Giselle Renarde - Best Lesbian Erotica 2012

“You shouldn’t stay up sketching all night,” she teased. Her voice had the warmth of a cashmere blanket. When she spoke, I wanted to wrap myself in her words. “Do you want to turn into a vampire or something?”

The innocence of her tone made me chuckle. “Yup, that’s it,” I said. “All artists want to be vampires. That’s why we work under the cover of darkness.”

“Oh.” She stretched out like a tabby. The way she looked at me, with total honesty, made me wonder if she didn’t take me a little too seriously. But when she raised her eyebrows and crossed her long legs like a pinup model, work was the last thing on my mind.

Setting down my pencil, I crawled on top of her and nuzzled in. Somehow I knew she’d giggle. As I kissed up and down her neck, she laughed so loudly I’m sure my neighbors thought they were in on our joke. “Suck my neck,” she cried, loudly. Her lithe body writhed beneath me. “Bite me!”

I wrapped my lips over my teeth like a toothless granny and chomped on her neck. She giggled so hard I thought she was going to die. I loved that something so simple evoked such a huge reaction. “Stop, stop,” she wheezed between sputters of laughter. “Stop, I can’t breathe!”

Showing mercy, I leaned away for a second. Her chest heaved as she sighed, giggled, sighed, giggled, her pixie face framed with messy orange curls. The weathered cotton of her cami was so sheer I could see her pink nipples forming tight buds underneath as her breathing regulated. A surge of electricity shot through me. I barely knew who she was, but I knew I couldn’t resist her.

Pulling her top off, I dove at her white little tits and sucked her hard nipples. They were like candy on my tongue. I loved her tits. If I had two heads, I’d have sucked them both at once. She ran her hands through my hair, moving my mouth from breast to breast as I thrust my hand beneath her shorts. Her slit was wet and waiting. When my fingers dove inside, she sighed and grasped my hair in her little fists. If I sucked hard, I could get her whole tit in my mouth, but she seemed more interested in the finger-fucking.

“I want to take this to the next level,” she panted. In my books that meant fisting, but as I prepared to give her another finger she let go of my hair and rolled onto her belly.

I gasped as she fished through my night table. “Your back!” Why did her back come as such a shock when her clothes and her lips and her hair seemed so familiar? Had I never seen it before? Had she never rolled over naked in my bed?

Looking up at me, her eyes wide with alarm, she asked, “What’s wrong?”

My head seemed to be shaking of its own volition. My whole body felt prickly and hot. I was horrified. Or was I fascinated? Maybe both. I was transfixed, at any rate. Her back was carved up like… well, really, the only comparison I could draw was, “You’ve got a back like a bathroom wall!”

A cheeky grin bled across her lips. “I like that,” she said. “ A back like a bathroom wall . I’ve never thought of it that way.”

“Who did this to you?” I asked, though it was obviously more than one person. There were different names, phone numbers, quotes and political messages, styles of handwriting. Was it still considered writing when it was carved into a girl’s back?

“Some people get tattoos every time they think they’re in love,” Cat reasoned. Her tone was dreamy and casual. She turned her head until her chin rested on her left shoulder, and pointed to the name there. “The first girl I slept with was Roxanne. I thought I was in love with her.”

All I could do was stare. I didn’t want to touch it—I didn’t want to hurt her—but I wanted to know how her scars would feel against my skin. “And this was her idea of a tattoo?” I asked, tracing the big x in the name with my fingertip.

“No, that was her idea of love ,” Cat replied. She shuddered as I stroked it. Her scar was the softest skin I’d ever touched. “Love and possession were the same thing to Roxanne. She sat on my back. She wasn’t big, but she had some serious muscle to her. She sat with her ass in the curve of my back and her knees pressing my arms into her carpet, and she pulled this knife out of her pocket.”

Fishing around in the drawer of my night table, she finally found what she was looking for: a scalpel with a shiny metal grip. When she passed the knife to me, I was surprised by its weight in my hand. “She took her time marking me with it. She dragged the knife into my skin and I could feel it cutting through me. Just one straight line to start the R. I could feel that I was bleeding, but she leaned down and drank up every drop. No good wasting it on the carpet, she said. She did another line and drank the blood from that one, but then she said that was enough for one night…”

“For one night?” I stammered, shaking my head. I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t had my finger on the very R she was talking about.

“Yes,” Cat replied with a simple nod. “And I promised to stay with her until she’d finished putting her name in my skin. We did a little more each time. She’d lick my pussy or fuck me with her fingers, and then as the grand finale, she’d carve me up. We never lost a drop of blood to the carpet.”

“What?” I didn’t want to seem judgmental, but it was just crazy, wasn’t it?

Handing me the scalpel, Cat giggled, “The bathroom wall wasn’t built in a day. It’s taken years to get to this point.”

With a combination of nausea and awe, I traced my finger down from Roxanne , through a phone number with an international area code, and the words Art is Life . There were more names than I could stand to read. Though I felt no sense of ownership over Cat, it hurt me to think of her with all those other people. I wouldn’t let myself count how many names had stained her back with blood. But the worst part was that mine wasn’t one of them. Looking down at the scalpel I thought, The next person to hold this thing will never know I was here. I had to leave my mark.

Cat rested her head on my pillow. She wasn’t looking at me when she asked, “Do you want to add your name to the bathroom wall ?”

“Yes,” I replied before she’d finished speaking.

The biggest space I could find was down in her lower back, nearly along her side. Anywhere else, I’d have to condense my name to a diminutive, but I felt like if I was going ahead with this I might as well carve Marjane out in full.

My heart raced as I visualized the knife cutting the first line of the M. I traced the scalpel through the air, imagining exactly what that line would look like: mostly straight, with a slight curve at the bottom.

“Remember to catch my blood after you make the cut,” Cat called as I leaned in to put scalpel to skin. “Best way is with your tongue. Just suck it up. It’ll heal faster, too.”

“Okay,” I agreed, leaning in very close. I rested the point of the scalpel millimetres away from her flesh and held that position so long my hand started to cramp. What was I waiting for? Pressing the tip of the knife into her skin, I drew it down, around and out in one swift motion.

Cat shrieked in what sounded like half pain and half orgasm. I licked the line of blood tumbling down her flesh. The moment that thick metallic redness met my tongue, I knew I could never go back. Those few drops of sweet blood seemed to course through my veins, warming my toes and exploding like a supernova in my pussy. I gasped at the sensation her life force generated in me.

Setting the scalpel on my night table, I flipped her onto her side and grabbed at her tits as I licked the incision. I felt like an animal. Her blood made me wild. As I sucked the blood, my throbbing clit drove me to trib on anything close by—and that anything ended up being her smoothly-shaven leg. I suckled her side. She nourished me. Her blood ran hot through my body, and I knew if I didn’t get to feel her wet pussy on mine I would lose my mind.