Best Lesbian Erotica 2011

MY PRECIOUS WHORE Xan West

We dance on a razor-sharp blade. That’s how humiliation play works, twisting fear and humiliation around desire until the source of her shame is the very thing that makes her valuable. Until I become exactly who I feared. We dance between her destruction and my uncontrolled viciousness, holding each other close, knowing the danger, the sharpness of the edge feeding our desire for blood. Adrenaline courses through us as we play, its metallic scent intoxicating. We know what we are doing, but that does not minimize the risks.

We have a history, and it is part of the fault line that runs under this shaky space where we play. For I am a survivor, and so is she. Sex work is not without its dangers, from cops and johns alike, and she knows that well. I learned fear and violation from more intimate sources, very early. We both learned that sex is shame and were force-fed that shame without our consent. But now we revel in a celebration of the darkness and the joy within sex, and it heals. We choose this, so it can feed us and build us up. And we are stronger for the risk in it. We are stronger for our desires.

There is something very raw and very queer about playing with this kind of power. The queerness of it is what makes it work for us. I know that she could never do this with someone who had a cock that was permanantly attached; the smells and sensations would just be too close. There’s something so peverse about using misogyny as a sex toy; the same misogyny that nearly destroyed me as a girl.

But it is not my self-hate that I pour onto her, it is love. We are in this together, and there is a tremendous love we have built, through tiny rituals and daily glances, through practical support and open celebration. We are a team, dancing together on this edge, knowing we both must use care, we both must watch the terrain. We have spent a long time building the trust needed for this, and it is worth it. For now we can ride that fine edge, lick the blood off our skin and revel in the joy that is possible.

She is dressed like the whore she is. But tonight it is to my specifications. From her fuck-me heels and up the seam in her stockings to her bare back, she is every inch a fierce, proud being. She is the object I desire, the whore I own, and she is dressed this time to please only me. I can see pride in the slight arch to her back as she kneels in the center of the room. And it should be there. I am proud to own this strong, intelligent survivor. I am proud to claim my precious whore. She is proud to be mine, to keep choosing that in every moment.

I can see the edges of her stockings peek out from under her skirt, tantalizing me. Her beautifully large body is offered up for my pleasure, and I revel in the sight of it. I want her fear tonight. And her breath. I want her tears. I want to split her open, fluids dripping. I want to unleash my cruelty upon her. I want to reach deep inside and wrap her around my fingers.

I stalk over to her and yank her up by the hair, dragging her stumbling to the wall. I tilt her head back, my body ramming her into the wall, my mouth at her ear, my cock digging into her ass.

“Spread for me, bitch.”

I kick her thighs apart.

“Yes, that’s it. You love this, don’t you? Fucking whore.”

My baton slides between her thighs, teasing. I ready for the blow. The baton slams into her, hard relentless thuds against her ass. It’s pounding her into the wall, thrusting her onto the edge of orgasm. That’s exactly where I want her. I stop.

I yank her up by the hair and turn her to face me. I grip her face in my left hand, and she knows what’s coming.

“Dirty whore.”

Then I am slapping her cheek, the bite of invasion where she is the most vulnerable. And the violation will not stop. My eyes are locked on hers as I continue to slap her face, watching her as I growl.

“Whore. You were going to come, weren’t you? You know better than that. You get to come when I say. Fucking whore. Who do you think you are, bitch? You think this is about you? You think I give a damn about your pleasure? Selfish bitch, this isn’t about you.”

I don’t stop until the tears start flowing. And then my hand is gripping her throat.

“Greedy whore. You think you get to choose? You are mine to control. Mine to use. That is your purpose in life. That is your only worth.”

I spit in her face as I watch her eyes widen and her struggle to breathe.

“Needy bitch.”

I spit again. Then release her throat.

I pull my knife out and place it by her eye, and she goes still. It teases her mouth open, grazing her tongue, her gums and rests against the inside of her lip. I thrust the tip in, not enough to bleed her, just to let her know I will be anywhere I choose. All of her had better take me in. I slide the knife down, shredding off her halter top, watching her breasts slide free. Tearing her cheap skirt to tatters, leaving her breathless, in just her collar, garters, seamed stockings and come-fuck-me heels.

“That’s right, whore. You are mine for the taking.”

I watch her eyes as I slip a condom on the baton and lube it up.

“Hands and knees, bitch.”

And then she feels it teasing her ass. It is hard and cold. It will make its way, and she will just have to accommodate it. As it worms its way into her ass, the twisted nasty feeling grips her stomach and tweaks her clit. It is deep inside her and she is squirming around it. Turned on and ashamed of being turned on, all at once. I leave her there and go sit in my favorite chair.

“Crawl to me, whore.”

She does. The baton in her ass makes her movements smaller, slower. She does not want to lose that deep penetration. She is struggling so hard not to come as she crawls toward my boots, fixated on them.

“That’s where you belong, on the floor.”

She is whimpering now, and the tears are flowing again. Little begging sounds emerge from her throat. The sight of her crawling toward me, impaled on my baton, gets me rock hard. She finally reaches me. I place my boot on the back of her neck, smashing her face into the ground at my feet.

“Come,” I order.

And she does. Writhing under my boot, whimpering as she spurts her cunt juices onto the floor.

“Make yourself available.”

She gets into the position, offering me her beautiful wide back. I take out my quirt and I start laying into her. It bites deep red welts into her back. I can feel the blood searching for the surface as I continue to strike, watching her squirm as it hits her, her ass contracting around the baton, a yelp escaping her with each blow, quickly transforming into a moan. Twining designs onto her gorgeous full back with my quirt, I am mesmerized by the sight of her movements in response. She is so beautiful. She is mine, to use exactly as I choose. This fierce, intelligent, incredibly sexy woman is mine. I can fully be myself with her. I breathe in the metallic scent of her back turned to meat, and drive my boot heel into the welts, reveling in her shrieks.

“You made a mess on the floor, you filthy bitch. Lick it up.”

She scrambles to turn and get to the spot where she made a mess and begins to lick. I stand up and drive her mouth into the floor with my boot. Her cum is cold on the floor. That was my intent. It is not supposed to be pleasant. She begins to cry.

“That’s what you get, greedy bitch. You wanted to come, now you get to eat it off the floor. Filthy whore. This is who you are. This is where you belong, licking up your grime off the ground.”

The shame washes over her and fills up her throat. She is gagging on the taste of it. She is licking her tears along with the cum now, and the salt burns her throat. My boot drives her mouth into the ground, and there is nothing to do but keep drinking down the shame. She is shuddering, her body moving silently as she licks, her cunt throbbing. I twist the baton in her ass, and she whimpers. I thrust it in gently, watching her spasm.

“You want to come again, don’t you? Greedy whore. Don’t stop yet. Get it all. That’s it, whore. Clean up after yourself. Now, get up onto your hands and knees, dirty bitch.”

I drag her head up by the hair and inspect the floor. It is spotless. I reach back and remove the baton in one quick stroke and put it aside.

“Move, bitch.”

I kick her across the room to the bed, my boot driving into her ass. I lie down on the bed and pull her mouth down to my crotch.

“Free my cock, whore.”

She fumbles, using teeth and lips to work my fly and then free my cock. I place a condom between her lips.

“You know what to do.”

She slides it on with her mouth.

“That’s my whore.”

I pull her to sit on top of me, my cock poised at her cunt. I grip her face in my hand and slap it, glaring into her eyes.

“You better please me, whore.”

I yank her by the hair and force her down onto my cock. I reach up and grab her by the nipple, yanking her down to my level. I want to watch her eyes. I take her breath as I thrust into her, watching as her eyes get bigger, as fear grows. My hand is clamped over her mouth and nose, my eyes locked on hers, my fingers pulsing pain through her nipple in time to my cock. I watch her build, as fear grabs her throat. She is afraid because this turns her on so much. She is turned on because she is afraid. How can she want so badly to be fucked by someone who scares her so much? Who makes her feel so ashamed?

I release her nipple and grind my nails into her chest, driving through her, my cock relentless, her breath gone. She is thrashing now. I order her to come, and don’t let her breathe until she does. I force her back into a sitting position, knowing it shoves my cock in deeper. I grip the center of her chest, pulsing my energy into her heart chakra, my cock into her cunt. Watching her scream. My nails drive into her thighs as she rides my cock. I know I am hitting her cervix as I thrust up, ramming into her, claiming her.

I sit up, grabbing the hair at the nape of her neck, twisting it around my fingers as I fuck her harder. I grip her hair and pull her ear toward my mouth.

“Mine,” I growl. “You are mine. My hole to fuck. Mine to use. My private whore. My bitch to command. Come for me. That’s it, whore. Come around my cock. Don’t stop coming. That’s it. Don’t stop.”

I take her breath again as she comes, watching her eyes bulge as I grip her throat.

“Yes. Keep coming, whore. That’s it. You feel so good coming on my cock. Don’t stop.”

I release her throat. She is screaming and then begging. It is too much. She can’t do it anymore. Her hips can’t stop moving as she begs, her voice desperate.

“Not yet. Don’t stop yet. Yes. Your cunt is mine. Yes. Don’t stop coming for me.”

She is whimpering. Desperate keening emerges from her lips, and it is enough to make me spurt.

“You. Are. Mine,” I growl as I slam into her, my cream filling her.

“Stop.”

She is sobbing. I stroke her hair gently and pull her down to me.

“That’s my good whore,” I whisper as I slip my cock out of her and rock her gently in my arms. I hold her as she cries, stroking her hair softly and feeling my cock throb at the sound of her tears.

“Mm,” I say as I lick the tears from her cheeks. “Good whore. Open your mouth for me. That’s it. Now I need you to clean my cock. That’s my good whore. No leaving your mess all over me. Clean it good.”

Her mouth is so gentle, so delicate on my cock. I can feel her tears falling as she cleans me off, and it makes me even harder. I grip her by the hair and force her down onto me.

“That’s it, whore. I’m not done with you yet. I need your mouth on me. Yes, right there.”

I watch her eyes as I fuck her mouth. I thrust deep into her throat and she can’t breathe, and I hold it there, relishing the sight of her eyes bulging again.

“Yes, you are mine. My precious whore. My hole to fuck. I know, sweet bitch, I know. I know you can’t breathe. I love watching you choke on my cock. Yes, my fiesty bitch, choke it all down.”

I slam into her throat and she gags. It’s relentless and I’m not stopping, and she is scared. I can see the panic start just as I ease off. Her eyes soften a bit and she gently suckles me as she calms herself, breathing, sucking, breathing, my hand gently stroking her cheek.

“That’s my precious whore. Yes. Your mouth feels so good. Open for me. That’s it.”

I drive into her throat again, and it is good. She becomes a mouth, made to serve me, a hole to open for me, and she takes me all the way in. I can feel her throat moving around me, and she’s moaning around my cock, and I am at home in her throat. I have her by the base of her neck now, and I am rotating slowly. Her throat is the sweetest hole in the world, and it is all mine to use. I thrust into her rapidly as I shoot, and she drinks down every drop of it.

“My good whore. My sweet bitch. Yes. Take it all. Very good.”

I slide out of her mouth and hold her for a long time. Then I raise her up to meet my eyes.

“You have pleased me very much. You may sleep at my feet tonight.”

She curls up at the foot of the bed and sighs contentedly. This is where she belongs. This is who she is. My precious whore.