Best Lesbian Erotica 2007 (21 page)

“It’s as down as it’s going to get,” she said with a grin. “You ought to know.”

“Well,
I
never get cruised the way you are when I’m packing it.”

She gave me a fiery look. “Oh yes, you do. You just don’t know how to stake out your territory. It’s a girl thing.”

“Then sit down,” I hissed, indicating one of the few free seats left, “and hide that before I have to hurt someone.”

“I was wondering,” she whispered, leaning close as I took the seat next to her, “if it always makes you want to come in your pants really bad, too.”

I groaned. I would have banged my head on the table, but they were starting to call out the first of the bingo numbers, and everyone around me was in a frenzy to mark his or her cards. You didn’t interfere with some of these people at bingo, not and keep your body parts.

It’s not easy to sit very long in a skirt, I discovered. I tried crossing my legs, but my feet went numb. If I didn’t cross my legs, I forgot to keep my knees together, and although I welcomed the breeze, I was afraid that I’d be advertising to all and sundry exactly the state I was in. Which, considering the fact that every few minutes, Shelby would run her fingers up the inside of my thigh underneath the table, was one of terminal arousal bordering on coming in my seat. When she casually picked up my left hand, moved it under the table and into her lap, and pressed it against the bulge in her trousers, I almost did.

“You’re driving me crazy,” I growled into her ear. “I’m going to the bathroom to stick my head under the cold-water faucet.”

She laughed as I walked away.

I passed by the long lines for the Porta-Johns outside the church and walked around to the side entrance. Having been to more than one show in the church auditorium, I knew there was another small bathroom just inside. Fortunately, not many other people thought of it, and the line was short. Two of the three stalls were occupied, and as I stepped into the third—the farthest from the door—I felt a hand against my back and another person crowded in behind me.

“Shh,” Shelby whispered before I could say anything.

I couldn’t even turn around, we were pressed so close together, with her behind me and my knees nearly up against
the toilet. When she gave my shoulders a gentle shove, I reflexively reached out with both hands and braced myself against the wall in front of me. It’s a good thing I did, because a second later she slipped her hand under the back of my skirt and between my legs, and my knees nearly gave out. For the first time, I appreciated the ingenious nature of a thong. With a practiced flick of her thumb, she swept the material aside and slid her fingertips between my labia.

I heard her groan as I drenched her hand, and I had to bite my lip to hold back a cry of my own. I think I’ve mentioned how good she is with her hands, and I was already pushing my hips back and forth in an attempt to rub my clitoris against her fingers. I’d been so turned on for so long, I knew I’d come in seconds. To my surprise, she pulled away before I could get there. Then I heard it, and my heart stopped.

The unmistakable sound of a zipper slowly sliding open.

When I moved to turn around, she cupped the back of my neck in her hand to stop me with a whisper. “No.”

Off balance, still braced against the wall, I had no room to do anything but wait. I felt as if my whole body were waiting, waiting to be touched, waiting to be filled, waiting to be taken. It was wholly unfamiliar and completely natural. With the first brush of the smooth, cool length of her dick between my legs, my clit jerked and I tightened inside and all I wanted was for her to make me come. I pushed back again, this time against the fat, firm head, and felt it slip inside. I moaned. I couldn’t help it.

“Feels good, doesn’t it, honey?” she murmured in my ear, her breath hot and ragged.

I knew what she was feeling, the pressure against her clit from the base of the cock, the sweet power of being inside her woman, the need to give and take at the same time. I could only whimper and nod my head. I wanted more, but I was afraid. Afraid to be other than I have always thought myself to be; afraid to be not less, but more. She knew, and she helped me.

She moved her hand from my neck around to the front of my body and underneath the edge of the tiny skirt. She held my clitoris gently between her fingers and began to slide it back and forth the way she knows always makes me come. As soon as she started, I pushed back onto her dick and she slid deeper inside. As I stretched in body and mind to take her, the pressure surged into my clit, and I knew I was going to come.

She stroked me, I rocked against her, she pushed deeper. Once, twice, and then I felt it—the slow, rolling contractions in the core of me that in another minute would burst shooting from my clit.

“I’m coming,” I cried softly. I felt her weight against my back, her body trembling as she worked herself inside me. I heard the quick, high-pitched sound she makes when she’s nearing orgasm. Just as I crashed over the edge and lost all sense of anything but her, I heard her triumphant voice in my ear.

“Bingo, baby. Bingo.”

Jolie du Pré

 

 

 

 

 

“Close your eyes.”

The tall grass tickles my face as she lowers my head to the pond. One hand rubs my hair, while the other showers it with the water.

“All right, baby. You’re done.” We stand. She lifts up her T-shirt and pats my eyes with it.

Now my blonde locks are black. My parents never let me do it when I was at home, but that’s not why I bailed. That’s not the half of it.

I grab a strand, letting it slide between my fingers. Its dark color triggers an ache in my pussy, which gets even stronger when I look over at Kiki’s face.

She’s smiling in that way that says she wants to fuck me, the new me with my slick black locks.

“You look hot!”

“I want a mirror.”

“Yeah, when we’re at the store we’ll get one.”

What she really means is we’ll steal one.

Kiki’s bald, but she still has tiny little hairs on her head that feel good under my fingers, fuzzy like a caterpillar’s. I move closer to her, kiss her lips, roll my tongue over her stud. She’s got another piercing on her nose, five on her eyebrow, and a bunch on her ears. She hooked me up with one through my belly button.

The clouds are forming above us. It looks like rain. We head back to our place under the bridge, just before it starts to pour. Don is there. He sits on a tattered blanket, playing his guitar and singing to the sky. His voice is gravelly and sometimes he’ll hit a note and nothing will come out. The skin on his face is tough like leather and he’s missing three of his front teeth. Kiki says he’s about fifty and that he’s been drinking since he was ten. The kindest man I know. Last week, when I was crying, he sang me a song and I pretended that I enjoyed the sound of it, because I love him. He’s my family.

Not my real family, who told me I was going to hell for being a dyke. Who beat me. Who sent me off to a Christian boarding school. I’m twenty now. Haven’t been home in about two years. I don’t miss them, never have.

Kiki walks over to the spot on the grass where she hid the box, and then she digs it up. Crack, the only thing she loves as much as me.

She lights some. Her face looks like she’s close to coming after she blows it out. The smoke burns my eyes and smells like burnt alcohol. I turn my head.

I don’t want it. But if I look at her, at it, I might change.

Later, we sit in a restaurant and look at the menus, acting like we’re going to order. Then when some customers are finished, we take the money they leave on the tables. About ten dollars today, enough for lunch. We didn’t eat yesterday.

When we’re done with our meals, we take a walk. It’s Saturday. Lots of people are out and about, shopping at all the expensive stores. Kiki decides she wants to scare some “rich brats” again. She makes faces, which I tell her she doesn’t need to do since she looks pretty scary anyway, at least to them.

She runs up to some kid. He’s dressed perfectly in matching designer duds. Standing there, eyes bugging out of his head, frozen like a statue, he starts to cry. That’s when his mother notices and runs over to grab him. She clutches her purse as they hurry out of sight. I try not to laugh.

Kiki grabs my hand and we find an alley. She’s brought one of the rocks with her and her pipe. She takes a hit and then she’s ready to fuck. We go to the train station, head into one of the bathrooms, and lock the door.

Pressing me against the wall, she puts her mouth on mine. Her lips are chapped and her breath is stale, but her kiss is firm. She takes my shirt and pulls it up. Then she leans down and puts one of my tits in her mouth. Since I’m small, she can suck it all in. While she’s doing that, her fingers play with my other nipple. I feel a tingle in my pussy and she knows it. She knows what gets me hot. She puts her mouth on mine again. I push my tongue inside and find the stud. I like the way it feels. I like to play with it.

We pull down our pants and panties and let them fall to our feet. Then we push our bodies against each other, rubbing our pussies together, starting a fire. I slide three fingers into Kiki’s cunt and nibble her ear.

“Fuck that pussy,” she says.

And that’s what I do; hard and fast my fingers go in and out of her hole, juice all over. I lick her neck and reach under her shirt to feel her breasts. I want to make her come. I push even harder into her. Soon she’s hunched over, holding on to me for support, until I hear her moan and feel her pussy close around my fingers. I pull them out and put them in my mouth. She’s glassy-eyed and smiling as I taste her.

Now we’re back under the bridge. Kiki doesn’t rest much. The crack has turned her into a zombie. But for once, she’s sleeping. I lean my back against the concrete wall and hold her head on my lap. Don is next to us, stretched out with his mouth open, snoring. Even though the city lights are bright, I can still see some stars.

I make a wish for us, and then I close my eyes and go to sleep.

A. Lizbeth Babcock

 

 

 

 

 

I call you, late and unexpectedly, and ask if I can come to your home. You say I can, which was my hope (of course). I come in a taxi, the better way, despite what the Toronto Transit Commission would have me believe. I wear only nylons and a short, sleeveless dress under my winter coat. My legs are clad in thigh-high boots. Your favorite. I am completely focused on you. Focused on what is about to happen. I struggle to ignore the incessant chatter of an annoying cabdriver, offering only a monotone
mm-hmm
where absolutely necessary. I am polite. I always have been.

Finally, I arrive. You have left the porch light on for me. It is blazing on your darkened street, like a firecracker in the sky. I give the driver my last ten bucks, but I would have paid anything to see you tonight. I would have found a way to come.

My attire does not surprise you but you are pleased, like when you anticipate that something will taste really good, and then it does. You tell me to go downstairs. I do. I wait, and soon you come too. You are wearing leather. You are fully dressed, fully butch. The sight and smell of your gear arouses me before we even touch. You are harnessed, already. I tell you what I need, even though I think you know. You pull the front of my dress down, exposing my tits. You don’t touch them, only look at them, and approve of them.

You pull out several different toys from your special chest, where you keep your sacred treasures and the means through which you attain your most sadistic desires. I have never seen the full contents. They are sacrosanct, secured by lock and key, like dangerous weapons or precious jewels. You control them, and tonight, me.

You make your selection, telling me why you have chosen this one over and above all of the others. You want to mark me, make me scream and squirm. I listen to your words like an eager student who has an aching crush on her teacher…the kind of crush you share with your girlfriends on the telephone while giggling, screeching, and making promises not to tell.

You want me on my knees in front of you, and although I am cooperative, you push me down aggressively. You place the heel of your hand on my mouth and slide it across my face, making a messy streak out of my blood red lipstick. I offer up my arms to you, holding them together, my wrists exposed. Methodically, you tie my hands in front of me, always my preference with a newer playmate.

We talked about that on our first date when we met for
a late-night drink at a local pub. It was your intensity that struck me then—that held me there well beyond my self-imposed curfew. You looked deep inside of me that night, and everything around us was superfluous and inane. It was packed, as usual. But all of the other people were nothing more than moving colors, blends of light and dark around us, incoherent fusions of sound. I described to you my darkest fantasies and told you of my experience thus far.

You watched my eyes and lips with intention as I spoke. Your sense of your own power was what made me wet, and I secretly pushed my crotch against the edge of my chair like an animal in heat. I imagined you fisting me right there—the table our stage, the patrons our audience. I was present but lost all at once.

When I excused myself to use the washroom, you followed me in. You told me to lift my skirt for you, and you felt what you had done to me firsthand. You slid your fingers under the edge of my panties and fondled me. I stared into your eyes, completely defenseless. I leaned back against a long counter of sinks and let you have your way with me. I wanted to come all over your fingers in that moment. I wanted you to play with my clit mercilessly until my moans became so loud that you would have to cover my mouth and force my silence. You didn’t do that though. You didn’t let me come. You gave me just enough to make me want more. Just enough to make me need more from you. It was humiliating in a way, being forced to show you my wetness only to have you smile and walk away. I left that night with a sense of your ability to control me, to control a situation. And you did this with a seductive ease.