Best Lesbian Erotica 2010

SWEET TOOTH Sophia Valenti

The purple-pink sky was beginning to show the first hint of sunrise as I slammed the taxi door shut behind me. I was on my way home from an all-night party in the city, having spent the past five hours in a dimly lit warehouse, surrounded by thumping music and sweaty, gyrating women. It was perfect foreplay—or it would have been, had I actually been able to score. But after spending more than an hour dancing up against a handsome baby dyke, I came up empty. Her ex suddenly showed up, turning what I thought was a tough little piece of work into a lovesick fool right before my eyes. As soon as she bit her lip and said, “Excuse me for a minute,” I knew I’d be going home alone.

A minute turned into fifteen as they huddled in a distant corner and no doubt professed their undying love for each other, while I was left at the bar with my cunt empty and throbbing. With a resigned sigh, I downed my drink, picked up my leather jacket and headed out into the cool predawn air to hail a cab.

Fortunately, the city was on the verge of awakening, which made my trip home a fraction easier than it would have been an hour earlier. See—chatting up that girl wasn’t a total waste of time, I told myself as I slid onto the pleather backseat of a beat-up Yellow Cab.

The driver ignored me after taking note of my destination, which was fine with me. I was in no mood to chat. He was a young guy who stank of cigarette smoke and cheap cologne, seeming as if he’d just pulled an all-nighter himself. He sang along brightly to some horrible ’80s dance-music station that served as the soundtrack to my entire trip home. I tried to tune out the Nu Shooz duet going on in the front seat as I stared at the city lights streaking by outside the window. The slashes of color looked otherworldly up against the backdrop of the slowly brightening sky, a visual echo of the flashing lights of the club I’d just deserted.

I don’t know what I was thinking, heading out to a party when I had a morning meeting with a client. No, that’s wrong. I knew exactly what I was thinking. I was as horny as hell and hoping to pick up. It had been weeks since I’d gotten laid, and I was hoping for a little no-strings-attached action—which isn’t as easy to find these days as it used to be.

I glanced at my watch and figured I had time for a catnap and a cup of coffee before I had to present my best businesslike face to my prospective customer. I design websites for a living, which gives me a flexible schedule, but I still do my best to maintain a professional demeanor when dealing with clients.

The taxi slowed as it headed down my street and pulled up in front of my building. The block was dark, except for a lone, brightly lit storefront that assaulted my tired eyes. I shoved some cash into the cabbie’s hand and stepped out onto the street. The store was directly across from my front door. It had been a grungy tire-repair shop for years before the rent became too high and Mugsy packed it up. It had been closed for months, but I’d noticed that in the past few weeks, the windows had been cleaned and covered inside with brown paper. When the old wooden window sashes were painted a tooth-aching shade of pink, I assumed it was going to be some kind of kids’ clothing store to serve all of the hipster families that were beginning to pour into the neighborhood. But now, as I squinted against the light and stared into the bare windows, I saw that it was yet another cupcake bakery. I rolled my eyes as I thought, Great, that’s what we need. A bakery. What the hell is wrong with a liquor store?

The walls of the store had been painted the same Technicolor pink as the outside trim, in contrast to the white tables, chairs and molding. The chrome-and-glass showcases lining one side of the store were filled with a rainbow-hued selection of tiny cakes. As I stared, I caught a brief glimpse of a blonde rushing across the store with a coffeepot in her hand, and that’s the exact second I remembered I didn’t have any coffee of my own in the apartment. Looking to ward off the inevitable headache, I decided to see if I could score a cup from my new neighbor.

I crossed the street and pushed the door, which—thank god—opened. As I crossed the threshold, I was hit with the sickly sweet scent of sugar and it nearly took my breath away. As I inhaled a second time, I felt a wave of relief wash over me. Underneath the room’s cloying perfume, I discerned the soothing scent of brewing coffee. My eyes scanned the counter, and I spotted a slowly filling pot.

“Good morning!” said a bright voice behind me. I jumped at the cheerful words and turned quickly to see someone who appeared to be straight out of central casting for an MGM musical. It was the petite blonde I’d seen seconds earlier, but this time I was able to get a better look at her. The waves of her honey-blonde hair shone like a supermodel’s and her wide eyes were a bright blue. Either she’d had a good night’s sleep or she was riding a permanent sugar high. Her chipper voice was nearly as much of an assault on my senses as the scents and sights before me. She wore a white dress with short, poufy sleeves and a skirt that looked as if it were supported by layers of frilly crinolines. Over it, a pink-gingham apron protected her pristine frock. Her shapely legs were encased in nude-colored stockings that led down to pink shoes with sensible heels. Standing there in my black leather jacket and ratty jeans, I felt like I was in a time warp—a 1950s greaser who had stepped into her pretty pink parlor.

I was speechless as I took in the sight of her, and I was suddenly shy about my appearance. It was almost as if I expected her to tsk at me like a disapproving mother. But that was my own crazy head talking because she did no such thing.

“Welcome to Cupcake Heaven. I’m Aimee!” she said, extending her hand toward me. Acting on autopilot, I took her delicate hand in mine and shook it, checking myself at the last minute and lightening my touch before I crushed her with my stronger grip.

“Cupcake Heaven?” I asked, barely hiding my smirk.

“Yes,” she said, batting her long lashes and glancing toward the parade of little cakes marching across a rectangular paper doily. “A little piece of heaven you can hold in your hand,” she added slyly as she returned her gaze to me, her look all of a sudden seeming much less innocent. Her eyes roamed up and down my figure, taking in every inch of me. And in an instant, I felt myself switch from hunter to hunted. It still seemed like a dream, but the aching hunger in my sex that hadn’t yet been satisfied urged me to keep my options open.

“Today’s the Grand Opening,” she said, her voice a little lower in pitch but still maintaining its singsong quality, “although I wasn’t quite ready to open yet. But I can make an exception for secial customers.”

I stared back at Aimee, communicating my interest with an unblinking stare. “Well, then,” I said as I considered the living, breathing confection in front of me, “this must be my lucky day.”

“Looks that way,” she said, her eyes still locked on mine. It was odd. In the few minutes I’d been in that store, I’d formed more of an electric connection with this intriguing stranger than I had in the hour I’d spent chatting with my former quarry at the club.

Aimee offered me a wicked smile as she passed me by, locked the front door and turned back to me. Things are definitely looking up, I thought to myself.

“How about a private tour?” she asked, raising one of her perfectly plucked eyebrows.

“Lead the way,” I answered. Her high heels clicked sharply against the pink and white tiled floor as she sashayed toward the back of the bakery. The seams on her stockings were as straight as an arrow. Fortunately, I couldn’t say the same thing about her.

Aimee disappeared through a doorway in the back, and I was quick to follow. Seconds later I stepped into a huge, spotless kitchen which was lined with sparkling stainless-steel counters and filled with brand-new kitchen equipment. She was on me in a flash, pushing me up against the tiled wall and pressing her lips against mine with a strength that surprised me. Her pink-lipsticked lips slid across mine as we frantically kissed. While our tongues tangled, she grabbed my wrists and slammed my hands up against the wall over my head, grinding against me with her crinolines rustling noisily.

She was so petite, I could have overpowered her in an instant, but I didn’t want to. I let her hold my wrists with one of her tiny hands, while the other roamed between our bodies to unbutton my jeans and push them down over my hips. As she worked, I kicked off my boots, eager to be free of everything that was in the way of her fingers reaching my cunt. After hours of unrequited flirting, it was a relief—and a turn-on—to be someone else’s toy for a change. Although Aimee looked like she’d stepped off the set of “Leave It to Beaver,” she seemed to be propelled by the same animalistic desires that were churning within me.

Aimee moved quickly, and my pants were soon an indigo puddle at my feet. Momentarily breaking our kiss, I stepped out of the tangle of denim, still clad in my panties, T-shirt and leather jacket. She kicked one of my feet, urging my legs farther apart, and pulled the crotch of my damp panties aside to get at what she craved. Her slender fingers plunged into my juicy pussy, and her face broke out in a self-satisfied smile as she toyed with my wet hole. With practiced ease, she pulled out and skidded her fingertips over my swollen clit. I moaned loudly at her touch and bore down, desperate for a stronger hand.

“Turn around,” she said sharply. “Hands against the wall.” I obeyed, palms flat against the cool tiles, and heard another rustle of nylon as Aimee knelt between my legs. She grabbed the sides of my panties and roughly yanked them down my legs, leaving them wrapped around one ankle as she again urged my legs apart. Not wasting any time, she grabbed my hips and pulled my cunt toward her face. I sighed with delight as her tongue teased my clit and slowly traced my slit. She moaned as she sampled my sex, teasing my slick folds for seemingly endless minutes before again flicking her tongue against my clit with a maddeningly light touch. I pushed back against her face, wanting more of everything, and she pulled away and slapped me hard on the ass, making my cunt ache even more for her.

“I didn’t tell you to move,” she hissed, her voice sexy and commanding.

I stilled my bucking hips as I savored the lingering sting of her slap and fervently hoped she’d return her attention to my pussy. She kept me waiting for what felt like an eternity, but in reality I knew it must have only been a few seconds. Impatient, I carefully glanced over my shoulder to see Aimee stand and swipe a dollop of frosting off an icing spatula, coating her thumb with pink buttercream. I quickly averted my eyes before I got caught, and my lids fluttered closed as I felt her smear the frosting over my back hole. Aimee worked her butter-coated thumb into my asshole as she simultaneously wiggled a finger into my cunt. I clawed at the wall, feeling my knees grow weak and struggling to maintain my posture. I did my very best to stay still as Aimee fucked both my holes, her other fingers stroking my clit with each upward thrust of her hand. At that moment, all of my thoughts disappeared. All that mattered were Aimee’s insistent digits plunging in and out of my clutching holes, satisfying weeks of longing in a matter of minutes.

With my eyes shut tight, I focused on the sensation of those slim fingers plundering me. Her body was pressed up tightly against mine as she worked me into a frenzy. The rough, irregular thrusts of her hand and the occasional swipe of my clit had me desperate to come. I was groaning with longing, a sound that seemed to echo loudly in the tiled workspace, even as I buried my face in my leather-covered shoulder.

“That’s it,” she whispered in my ear. I shuddered at the harsh tone in her voice, all hints of sweetness and light having disappeared. “Come all over my hand, you little slut.” Her dirty words sparked my orgasm, which hit me like a flash of lightning. The sudden spike of pleasure consumed me, making me shudder violently as the sensations suffused my entire being. I cried out as my spasming holes clutched her thrusting digits, and I rode out the final waves of my orgasm as she continued to finger-fuck me until my cries lowered in volume and urgency.

“Good girl,” Aimee whispered in my ear, sounding pleased with herself as she withdrew her sticky fingers. “But don’t think you’re done yet.” She pulled me away from the wall and urged me to lie down on the floor on my back. I still hadn’t caught my breath from coming so hard and fast, but that didn’t stop Aimee. She pulled up her dress and straddled my face, releasing her crinolines and enveloping me in a white, nylon cloud as her pussy hovered temptingly close to my lips.

Aimee’s cunt was bare—no hair, no undies—and the subtle perfume of her aroused sex made my mouth water more than any treat in her store ever could. I grabbed her ass, feeling the coarse texture of her ruffled garter straps under my hands as I palmed her cheeks and pulled her toward my hungry mouth. She was dripping with honey and I dove right in, lapping at her slick sex and savoring her sweet flavor.

I delved between her pink folds and began fucking her with my tongue, enjoying the musical sound of her pretty sighs and the feel of her skirts scratching my face as she bucked her hips. I was eager to make her feel as good as she’d made me, so I honed in on her puffy button, taking it between my lips and teasing it with my tongue.

Having such direct attention being lavished on her sensitive clit seemed to send Aimee into overdrive. She took her pleasure from me with an increasing fervor, grinding against me and dancing in circles as she rode my face. She was a hypnotic mix of sugar and spice, her deceptively sweet look a saccharine cover for her barely concealed lust. I was thankful I’d gotten the chance to peel back her frilly wrappings and discover the sexy woman that lurked within.

I doubled my efforts on Aimee’s cunt, and she matched me stroke for stroke as she bucked toward my face. I snapped her garter straps and stroked the smooth tops of her nylons as she writhed above me, rapidly approaching her limits. Before long, Aimee cried out and shuddered in my hands as she came, sending a flood of sticky juice into my mouth. I lapped up the remnants of her release, listening to the sound of her breath returning to normal.

When she’d regained her senses, she climbed off my face and sat next to me. Her cheeks were flushed becomingly, but she looked no worse for wear. I knew I couldn’t say the same for myself. I felt thoroughly tossed, and I was sure I looked it, too—especially in the bright, early morning sunlight that was now streaming into the kitchen through the overhead skylights.

I glanced at the wall clock and saw that I was running out of time. I needed to get home and wash the scent of sex off of me, so I could meet my client and pretend to be a somewhat professional businesswoman. I hastily apologized to Aimee, who didn’t seem to mind in the least. She had her own business to attend to, with the grand opening and all.

She stood and straightened her dress, flashing me another bright smile, and disappeared out front. By the time I’d redressed myself and emerged from the kitchen, Aimee had poured me a cup of coffee to go and handed me a small cardboard box wrapped with red and white string. “Breakfast,” she said, smiling. “I’m closing around seven tonight. Come back for dessert,” she added with a wink before I turned to leave.

After my morning meeting, I sat in my apartment and stared at the box of cupcakes that Aimee had handed to me as I left her store. I’d never been much for sugary treats, but I considered one of the little cakes for a moment and then took a bite, feeling the buttercream coat my tongue and appreciating its sweetness. It was delicious and surprisingly satisfying—much like Aimee herself. At that moment, I knew I’d return for more.

I think I’ve developed a serious sweet tooth.