Чарли Андерс - Best Lesbian Erotica 2010

I walk to the hallway off the main room. I see a door in the distance opened slightly, light flooding down and partly illuminating the whetstone floor. I follow it, slowly, my heart in my throat. I put my hand on the door and push it open. I see her, lamplight casting golden hues, reclined on the bed, her back to me, sheets and clothing in disarray and her beautiful big, bare ass slightly quivering, the barest tremor. She groans. I stare, transfixed, transformed, transubstantiated. I kneel at the bedside. I reach out slowly and touch the white skin, dimpling from the chill. She moves and sighs. I run my tongue athwart her hips up to that most aching nerve. I kneel closer. My breasts graze her bottom. I lean down again and lick, taste, kiss, bite the flesh; skin like marble, pink, reddening. She groans, surges toward me, then away. My glossa wanders heedlessly; parts and plunges into the blazing cool depths. That wayward member discovers the pursed mouth of her anus; my nose inhales a scent of peat smoke and humus, ears perceive the sound of fingers gliding in and out of wet. My tongue tickles and licks. Buttcheeks firmly in hand, my tongue probes, intrudes and violates. She is a boiling sea. Dies Irae ! she croons softly.

Christian ? I ask.

I release one cheek and reach around her hip, down the slope of her belly. I discover her hand moving furiously over her vulva. I cover hers with my own and match her rhythm. Then blind fingers touch along the unknown shore, farther below, to a warm wet cove. I fill it with fingers. With mouth, teeth, tongue, and hands engaged, soon I am Ulysses clinging to a wreck in a tempest. I reach with my free hand to unzip my trousers, reach to my own throbbing flesh.

Suddenly. Trousers roughly yanked to my knees. Hands cup my cheeks. Arms encircle my waist. Stinging bites and drenched kisses, fingers part my own cleft. A strange tongue disrupts! Explores my moist dark spaces. Hands run over my chest, pinch my nipples. Play upon my own guileless thoughts. They lift me over Simone’s naked, prone, form. I am face-to-face with her and she awakes, open eyed, a cry of protest on her lips. The others cover her mouth with kisses. They cajole me to lie on my stomach. They blind me once again. Strong hands, (Nadya?) grab my wrist and attach cuffs. They free me of my trousers. Metal buckles fasten, chains clink, liquid squishes from a bottle. They drag my ankles apart. They attach my legs to the bedposts. There is giggling, moaning, sighing, groans and shrill whimpers. I feel warm thighs on my back, and then something large and stiff, probing, discovering my unopened flower. Strong hands raise my hips easily, fingertips lightly explore. Hands pull my cheeks farther apart, the stiff head fills me. Involuntarily I rear up, but determined hands hold me. Lips cover mine. A tongue explores. Helpless, I am. Thighs slap my cheeks, the six stubby inches of smooth erect silicone feels like liquid fire coursing through me. I expand to take it. I move in tandem. Fingers stroke my own tender nexus. They are unrelenting and a scream escapes me. Then, a cessation. More liquid on my lower back, chill at first then agreeably warming. A fingertip traces my vertebrae to the point of division and edges toward. The finger intrudes, kneads, withdraws. Again. Then a larger object supplants it. It opens, pushes, slips in. I flail like a puritan soldier, bellow like a gored beast. I descend into a primal state of animal pleasure. I swoon with gratitude.

Eyes open. A minute (or hours later) the harem coalesces and radiates. Ig is tying Simone’s wrist with clothesline. Nadya dons a leather ceinture and loudly slaps a paddle into her palm. She eyes Simone’s large bare thighs greedily. Her jagged incisors bare themselves. Arable wields a minicam while pleasuring herself. I stare into the black eye of the lens. I feel my body. A sizable plug still lodges in my anus.

Did someone forget something ? I ask.

CHARLIE ANDERSblogs at io9.com, and runs the Writers with Drinks spoken word series. Her first novel, Choir Boy , won a Lambda Literary Award. Her writing has appeared in the McSweeney’s Joke Book of Book Jokes , Sex for America, Mother Jones , the Wall Street Journal and the San Francisco Chronicle .

MOLLY BLOOMis a pseudonym for New York playwright, Theresa Diamond. Her plays, including most recently Waiting for the Show, have been presented in New York City venues including the Neighborhood Playhouse, the WOW Café Theater ( Rose Toibin ), Nuyorican Poets Café, Dixon Place, La Mama (Relationship) and Centered Margins at Chashama.

After spending her formative years attending jubilees in the Arizona desert, BETTY BLUEleft God at a truck stop on I-8 outside of Yuma. Her work has also appeared in Best Lesbian Love Stories, Tough Girls, Blood Sisters and More Five Minute Erotica . Find her at www.bettyblue.org.

ELIZABETH CAGE’shas work has appeared in magazines such as Scarlet, Desire, Forum, For Women, In the Buff, The Hotspot , and the International Journal of Erotica , and anthologies Seriously Sexy 3, Satisfy Me, Ultimate Sins, Five Minute Fantasies , Sex and Submission, Sex and Seduction and Girl Fun 1 . She lives in the United Kingdom.

KELSY CHAUVINis a writer based in Brooklyn, exploring all manner of themes, characters and real-life experiences for her stories and screenplays, be they tame or tawdry. Most of all, she finds inspiration in the subversive and the sensual—where the most exciting scenes happen. ( www.kelsychauvin.com)

COLLEEN C. DUNPHYwas born and raised in Buffalo, NY, where she still lives with her pit bull, Oliver. Colleen holds a BS in philosophy and religious studies from Buffalo State College. She loves all things having to do with women, religion, photography, and writing. Other works can be viewed at: www.writerscafe.org/writers/purplerayne.

R. G. EMANUELLEis a writer and editor living in New York City. She recently returned to writing fiction and has many projects in the works, including coediting Skulls and Crossbones , an anthology of female pirate stories. R. G.’s blog, www.mizchef.com, is about food and all things culinary.

HOLLY FARRISis an Appalachian who has worked as an autopsy assistant, restaurant baker, and beekeeper. She has twice been nominated for a Pushcart Prize. Lockjaw , her first collection of short fiction, was a finalist for awards presented by Lambda Literary Foundation and the Golden Crown Literary Society.

GALA FUR, a Sorbonne-educated journalist, speaks six languages. She has for many years contributed to French magazines and her signature is familiar to readers of the Parisian erotic press. Two of her books have been translated into English as Confessions of a Left-Bank Dominatrix (Blue Moon Books). She lives in Paris.

TOBI HILL-MEYERis your average multiracial, pansexual, transracially inseminated queerspawn, genderqueer, transdyke, colonized mestiza, pornographer, activist, writer. She’s board cochair of COLAGE, a national organization for children, youth and adults with LGBTQ parents. She always finds time to get away from identity theory and politics in order to work in the garden.

STELLA WATTS KELLEYis a poet, freelance writer and writing teacher whose articles and nonfiction narratives have appeared in numerous publications. “In the Sauna” is her first published work of fiction.

The editor of The Sweetest Kiss and Where the Girls Are , D. L. KINGalso publishes the review site, Erotica Revealed . Find her stories in Girl Crazy, Broadly Bound, Best Women’s Erotica 2009 , Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica 8 and Best Lesbian Erotica 2008 , among others. She’s published two novels.