.”

  Grace was a little pussy-drunk, and stunned to realize just how thoroughly she had been used.

  Then she remembered that she loved being used, and fell back again to revel in the mud.

  The sky above her was clear blue and the air was beginning to feel hot again as she acclimated back.

  The day, she realized, was still incredibly young. And she’d already had the hottest pickup scene she could ever hope to pull off.

  Suddenly she heard a sound from down the slope:

  “Ohh Daddy, fuck!”

  “I told you it’s the best cruising spot,” she muttered, and struggled to her feet.

  “I never said I didn’t believe you,” Claudia replied. She turned and headed east down the hill, twirling her lacy black parasol as she went.

  Grace watched her
for a moment. She was sure she could make Claudia feel eyes on the back of her neck, just as sure as she knew her crotch was soggy with piss, sweat, saliva and cum.

  When the other girl didn’t turn, Grace picked up her soaked hat, gave it a shake and headed north back to her friends, grinning like the cat who got the ice cream.

  THE BULLWHIP AND THE BULL RIDER

  Sacchi Green

  “Hey, wildcat! Come with me!”

  That throaty female voice would’ve snared me any other time, but not now. I kicked and thrashed and kept on struggling against the two guys who’d pulled me off my brother Ted. Cindy knelt beside him, all cooing and lovey-dovey—Cindy, with her full, smooth curves, who’d been all for a little mutual exploration at last year’s rodeo but brushed me off this year and ran to Ted.

  I’d beaten him at bull riding! Beaten ’em all! I’d won the trophy belt buckle. But no matter how much I could work like a man, even thrash the men at their own games, their more fleshly rewards were off-limits to me.

  Life sucked. My blood was up, the pressure building until I had to explode or die, so I damn sure chose the exploding option. Nobody was gonna hold me back!

  Except that the sultry voice came again, much closer now.

  “Let me handle her, boys. This calls for a woman’s touch.”

  The calloused cowboy hands trying to hold me back dropped away. Slender, satin-clad arms wrapped around me, long, dark hair smelling of sweet lemons brushed my cheeks, and my face was pressed against a scarlet blouse that barely covered the peaks of a magnificent pair of breasts.

  I had the sense to stop struggling.

  “Come along with me now, tigrina,” Miss Violet Montez, lead singer of the intermission entertainment act, murmured into my ear. “I know what you need. And what you don’t even know you need.”

  And, as it turned out, she surely did.

  Her trailer was cramped, but I saw right away that it had a narrow, built-in bed. She saw me eyeing it.