Best Lesbian Erotica 2010

by Kathleen Warnock

  In fact, the cold rinse made me more aroused. My heart pounded as the freezing water ran down my chest; I felt my nipples stand on end. I hopped from foot to foot, turning to let the water rain on my back and buttocks. From the stall next to me, I heard Bridget moan and shiver with delight and wondered where the water was falling on her body. I imagined it following the path of that rivulet of sweat and being warmed by her pussy.

  I dried myself, rubbing the towel briskly over my body. As blood circulated through my cold limbs, my skin tingled. Bridget emerged from the shower next to me, dripping wet and radiant. Her nipples, too, were hard, and gooseflesh covered her glistening body. Those tiny bumps on her skin sent me into such a state of agitation it was all I could do not to just grab her and press her to the cold tile floor underneath me.

  The dry heat of the sauna welcomed us, slowly warming our cold skin. Bridget lay on the bottom bench on her towel; I sat above, the perfect vantage point for casual observation. There were benches along two of the sauna’s four walls, and they connected at right angles. Like every other part of the spa so far, it was empty. There was a thermostat on the wall, which Bridget turned up when we came in, and next to it, a timer. When she turned the dial, the lights came on, and I could hear the heat coming up. It took only a moment to get hot. I didn’t notice how long she’d set the timer for; it hardly seemed to matter.

  I inhaled the dry air and smelled cedar. I leaned back against the wall and felt the warmth of the wood radiate through my skin, listened to the crackling of the rocks. Except for my state of sexual distraction, I felt at ease.

  I looked down at Bridget. Her eyes were closed. She was lying flat on her back, legs separating just slightly as they fell apart from one another. Her wet hair spread under her neck and shoulders. Her body was so perfect; there wasn’t a single stretch mark. Every inch of her looked smooth and soft and perfectly formed.

  I was taking in the curve of her belly when she opened her eyes and caught me staring. My heart raced. There was an inviting softness in her gaze. Neither of us said anything, and without moving my eyes from hers, I reached down with my big toe and began to trace a line up the inside of her calf to her thigh. Her chest heaved as she released a breath; her legs parted slightly, and she closed her eyes.

  Part of me wanted to bolt out the sauna door; instead, I climbed down from the top bench and squatted next to her on the floor. Where my toe had been, I now placed my hand, retracing the same line with my four fingers, this time not stopping at her thigh. As my fingertips reached between her legs, she gasped just a little and parted them more. I explored the warmth there; I was surprised to find she was wet. I took this as encouragement and moved my head toward her mouth, my fingers still caressing her labia and stroking toward her clit.

  As my face neared hers, she opened her eyes and parted her lips a bit. I moved to kiss her, and her lips met mine and parted. The tips of our tongues touched, and we spent a moment there, tasting one another’s sweetness before pushing farther inside. I had never tasted a mouth so soft in every way: her lips, her tongue, the way she kissed me back and probed my tongue and teeth. I felt a warmth in my stomach; every part of me was alive and pulsating.

  The sauna was hot now. I didn’t know how long we could last, but there was no stopping. I moved my lips from hers and began kissing her long, graceful neck. I licked the beads of sweat there with the tip of my tongue and tasted her saltiness. I worked my way up to her ears as I had imagined doing as we’d sat in the Jacuzzi. I gently tugged her earlobes between my teeth and softly exhaled into her ear. I took a breath to try to quiet the sound of my heart in my own ears; then, I whispered, “I want to taste all of you.” She moaned and said, “Take your time.” I moved down toward her breasts with my mouth as my fingers continued to stroke her pussy. I placed my thumb inside her labia and my fingers on her mound and repeatedly stroked them inward toward one another. She wiggled her hips. With my other hand, I touched her breast, brushing the nipple with my fingertip. She groaned again, and I kissed between her breasts, remembering the rivulet of sweat from the steam room. I licked my way to the nipple I was caressing and took it into my mouth.

  She squirmed on the bench as the heat in the sauna intensified. I heard someone in the locker room. My heart pounded. I glanced toward the small window in the door and caught a glimpse of a woman’s head. She walked past the sauna, and as I sighed in relief, the timer shut off both the heat and the light. Only a small stream of daylight entered the room from the door, illuminating Bridget’s body with a dim glow.

  I made my way down her belly, admiring the feel of it with my mouth. The underlying muscles were smooth and toned but not overly muscular, and the tiny fleshiness I’d noticed earlier was delicious under my lips. I licked and kissed the area above and below her belly button, then teased the inside of it with my tongue before moving down. All the while, my fingers worked their way inside her, massaging in and out. She began to arch now, and I could feel her wetness running down my fingers. When my mouth reached her pussy, she parted her legs fully, resting one up against the top bench. I repositioned myself between her legs and went down on her.

  Her scent was familiar, like my own pussy when I’ve been sweating, a smell I’ve always loved, but there was something different too, a deep earthiness all her own that was almost perfumey. Her swollen cunt opened itself to me as I licked her inner labia upward in long, slow strokes. I stopped at the base of her clit, and the teasing had the intended effect. She moved her pelvis toward my face, and when I didn’t oblige, she began to softly plead with me, “Please, please.”

  I began to move my tongue in slow circles, lightly sweeping over her clit. On the third time around, as my tongue touched her clit, she reached down, grabbed my head and held it in place. I applied firm pressure with my tongue, and she arched up fully and came. I felt the shudder down the whole of her body, and the sudden release of fluid. Being on the receiving end of her cum was sexier than I could have imagined. Above me, her mouth panted and gasped. I pressed my lips to her belly for a moment, giving her a rest before going down on her a second time.

  She hugged me gently with her legs and then, in one motion, sat up on her knees and pushed me backward onto the bench with her hands. She lay her damp body on top of mine and kissed me deep and hard; her tongue penetrated and explored my mouth, kissing me from every angle. She moved her pelvis against mine, and I moved with her, feeling her wetness mingle with my own. She reached down and began fucking me hard with two fingers. At the same time, her mouth followed a path down to my breasts. Its route mimicked my own mouth’s path on her, but where I had been gentle, she was rough and furious, devouring me with her lips and tongue—and occasionally, her teeth. Her intensity made me hot, and I groaned.

  One hand continued to move inside me, while the other grabbed the flesh under my ribs, fingers wrapping around to my back. She took my nipple into her mouth, and I almost yelled as I came, arching my pussy into her palm. She sucked hard at my nipple, her tongue flicking across it at regular intervals, and I once again moved my pelvis to meet her hand as she penetrated me over and over again. The sauna had stopped radiating heat, but it was still hot inside, as we sweated and slid against each other in the dim light.

  Bridget’s head came up from my breast; she flipped her hair back over her shoulders and came back to my mouth. She kissed me hard again and in seconds was down on me, her tongue inside me. In her frenzy, Bridget’s body had pushed me forward so that my head was now nearly underneath the top bench near where the two pairs met in the corner. I reached up and held on to the bench above, flexing my arms above my head and spreading my legs wide. I came again, this time ejaculating. She let out a moan of delight, and before I could respond, she was down on me again until I couldn’t take any more and lay there panting, her body limp on top of my own.

  When we walked out of the sauna, collected and nonchalant, towels wrapped around us, the spa was empty except for a light visible through the steam room windo
w. In the shower, we washed and caressed each other behind the curtain. We shampooed each other’s hair and openly took in one another’s naked bodies in the bright daylight, no longer stealing glances. We giggled like girls and kissed under the spray of the shower before drying and dressing.

  Before we left, Bridget turned to me and said, “I always felt this waiting to happen with us. Didn’t you?”

  As we made our way out into the day’s bright glare, I felt her fingertips reach out and brush mine, gently squeezing and then letting go.

  JUBILEE

  Betty Blue

  “Sing O daughter of Zion. Shout O Israel, be glad!”

  Ruby sang harmony as the choir led the congregation in a lively rendition of the hymn, raising the spirit with up-tempo clapping. It was sweltering under the big tent, and they had been leading the worship for over an hour, but nobody was tired, nobody was sitting down, and nobody was going home. They had come to hear Reverend Goodblood. He had been here at the fairgrounds in St. Johns leading the Jubilee for six days, and he was just getting them warmed up. Cyril Goodblood wasn’t a healer or a prophet; he was just an honest preacher who had listened to that still, small voice, and wanted to share it with the world. In his touch, just the same, there seemed to be a kind of inner healing, and the ladies of the flock were particularly drawn to it.

  She had driven every day of the Jubilee from her parents’ home in Eagar about an hour south to hear Reverend Goodblood. He spoke to the flock in a quiet voice, his silver hair parted on the side and greased back with Brylcreem and his sleeves rolled up above his elbows in the heat. He had a kind face with a long, prominent nose—aquiline was the word Ruby thought of, something she’d read in a romance novel once—and his wise and comforting eyes were the shade of a late summer storm coming in over the White Mountains.

  She thought if she could just get down to the front of the altar this time when the reverend made the call, he might bless her with a little laying on of hands. She just needed a touch of the reverend’s grace to rub off on her, just a little prayer. There was trouble coming, and only the Good Lord could get her out of it.

  Sydney watched the congregation from behind the staging area, waiting for her, eager for her. They were in love with her creation. The Reverend Cyril Goodblood had won them over and swept them away into an ecstatic religious experience. She didn’t care what they called her, as long as the money kept coming in for “the Lord’s work.” Tonight was the last night of the week-long Jubilee, and it was time for Cyril to bring it on home.

  The local minister was introducing Cyril now, and people were nearly crying in anticipation. Sydney smoothed her hair down and tugged her pin-striped vest into place, making sure that Cyril looked the part, and with a wide grin, she came around the partition and thanked the minister, shaking his hand with a firm, two-handed grip. The congregation clapped enthusiastically as she stepped up to the wooden pulpit, and then perhaps realized that clapping was not the thing. Reverend Goodblood was a man of God, not a celebrity. The clapping quickly morphed into clasped hands and a chorus of soft thank-you-Jesuses and praise-the-Lords.

  “Thank you for the warm welcome, Pastor John,” said Sydney. “It’s a blessing to be here before the beautiful family of God.”

  Sydney preached as Cyril for a good three hours, watching the women fan themselves, red cheeked and glowing in the humid heat, and the men listening intently, unfazed by the sweat dripping down their good shirts.

  In the third row, she caught the eye of Mrs. Edgar Ellison. Barbara “Bobbi” Ellison was just on the plump side of pretty, the kind of girl you could get a good handful of. And when Bobbi had called on Reverend Cyril last night after the service, Sydney had done just that. It was easy to tell when a woman had come for the Goodblood touch. They blushed before they’d ever said a word, touching the reverend’s hand just a little too long, breathing a little too fast. There almost seemed to be a competition among the women that came to her services to see who could win the reverend’s favor. The ladies of Apache County seemed particularly hungry for closer communion.

  Bobbi had asked the reverend to pray for her, and had gotten down on her knees, letting Sydney lay her hand against her forehead while she prayed for God’s will to be done in Bobbi’s life. It was then that Bobbi had grasped Sydney’s hand and begun to kiss it in profuse thanks, as if Sydney were the pope. Sydney had pulled back, sitting down in her chair by the dressing room mirror under the hot glow of the round white lights, and Bobbi had scrambled forward and parked herself between Sydney’s knees, reaching for her belt buckle. It seemed to be the first thing these provincial women went for, as if it was what they were used to. It was a sad commentary on the men they knew that they were all too eager to give head before they’d even gotten a kiss on the lips.

  Sydney had pushed her hands away and pulled Bobbi up as she rose from the chair. Bobbi’s eyes grew wide as Sydney pushed her back and set her ample rear onto the dressing table. “Let me minister to you, Bobbi,” she’d whispered in her ear as she kissed the warm neck. Bobbi had sighed as Sydney kissed her way slowly down her throat, opening the buttons on Bobbi’s dress to kiss the tops of her breasts above the Maidenform bra. Bobbi needed just that little bit of extra support for full-figured gals. Sydney slipped her hand into the dress and popped the clasp at the back with practiced ease, letting the bra slide down Bobbi’s half covered arms and release her full figure.

  Bobbi had gasped as Sydney pressed her mouth over one taut, pink nipple while pinching the other. Mr. Edgar Ellison apparently wasn’t much of a tit man. Bobbi was moaning and squirming as Sydney sucked the warm flesh into her mouth. It was clear it wasn’t going to take much to put her over the top. Sydney ran her right hand down Bobbi’s side to squeeze the soft swell of her ass against the table and then finished unbuttoning her without missing a beat at Bobbi’s breast. She laid the Sunday dress open and pulled the white panties down to her knees, slipping two fingers down between her parted legs into the warm hollow. Bobbi’s clit was swollen.

  “Oh, Reverend,” Bobbi moaned as Sydney softly stroked the hood. Sydney moved her mouth to the other breast, holding it in her left hand so she could get her mouth around more. Bobbi giggled nervously and then shut up quickly with a soft little pant as Sydney’s fingers found their way between her wet lips and deep inside her. As Sydney suspected, she was already on the edge, sucking in her breath in a series of tiny gasps as Sydney stroked inside her and rubbed her thumb against the warm clit.

  Sydney let go of Bobbi’s breast and got down on her knees like a penitent at the altar and tasted the sacred flesh between the woman’s legs. Bobbi was loud now, and it was a good thing the elders had all gone home before Sydney had let Bobbi in for counseling. She ran her tongue beside her sticky fingers and sucked at the flushed center. Bobbi was sweet and hot, like a tropical fruit. It was like burying your face in a ripe, slick mango on a hot summer day without worrying about the juice dribbling down your chin. Some things were just too good not to be messy about.

  Bobbi let out an almost surprised squeal, making a “joyful noise” as the scripture bid, and slid to the edge of the table, pressing hard against Sydney’s happy, sticky tongue. Sydney sucked in harder against Bobbi’s clit as the noise died down, drawing a second climax out of her. From the way Bobbi was shaking, almost crying, Sydney figured one was at least a rarity with Mr. Ellison, and two was downright unheard of.

  Bobbi was shy afterward, and a little shocked when Sydney kissed her, as though she’d never tasted herself before, though she didn’t pull away. Sydney pulled out a handkerchief and cleaned herself off as Bobbi pulled herself back together, hooking and buttoning what Sydney had released.

  “Reverend,” she said, looking down as she buttoned to avoid meeting Sydney’s eyes, “I know we shouldn’t have—”

  “Nonsense,” said Sydney. “As the Lord says, ‘This is my commandment, that you love one another, that your joy may be full.’ He doesn’t begrudge us a little joy. If those
in our lives who ought to aren’t ministering to our needs, well, I think the Lord understands.” She smiled and took Bobbi’s hand to give it a warm, pastorly shake.

  “Thank you, Reverend Goodblood,” Bobbi had whispered, and slipped out into the warm summer night air to go home full of the joy of the Lord.

  Sydney winked at Bobbi who was watching her now with rapt attention from the third row, and Bobbi smiled and blushed. After that she seemed to squirm a bit in her seat as Sydney paced back and forth across the stage, exhorting them to open their hearts and listen to that still, small voice, to give that they might receive.

  As usual, when Reverend Cyril called on them to come down and dedicate their lives to the Good Lord, the aisles filled. With filled aisles came filled donation buckets that the elders held out to them on their way to the altar.

  They were holding their hands out toward Sydney, hoping for Reverend Goodblood’s blessed touch as Sydney stepped down and walked among them. A pretty blonde with a heart-shaped face and a rose-print dress was making her way down, looking anxious, not quite able to push through the crowd. Sydney had seen her at the altar before, hoping for a touch from the man of God. She figured she’d make the woman’s day.

  “What’s your name, sister?” Sydney asked in Cyril’s best shepherd’s voice as she reached over the crowd for her hand.

  “Ruby,” said the blonde, her face flushed.

  “Bless you, Ruby,” said Sydney, putting a hand on her head. “The Lord told me you needed a little something extra today.”

  Ruby blinked up at Sydney as if she were the Lord himself. “Thank you, Reverend,” she breathed. “I’ve been hoping I could talk to you after the service.”

  Sydney smiled at her. “You come around back after the closing worship,” said Sydney. “Share what’s burdening your heart.”