Best Lesbian Erotica 2012

STUBBORN ACHE Elena Shearin

I’m watching you while you work, teeth worrying at that lower lip, blue eyes squinted in concentration. Your blonde hair is ruffled and standing up in places where you’ve been running your hands through it, the way you do when you’re stressed. You’re sitting at the computer and you’ve leaned back, arms behind your head, to give your eyes a rest. In that moment I want nothing more than to walk over to you and slip into your lap, straddling those muscular thighs. So I do. Facing you, I rock slowly against you, coming close for tiny closed-mouthed kisses and leaning back slightly to let you see my breasts, nipples perked in anticipation. Your hands are hot on my back, not a sign of arousal so much as your normal body temperature. My body holds no mystery for you; you always know exactly where to stroke or bite or suck to make me push up against you, to make the moisture spread between my legs.

This time I’ve decided I’m not playing it easy; I’m not going to let you put the puzzle pieces of my orgasm together so quickly, so arrogantly. This time you’re going to have to work for it. So I pull back, teasing, shifting as you reach for the waist of my jeans. I can tell that I surprise you when I don’t arch eagerly into your hands. I turn to give you a nice view of my rear, firm and round, as I walk away from you. Your surprise prevents you from immediately reaching for me and I make it almost to the bedroom before you move. At the door, I realize you’ve recovered when I feel your grasp at my waist, pulling me to you as you take that last step that brings you up behind me.

“Where are you going?” you murmur into my ear, kissing the nape of my neck.

“Nowhere,” I respond, pressing against the front of you and sliding my hands behind my back so that I can stroke the front of your thighs, before taking a step to pull myself away. You’re ready for me this time and catch my wrists in your hands to hold them lightly behind my back. I tug against them and feel you tighten your hold. You press your right thigh between my legs and maneuver me through the door, shutting it behind you and pressing me to the wall beside it. I have my head turned, one ear against wood, the other open, catching every sound of your breath, your voice.

“I said, where are you going?” you whisper again into my ear. A delicious tremor works its way down my spine at the feel of your warm mouth so close to my skin… but I’m not giving in. Not yet.

“And I said, nowhere,” the smartass in me replies. I hear you chuckle softly, which I assume means that you know what I’m trying to do; you know I’m playing hard to get. It also means that you think I can’t do it. My pride stings (I’ve never been this easy for a lover before); I try to twist my wrists out of your loosely encircled hands while pushing away from the wall. They tighten immediately as you lean your upper body, just so, against me. And, suddenly, I find myself thoroughly trapped. Shifting both of my wrists into your right hand, I feel your left hand slip under my black cotton shirt, running up my side to cup my breast over my bra. Your hand dips inside the right cup, fingers searching for the taut nipple. With your thumb and middle finger you pinch it slightly, just enough to make me gasp as my body betrays me, warmth building at the apex of my thighs. Then your hand is gone, sliding back down my midriff to the waistband of my pants and then inside. You are over my underwear, but I can feel your touch as though it’s against my bare skin. Lightly you cup your hand between my legs, right over my sweetest spot and I flush, knowing you feel how I’ve soaked through the thin lace. You increase the pressure, moving your fingers up so that the tips of them are right over my clit as you stroke in slow soft circles. I stifle an inadvertent moan and feel you smile against my ear, where you’ve rested your face. You push a little harder and a tiny groan of frustration leaks from my lips but you keep your pace slow and steady. I can feel my climax building, I’m so wet, and yet you still refuse to speed up, to push harder, to touch my skin, so I press myself against your hand only to gasp when I feel it slip away.

“You’re going to stay right here, without moving, until I come back.” It isn’t a question, and I hate the amused tone in your voice. How do you make my self-control so completely dissolve? We both know that I won’t move. I will wait until you come back because I need you to finish what I’ve started. I hear you slide the box of toys from under the bed, plastic scraping against hardwood floor. They shift and thump as you search for something, shoving them around, making purple dildos collide with egg-shaped vibrators. Soon you have what you want, the box is back under the bed and I am aching with anticipation. I haven’t cooled off. If anything, I’m hotter. I hear you remove your jeans as I stand against the wall. A minute later, I hear you put something down, then I feel your hands on my wrists again where I’ve left them resting against my lower back. You lift one, then the other, fastening a purple cuff around each, and I pull them apart hearing the chain that links them rattle. You put your arms around my waist but won’t press your body against mine, won’t let me feel that delicious weight, while your fingers unbutton and unzip my jeans. Still stubborn, I plant my feet, refusing to step out of the pool of denim. You must have anticipated this small rebellion because one of your hands is suddenly in my short red hair, tugging enough to sting, the way I like it.

“Step out of your jeans, baby,” you say to me, your voice warning. I contemplate refusing, but my weak will wants what you’re offering so I step out and push them away. With one boot you tap the inside of my foot to make me spread my legs wider for you. I comply, a chill coursing over my skin as I stand there in my underwear and T-shirt.

“Where was I?” you say, as if to yourself, both hands sliding up under my shirt to cup my breasts. Both hands tease until my nipples are tight peaks straining against the fabric of my bra and then you pinch them, rolling them between thumb and forefinger. I feel you come closer, your body molding itself to mine. I notice the hardness between my legs and I know you’ve put on our strap-on. This catapults my body from slow arousal to desperate need. You see my eyes widen with my reaction before I think to shut them and turn my face away from you, forehead resting against the cool wall. I’ve amused you again; I feel your soft exhalation as you laugh quietly against the back of my head. Damn you for being so collected, so cool, when all I want to do is strip off the rest of my clothes and let you fuck me. You hold my waist between your hands and move slightly back and forth, and the head of your cock slides against my underwear right where I’m wet for you. I inhale and this time my eyes are closed so that I can feel you better, concentrate on the hard length of you as you move in a way that is driving me crazy with desire. I am leaning forward, letting the weight of my upper body rest against the wall, and I am surprised when you tug at my cuffs, pulling me away from it. You pull me against the front of your body, your breasts pushing against my back, and turn me to face the bed. There is a small bottle of lube on the footboard and you won’t let me turn my head to look at you, one hand on my cuffs and the other buried in my hair. Our bed is high, the edge coming up to my waist, and you halt at the side of it, your hands sliding to the band of my underwear to tug it down. I’m too eager to pretend to fight you, and I step quickly out of them.

“So now you want to cooperate,” you mock me. The irritation flashes again and you must feel my back stiffen because you swiftly put one hand in my hair, the other on my upper back, and push me down toward the bed, giving me no choice but to bend over for you. My face is turned toward the head of the bed, hands up against my back where they remain cuffed. The lower half of my body is naked and I feel exposed as the cool air of the room makes its way between my legs, teasing that spot on me that your hand has so recently warmed. I feel you move and then hear you pick up the lube and pour some into your hand. I hear you slide your hand up and down your cock and it makes me wet knowing that soon you will be pressing it inside me.

“How many times do you think I can make you come?” you ask me. I snort in what I hope is derision, refusing to answer. Any answer I give you will only challenge you to push me past it. You can’t let me win even that small battle.

“I think I can make you come so hard, just once, that your legs won’t be able to hold you up,” you continue as you take the step that places you back directly behind me, your left hand on my rear. I let out a sarcastic laugh; we both know that I’m nearly impossible to wear out.

“Hmm. That sounded like a challenge,” you reply and before I can react I feel your lube-soaked hand mixing with the wet warmth between my legs. You slip one, then two fingers inside me and I press myself down onto their thrusts. Certain that I’m ready for you, I feel you remove your fingers and then the tip of your cock is there, your hand wrapped around its head as you guide it up inside me. I try to move myself down onto it, but you are having none of it. You place your left hand on my back, pressing me into the bed as your right hand continues to glide the toy into my body. No sooner do I have it grasped with my inner muscles than you are sliding it back out. I try to follow it but your hand is still on my back and I grit my teeth. I need you. Now. But you won’t be hurried and you settle into a steady rhythm, sliding into me and out again before I can clench myself tightly around you. I’m panting, biting my tongue to keep silent, a childish attempt to keep you from hearing the moans you know are trying to pour from me with every stroke. You lift your hand and spank the fleshy part of my rear, a small but sharp pain that startles a groan from me. Stubbornly, I sink my teeth into the pink fullness of my lower lip, refusing to make another sound, despite a second and third attempt at spanking it out of me. I can move myself up and down, speeding up the steady pace of your thrusts. I want you so badly my thighs are wet from my desire, and you don’t disappoint. You push into me harder, moving deeper and starting a circling motion with your hips that almost makes my knees buckle. I am going to come soon; you know it, and coax me with your words.

“Come for me, baby,” you murmur, thrusting faster. I grit my teeth and shake my head against the sheets. I’m not going to make it that easy; I’m going to let it build until I can’t refuse it. You sense this and begin pounding into me harder, nearly lifting me from the floor with every inward thrust, panting and gripping my waist for balance.

“Come on, baby. Let me feel you come hard for me. Scream for me, sweetheart.” You keep talking to me, knowing how your voice pushes me to that edge. I shake my head again, knowing I won’t last much longer. And then you decide to tip the balance. Leaving your left hand on my waist, you slip your right hand underneath me and find my clit. With firm, wet fingertips you press my clit where it is swollen and aching, caressing it in small circles and I know I’m going to come now, there is no fighting it. Spreading my legs a little wider, feeling you pump inside me and your hand stroke faster, I let out a ragged sound that is half moan, half scream and ball my hands into fists as I come so hard even you are shaken by the force of it. My orgasm sets my body trembling, my knees buckling, and I soak your hand and your cock with my pleasure. You continue to pump into me, and I can’t keep from screaming as the pleasure ripples through me.

Finally, you slow your thrusts and move your hand away in time to catch me as I sink backward. You keep me on the bed while your hands release the cuffs. You move your hands down my body, from my shoulders to my waist in one broad stroke that makes another ripple shudder through me. Then you put one hand on each side of my body, resting your weight against me, tired in your own right. You kiss up my neck, whisper in my ear, “That’s my good girl. I love to watch you come.” I’m too exhausted to respond.

You stand back up and slip your cock out of my warmth, stepping away to take it off. At the unexpected removal of your support my legs wobble and collapse, making me slide down the side of the bed to land, hard, on my knees. Then you are there, warm arms lifting me and helping me onto the bed where you climb up beside me, cradling me. I’m drowsy now in the rush of satisfaction. My head is tucked under your chin, my back to your stomach, and as I drift off I hear your voice filter through my sleep-fogged mind, tone cocky as you mutter, “I told you so.”

Sometimes it isn’t so bad to be wrong.