Best Lesbian Erotica 2015

by Laura Antoniou

  “What’s going on in here?”

  The wives froze, drawing a collective breath of surprise. The room fell abruptly silent. Hasnaa only heard the sound of her own frantic heartbeat. She panted in fear, her naked body dripping its sweat and the pottery shard clenched in her fist. The Rain Queen stood in the doorway of the small room. As if thawed at the same moment, the women fell to their knees. All except for the older woman who merely dropped her eyes to the floor.

  “My queen.”

  Nyandoro stood in the doorway, patiently waiting for an explanation of the broken jug, the shouting, the young wife in tears.

  It was the oldest wife who spoke, the one who had stayed on her feet. “She did not want to take her bath, my lady.”

  Nyandoro raised an eyebrow. “Is that true? You’d rather be dirty than have my wives bathe you?”

  Hasnaa was frightened of the look in Nyandoro’s eyes, a look that was strangely like her father’s. Autocratic and displeased. She shook her head and backed away from the queen, jerking up the piece of smashed pottery. A part of her watched with horror as she held a weapon against her new wife.

  Nyandoro’s eyes turned to the hardest coral.

  “Leave us.”

  The women rose to their feet and scattered from the room, a school of startled fish flowing around an immovable rock.

  “Drop that immediately.”

  But Hasnaa shook her head again. Nyandoro made a sound of annoyance and undid the clasp on her bright tunic. Hasnaa watched, shocked, as the garment dropped away from the surprisingly muscled and spare body.

  Hasnaa was so preoccupied staring at Nyandoro, that she didn’t notice the swift movement, her wife grabbing the improvised knife from her hand, until it was too late. Blood drops fell to the white stone floor.

  “You’ve hurt yourself.”

  Nyandoro lifted Hasnaa’s hand and examined it with clinical interest. The slashing wound, the blood welling up in her palm. Hasnaa fisted her hand and tried to pull away, but the queen’s grip was firm around her wrist. For the first time, she felt the pain from the wound. It throbbed to the rhythm of her frantic heart.

  She swallowed the angry words that wanted to rise to her lips. Instead, she tried for diplomacy. “I meant no insult, my lady.”

  “Yes, you did.”

  The queen carefully put the pottery shard on the floor near the tub. She turned over Hasnaa’s clenched hand, straightened each finger until the raw wound in her palm was naked to both their eyes. The pain stung, slowly spreading deep into her hand and up her arm. Hasnaa bit her lip to keep from crying out. She wanted to clench her fingers tight again and push the queen away, but she could do nothing more than whimper in frustrated anger.

  Nyandoro lifted a dark and wild gaze to Hasnaa’s, seemingly searching for something behind her eyes. She brushed her fingers over the throbbing wound. A breath later, the pain was gone. The wound was gone.

  Hasnaa jerked in astonishment. A shiver of alarm, of fear, began in the pit of her stomach. Her father always said Nyan-doro was an imposter and that she had no real power. How then could she do this?

  Nyandoro brushed her questioning look aside. “Come.”

  She walked up the two short steps and climbed into the tub. She gently guided Hasnaa into the water with her. Fear of the queen’s revealed power quivered beneath her skin.

  “You have nothing to fear from me,” Nyandoro said. “Turn your back.”

  After a quick glance at the queen’s impassive face, Hasnaa sank slowly into the water, its warmth caressing her legs, her thighs, the indentation of her waist, her breasts. She shuddered as the water covered her nipples, the wings of her collarbones. What had her father thrown her into?

  From the corner of her eye, she saw her wife reach for the white cloth neatly folded on the side of the tub. She rubbed soap into it and the scent of mint and night orchids rose around them. Hasnaa heard the movement of the washing cloth in water, felt the wet ripple against her skin. She shivered.

  “Are you afraid of water?” A whisper of breath stroked her ear.

  “No.”

  “Are you afraid of me?”

  Hasnaa forced herself not to look over her shoulder as she assessed the true motive of the queen’s question. Then the soapy cloth touched her skin, inciting pleasure and unexpected… comfort. “Yes.”

  She flinched in shock as the queen playfully bit her shoulder. “If I wanted to kill you, I would have done it long before now. On your long journey, I had many opportunities.”

  Nyandoro soaped her body, moving the cloth slowly and thoroughly on Hasnaa’s flesh. Over her throat, her breasts, her belly, between her legs. Hasnaa flushed with embarrassment and arousal. She cleared her throat and tried to focus on what they had been talking about. And on what she feared.

  “What are you?” she breathed through the desire slipping into her body like poison. Self-preservation made her grip the edges of the tub, preparing to jump up and run—but to where?—if she had to.

  Soap bubbles squelched from the cloth and slid over Hasn-aa’s shoulders. Nyandoro’s sweet breath teased her skin. “I am your wife and your queen.”

  “Don’t toy with me.” The words snapped from her lips, unwise. Her body was a mass of conflicting emotions. Desire and fear. Arousal and trepidation.

  For this, Hasnaa expected retaliation. But the queen only said, very mildly. “I wouldn’t dream of it, wife.”

  “Then give me the answer I seek.”

  A thoughtful silence quivered around them before Nyan-doro spoke again. “Yemaya, the mother goddess and the spirit of water herself, has condescended to use me as her instrument among those who show her proper worship.”

  Hasnaa sighed in understanding. Her mother, a woman of great passion and bravery, had shown the mother goddess proper worship with an altar containing sea shells, dried starfish and what she suddenly realized was coral from the deepest part of the sea. The coral from that altar looked like it could have been taken from any part of the Rain Queen’s palace. Her mother had believed in magic. But her father had not.

  “My mother…my mother loved Yemaya,” Hasnaa said huskily, losing her voice to the awakening of her body. She felt her eyes falling shut to savor the sensation of Nyandoro’s thorough care. Her grip on the tub’s edge loosened and she licked her lips, drew a calming breath. “She died before I could know her. But my whole life, she has come to me in dreams. In her last years, she prayed to the goddess for a child from my father, but was killed by a jealous sister-wife the night I was born.”

  Even now, speaking about the circumstances of her mother’s death, a woman who had fought to give her life even as her own washed away, made tears prick Hasnaa’s eyes.

  “Yes,” Nyandoro said. “I know.”

  The towel moved again over Hasnaa’s breasts, the rough cloth brushing her nipples again and again. She thought she heard her wife’s breathing deepen. Hasnaa shifted her thighs beneath the water, squeezed them together as she grew slippery with desire.

  “I saw her courage in a dream,” the queen continued. “And I saw you, Yemaya’s gift to me. Your arrival here was as it should be.”

  The cleaning cloth fell away until it was just Nyandoro’s bare hands on Hasnaa’s breasts, lazily caressing the soft flesh, rolling the painfully hard nipples between her fingers. Against her wishes, Hasnaa’s head fell back and her lips parted to release a sigh. Her wife’s mouth pressed into her neck, a hot and wet suction.

  “A dream?” Gods! What was happening to her? Desire had never ruled her like this before. Hasnaa licked her lips again. “Stop it…I can’t think.”

  “Why think when you can feel like this?”

  A firm tongue licked her throat. A hand floated from her breast to tease her beneath the water, lazily circling the seed of her desire. Molten pleasure twisted in her core, the sensation unlike anything she’d ever experienced. It tore apart whatever self-control she thought she had. It threw the fear away as if it had never been. But that w
as a lie.

  Hasnaa bucked in Nyandoro’s embrace. “Stop it!”

  After a breathless pause, Nyandoro pulled her hands from her, then briefly heated the back of her neck with a kiss. “As you wish.” She sighed. “Now let’s finish here before I forget myself again.”

  Nyandoro finished bathing Hasnaa. Dried her body, oiled it, then picked up a nearby tunic that was the deep green of fertile things.

  The material was as thin as a sun cloud. It plainly showed the queen’s form on the other side as she held it up. Hasnaa’s face burned at the impropriety of Nyandoro dressing her, her hands skillfully twisting the cloth into the ceremonial tunic. How was she to act when a queen dressed her as efficiently as a servant?

  “Very lovely.” She used the word in Hasnaa’s father’s language that meant beautiful to the eye as well as to the taste. “I look forward to your flavoring on my tongue.”

  Hasnaa blushed again. Her thoughts cleared briefly as Nyan-doro took a step back to admire her work with the cloth.

  “Forgive me my resistance.” Hasnaa allowed the truth to escape. “I am afraid, but I will not lie down and be ravaged by that fear.”

  Nyandoro smiled. “Ah, you are perfection. I’m going to enjoy making you mine in every way.”

  Hasnaa shivered, swept away by the abrupt vision of bodies, hers and Nyandoro’s, moving together. Sweat. The queen’s mouth wet with her juices and her eyes flaming with desire as she crawled from between Hasnaa’s legs. Her nipples peaked beneath the thin cloth.

  She looked away from Nyandoro dressing herself.

  “Come with me.” She signaled for Hasnaa to walk with her, a motion that chimed the dozen gold bangles on her upper arms.

  Nyandoro took her to an indoor garden. A wide room filled with plants of all sorts, deep purple violets, leopard orchids with their unique spots, blue lilies, the flowers turned up to the sunlight falling through the open ceiling. Cool stone lay under their feet, the pieces fitting together like parts of a puzzle. Thunder rumbled overhead though the sun still shone brightly.

  The very air smelled of impending rain and soft, growing things. Hasnaa lifted her eyes to the open roof, the blue sky with a vast landscape of clouds. The sun’s warm glow caressed her cheeks.

  For a moment, she allowed herself the simple pleasure of it. Then the reality of her situation came back to her. She swallowed and looked away from the sun. “Will my village get rain?”

  Nyandoro was glowing perfection under the bright light, her eyes effortlessly undressing Hasnaa.

  “Will you give yourself to me?”

  Hasnaa hesitated. Unless the queen died and left her a widow, she could not marry a man and bear children. She could only serve Nyandoro in whatever capacity the queen desired. Already she had been born female in her father’s village and thus disposable. Would saying the words I do give myself to you take away any chance of a future beyond the queen? Would she be disposed of again?

  “You are female, yes, but not disposable.” Nyandoro touched her arm.

  She shivered from the casual-seeming touch that sent a jolt of electricity through her body. She backed away. “Why ask questions when you already know the answers?”

  Nyandoro chuckled. “I like how you defy me.”

  Then she pulled Hasnaa into her arms. Her mouth was gentle, an unexpected tenderness. Hasnaa shivered as if caught in a sudden storm, tremors of awareness skipping over her skin like tiny strikes of lightning. She gasped, a soft and surprised sound, which gave the queen the perfect opportunity to lick her parted lips. Hasnaa shivered again as moisture flooded between her legs. Her nipples tightened to the point of pain. The fear left her, leaving only anticipation in its wake. This time, she did not fight it.

  Hasnaa whimpered. “What are you doing to me?”

  “Bringing you the rains that you desire.”

  Her eyes fluttered closed as warm hands moved up her arms and damp kisses seared her throat, the line of her shoulder. She felt each caress below the flesh, deep inside her where she had never been touched before.

  “Beautiful,” Nyandoro murmured into her skin. “So beautiful.”

  She moaned against Hasnaa’s throat, bit into her skin. The new tunic Hasnaa wore rested like a kiss on her sensitive flesh, the delicate material brushing her nipples with each touch.

  “You are as lovely as in my dreams.”

  Hasnaa swayed to the delicate music of desire moving through her. Then she felt cool stone at the back of her knees. She turned her head and opened her heavy-lidded eyes to the sight of a wide piece of dark stone, high as a bed and polished to a smooth sheen. The stone platform seemed more like an altar than a bed, a place to worship and sacrifice rather than to simply rest.

  Nyandoro gently pushed her back onto the stone bed. For a moment, Hasnaa saw herself through the queen’s eyes. Her body stretched out on the marbled stone, wanton and ready for whatever was to come, her legs spread beneath the thin cloth and showing the lean length of them, the fullness of her thighs, the dark patch of hair shielding her pussy. A sudden hunger filled her, clutching hard at her belly.

  Nyandoro roughly pulled off her tunic and dropped it on the floor, muttering something beneath her breath that Hasnaa did not hear. Thunder rolled through the sky and lightning burst alongside the sun. Hasnaa smelled rain. Above her, the queen was beyond beauty. Skin gleaming under the sunlight. The face of a goddess with her round cheeks and skin like the bark of a baobab tree. Her breasts were small and high. The nipples firm in the air, already hard and begging for a lover’s mouth. A shiver of awareness moved through Hasnaa. Her body was damp and aching, yet her wife had yet to touch her.

  “Are you still afraid, Hasnaa, beautiful one?”

  She told her the truth. “No, my queen.”

  Nyandoro smiled with ferocious satisfaction before she kissed Hasnaa again. This time there was no hesitation to her touch. She swept her tongue deep in Hasnaa’s mouth and brought the desire that had lain like a sleeping lioness between them roaring to life. It reared up and bit Hasnaa between her thighs. She whimpered as Nyandoro’s tongue flicked inside her mouth, firm yet soft.

  It began to rain. Light drops fell on her face, her cheeks, her arms. She moaned at the strangely erotic touches of water on her skin. Nyandoro caressed her breasts, touching her nipples delicately at first, then more firmly, building in strength to match the ferocity of her kisses. The desire beneath her skin was nearly unbearable.

  It burned.

  And it was the rain of the queen’s touch that she needed to put out the flames.

  Hasnaa cried out when the hot mouth covered her nipple.

  Her hands flew to the back of Nyandoro’s head. Raindrops, cool and fat, danced over her hands and arms, down the queen’s head and the muscled line of her back that Hasnaa caressed with deepening hunger. Between her thighs was a forest of wet. A thick and greedy place that begged for Nyandoro’s touch. She parted her legs.

  “Please,” she moaned. “Please touch me.”

  “Are you begging, my wife?” The amusement seared into her skin as she writhed beneath Nyandoro’s touch, crying out for a relief from the heat and agitation inside her.

  “Yes,” she cried. “Yes!”

  A hand touched her wet and aching pussy. She quivered, unable to stop herself from gasping her wife’s name.

  “You don’t need rains from me, you already have your own.”

  Then Nyandoro gave her what she needed, a warm mouth on her pussy, fingers on the button to her pleasure, soft moans that vibrated inside Hasnaa like a song. The rains came harder. She felt them on her face, her lips, on her bare breasts. She blinked up into the bright sky, her lashes fluttering beneath the wetness as her lover used her mouth, licking and sucking and making her dance beneath the rain.

  The waters poured over them from the sky, over Nyandoro’s shoulders, the decadent rise of her buttocks as she pleasured Hasnaa with her mouth. Lightning flashed again, but this time it was inside her body, an arrow of sensation.
Then she was crying out, her body shuddering violently in release.

  Nyandoro looked up from between Hasnaa’s legs, her lips wet with her desire. Hasnaa felt a moment of déjà vu, as if she’d experienced that moment before.

  “Are you mine, wife?” Nyandoro’s voice deepened. A rumbling drum of sound that seemed to come from the very center of the earth or the skies.

  “You didn’t answer me.” The queen rose up, her eyes both pale and dark like rain clouds, eerily bright against her skin. “Are you mine?”

  The fear rushed through Hasnaa again, obliterating her desire’s satisfaction. She felt her mouth tremble, her eyes grow wide. It seemed then that the face she had worn for Hasnaa was not enough to contain the power that moved beneath her skin. That power elongated her chin then widened her mouth, stretched her cheeks, before resolving once again into the queen who had given her so much pleasure.

  Hasnaa knew then that this was no mere “upstart woman” as her father had dismissively described the queen. She was even more than a chief. The favor of the goddess, Yemaya, rested in her heated gaze. Rain, the waters, pleasure. She was indeed the goddess’s vessel and the bringer of life.

  Nyandoro rose up from between Hasnaa’s legs and slid her fingers through the damp and swollen folds of her pussy. Hasnaa gasped.

  “My queen!”

  Then it seemed like Nyandoro’s hands were everywhere at once. Tugging on her nipples, fucking her tight wetness, digging into her hips. The fingers inside her were strong and persistent, pulling pleasure from Hasnaa until she was screaming and the rainwater poured into her mouth, into her eyes, blinding her. Pleasure consumed her, turning her into steam.

  Then the queen vanished.

  Nyandoro became the water touching her. Like the goddess Yemaya, she was everywhere and nowhere. Hasnaa felt her on every surface of her skin, beneath her bones, in her head, whispering shocking and profane things. Things that made Hasnaa’s heart beat faster, her pussy get wetter. The water touched Hasnaa with its heaviness, stroking her from forehead to toes, rivulets of pleasure taking over her body. She was soaked with her desire.