Best Lesbian Erotica 2012

HEARTFIRST Kiki DeLovely

I don’t know if I’ve ever witnessed anything more sexy than the intent and intensity in her eyes as she shakes her head no, slowly, side to side, when what she really means is “Fuck, yes.” As though she’s disbelieving of just how incredibly right it is. As if everything about me is so right that it’s wrong. She takes her sweet time with that simple motion, as if she hasn’t the slightest need to rush, despite the fact that other parts of her may be moving at much greater velocities. This apparent discord—between both the unspoken verbal and the pace of the physical—although seemingly misaligned, has a radical effect on my desire and even brings a sort of asymmetrical balance to my lust. It’s allowing my passion to course wildly through my mind and, hence, my body—blood pounding like wild ponies through my veins and racing to deliver an aching throb of need to my cunt.

Though she’s only known me a few months, she has this madness-making ability to cut me to my core with little effort.

We’re surrounded by people waiting to be seated, but once she’s locked me in her gaze, all I can see is her. She takes a slow gander at me; eyeing my feet dangling on the last rung of the bar stool, trailing up my unladylike-positioned legs, fixing briefly on the lacy frill at the hem of my skirt (just long enough to lick her lips), before continuing upward. I wrap one of my patent leather heels around the back of her leg, innocent enough for public purposes, and pull her in a little closer. She closes her eyes, keeping them closed a little too long, and inhales deeply. A lecherous grin creeps across her mouth.

Leaning into my face, she pauses for several seconds—my heartbeat quickens in my clit—then makes her way to my ear. “You know that intoxicating scent of yours?” She waits just a beat for her rhetorical question to sink in and then continues, “I can smell you from here.” My blush is hard and immediate, wondering: if she can smell my cunt in a crowd of people, who else can? And not caring in the slightest—feeling so gorgeous and cherished, so very pleased to please her with my scent alone.

I close the door behind us and she doesn’t make me wait—thank heavens she doesn’t make me. No romantic foreplay, no taking her sweet time, no making love to the goddess inside me. No. Thank my luckiest stars. No, she shoves inside me fast and hard. Faster. And harder. In and out. And in. And out. So many times, so fucking fast, I feel like I’m about to lose my mind. She knows I’ve been needing this too damn long to have to wait even a second longer to have her. So she pounds away at my cunt like she wants to break me in two, like a rapacious beast. And I thank the planets for aligning our worlds, calling forth this limitless ravaging.

She slides two of her free fingers into my mouth and I begin to suck. As I take them in, she grunts out of euphoria but still wants more. Plunging her fingers deeper down my throat, farther until I’m gagging, she leaves me trying just as hard to suck in air as I am willing more of her into me. I need more of her inside me. Obligingly, she adds another finger and takes me over and over again and won’t stop after I’ve come once, twice, ten times. I lose count as I go out of my mind because she won’t fucking stop, won’t give me a chance to catch my breath, and I no longer care if I ever breathe again. She pounds me like she’s furious at the universe for having kept us apart so long and she has to make up for all those lost nights of passion and sweat, the days of lust and pure bliss. I scream and writhe and cry out until I have no voice left.

It is only later, much later, quite a while after she’s fucked me into oblivion, that she doubles back, retraces her steps, straps on her cock and takes her time. Slowly. So excruciatingly slow. She teases me to a point of so much more pain than her more violent actions could ever cause. I can’t stand it, and it’s only then that the tears start to rise. I can sense the first one welling in the corner of my eye, feel it catch in my throat, as she pushes into me so I can feel her going on forever. Do they even make cocks long enough that you can enter someone for days before hitting a wall and then withdraw for the following week? That is how long it feels like it’s taking her to complete just one thrust. And the intimacy of it all is terrifying.

Just when I think it’ll never end, she pulls out of me completely. She needs more of her inside me. So she smears thick lube across her entire hand, up over the knuckles, all the way to her wrist. I gasp in anticipation. I don’t think I can take that much. But she proves me wrong; of course I can, four fingers are sliding inside me with ease and it’s only a matter of seconds before she curves in her thumb and my pussy swallows her fist whole. Surprisingly quiet, I’d have expected screams to be tearing through my vocal cords now. Instead my diaphragm drops and I feel another opening up from deep inside. My rib cage expands and the back of my throat dilates as I wish it would when I deep-throat her cock. With the sharp twist of her wrist, she forces me to hit a pitch so high it’s barely audible and I shudder as the orgasm echoes throughout my entire body. I feel a sound escape my chest, originating from lower still. The purest note that ever graced my lips, it sails right past them and floats up in the air. I imagine an opera singer hitting her highest note.

When I go in for her well-guarded pleasure, I’m careful. I read every last cue of her body; initiating as though it’s about me. It isn’t. It’s about her. And us. But I’m good at making it seem like it’s about me, at burrowing down somewhere sacred. I straddle her leg, grind my wetness against her thick thigh, moan in her ear about how good she’s making me feel. As my tongue searches out her tragus piercing, she groans, and I can feel the reverberations making their way through her body. Knowing how erogenous this spot is—this tiny flap on the inside of her ear—knowing just what to do with it, is a powerful blessing. I take the ring between my teeth and tug, gently at first, and gradually work my way up to the point where it’s either going to rip out of my teeth or her ear. It’s one of my favorite ways to get her going. And one of hers.

Fucking her is a precious gift and I honor it, giving this intimate interaction the reverence it deserves. Her desire is tangled up in mine and it’s impossible to separate the two. So I treat it as one. Make it about how she’s getting me off while I’m edging my way in, down to the place inside her that calls for me and has been secured, sentry protected.

I move my hips in a tight figure eight and grind harder against her thigh, my juices gushing down her leg. She begins to grunt, “Oh, god…” but before she’s even made it to the second word, I’m pressing my hip into her sex, and then she’s adding a few syllables to a monosyllabic word, elongating the moan buried mid-oh while I draw out her pleasure. I wrap my mouth around her tit, my tongue delighting in how its efforts are rewarded by the feel of her nipple tightening, beginning to rise, pleading for more. I graze my teeth against it, reaching over to pinch and slightly twist the other one, bite down and then release. I bring my free hand to my lips and slip two fingers into my mouth. After a slow, deliberate extraction, they glisten prettily with my spit in the low light. I lower them between her thighs, as I watch her face. Easing my fingers into her ass first, working them against her G-spot until she’s wordlessly begging me to slide into her cunt.

I delve in heart-first, straight down to a deep, well-hidden place. It scares her to no end, yet she grants me access. I know even before her tears surface, that I have found her inner aquifer. I have reached the place inside her and saturated it with love and all things beautiful, filling her in ways she didn’t think possible; making it known that I treasure and adore all of her: her multilayered, gorgeous self; her powerful presence; her soft underbelly. No matter what the world has told her—I have delivered the message that she is strong and sweet and capable and good. And right. So very, very right. In all of who she is, in exactly how she makes her way through the world. She is praiseworthy and perfect. Which is not to say she is unflawed. There are fights in our future about toothpaste and how she wasn’t there for me that time. But now, in this very moment, I am loving her so completely: every drop of her, prized and celebrated.

Something about her sparks my overwhelming need to protect her. She learns that she can stay here, nestled deep inside me. I’ll squeeze my thighs together, holding her there, letting her fill me; I’ll protect her from the outside world, not letting go. This is the place where she can cry and feel safe and overcome by it all and she can just be.

When the deluge gives way to drizzle and then dries into traces of salt on her cheeks, she runs her fingers between my lips. “So. Fucking. Wet.” We float somewhere above this tangible world, we vibrate internally on a higher plane. Grinding against each other with a deep-seated fury, we amplify our envy of that other world where our souls are melded together without seams.

We writhe against each other, knowing we are stretched to our physical limits by each other’s fists. We tear into each other, wanting to emulate the amaranthine nature of the other plane, where all of her is consumed by my sex, my soul. And her fervor devours me. Anything is possible; there are no laws of space or time. Our ardor set ablaze, we are a mess of twisted limbs, cum–and sweat-drenched flesh, pushing into each other with desperation. Where everything within and beyond our imaginations is granted. Deeply rooted in our bodies while pushing them to extreme edges. A chaotic whirlwind of ohhhs and yeses and begging and panting swirls around us as the floodgates give way to our frenzied lust and I’m clamping down on her fiercely, she’s shuddering against me, we’re crying out into the heavens, drowning in each other.

She takes me there.