Best Lesbian Erotica 2012

HOW HE LIKES IT Xan West

I learned quickly that he likes it when I beg. During our first encounter in that bar bathroom, my leopard-eyed Sir showed me that. He doesn’t need me to be on my knees (though he does not object, particularly when I’m focused on taking his cock down my throat). It’s not about my shame, or my abject posturing. For him, it is about the frequent acknowledgment of both my desire and his control. He is particularly fond of the word please, and truth be told, I love hearing it escape my lips. Just saying it gets me wet. Me begging is not just how he likes it, it’s how I need it. I ache to bring my raw dripping need to him, offer it up to him, spill it into his lap.

That’s exactly where he wanted me that night: in his lap, aching with need. He wanted to watch me writhe with it, wanted to savor the sight of me begging. He wanted to hold me down and watch me have my desire held against me, until I was burning, sobbing with need. He wanted to grasp his control firmly, and decide whether he would let me get what I begged for. He had described it for me, in detail, watched my eyes widen at the thought of it, my breath quicken with the knowledge that he wanted to offer me to another, while he held me and felt me writhe.

I was his to offer, and glad of it: Glad to be valued so much that I was worth offering to others. Glad to be seen for who I was, my exhibitionistic desires celebrated; to have the opportunity to give myself to him exactly how he likes it.

Sir knew me from the start, knew things about me that I had not even fully seen. He was a mirror to my power and grace, showing me how beautiful I was in his eyes, how gorgeous my pain was, how delicious my tears, how much my desire moved him. That is the best a lover can offer, to really see us, and celebrate what they see. It is a rare and precious thing to be seen and valued for who we are. So often, I had been told I was too much, too loud, too smart for my own good; took up too much space, was too needy, too sexual. Sir had other things to say about my hunger, my desire, my size, my power. My reflection in his eyes told me I did not need to hide my need or my self; I could bring it all to him; I could not possibly be too much for him. It scared me every time, felt risky every time, and was exactly what I wanted.

I had not met Dexter before that night. Christian had told me about him, of course. The mentor who had taught my Sir everything he knew about leather; the first transman top he ever met. They had topped together; it was part of learning. But this was different. I was the first girl that my Sir was going to offer to Dexter after seven years of estrangement.

Dexter was on the staff of the kink conference in DC. We came out a day early because of this. We had a room in the conference hotel, and as I unpacked for us, Sir made final arrangements. I ate before he came, ordered the room service, set up the cigars on the balcony, and dressed to Sir’s specifications, my hands fumbling and nervous as I attached my garters, my eyes wide as I saw my reflection. I looked like an offering, my hair curling around my shoulders, my small tits raised and bursting out of the tiny shirt, boots drawing attention to the fishnet stockings, skirt short enough to just reveal the tops of the garters. I had been preparing for this all afternoon, luxuriating in a bath, rubbing lotion on my skin, trimming and primping and readying myself, down to the small plug I slid into my ass. By the time he arrived, I felt grounded in myself and who I was, and my body was preparing his welcome in anticipation.

He stalked in with quiet power, greeting Sir with warmth, taking his time to look me up and down. His eyes were feline too, and I could feel my back arch a bit under his gaze. I was ready for him that minute, ached to drop to my knees before him, could not take my eyes off of him. But first there was dinner, and my job to serve it, to allow these men to touch me as I served.

After dinner, there were cigars on the balcony, and me holding the ashtray on my now bare chest, my back to the world, their voices winding with the smoke around me, wrapping round my bare skin, sliding between my thighs. I could tell that Sir was pleased with me by the way he absently rested his boot on my thigh, knew that he was happy to sit here with Dexter, catching up, and showing me off. Every time Dexter chuckled, my clit would pulse, my ass would clench around the plug and my lips would part with a sigh.

I was aching already and they had barely acknowledged me. How would I survive the full attention of both of them?

Sir turned to Dexter with a sly smile, and said, “Shall I prepare her for you?”

Dexter nodded, and took the ashtray from my chest.

My heart started racing. Sir walked ahead of me, giving the hand signal to crawl, and so I did, Dexter’s eyes on my ass as I left the balcony.

I approached Sir slowly, with that catlike crawl he loves so much. He was on the bed, and as my eyes met his, a shock jumped between us. He reached down, pulling me by my hair and bending me over his lap. It felt so good to be there, his hands all over my skin, my head hanging over the side of the bed.

Then I felt it. That squirmy twisting as he pulled the plug out. I am never prepared for it, but when it comes as a surprise it grabs onto the center of my chest and squeezes, bringing a tinge of nausea with it. My hands grabbed for the bed as he slowly slid a new plug into my ass, cold with lube. (I knew it instantly; it was the Tristan anniversary edition plug, the one I drooled over in the store, the one he got me for my birthday.) It is so intense when it first comes in, I literally can’t breathe for a moment. My eyes were closed, my head ringing, and then I let my breath out. Sir tapped on it and I shuddered.

It is a shift, to go from the expectation of silence, to the expectation that I will show him my need. I am often tentative at first, finding my voice and movement. He pressed me down onto him, so I could feel his cock against my belly, and my ass clenched in response. It was so full, my hand kept fisting the blanket. Then the baton hit my ass, driving sound from me, garnering me praise.

I held on tight, knowing it would last a long time, each stroke reverberating through the plug, slamming sounds out of me. It felt like a pounding relentless fuck, getting hit with that baton, hard and ramming, and it made me grind my cunt onto him and moan. I forgot everything but that I was on Sir’s lap, my ass stuffed full, getting pummeled by his baton. The room disappeared, contracted to my need, which had been building all day. I began to beg, pleading with him to let me come for him, describing how much I needed it.

He told me I had to wait.

I began to whimper, words escaping as I throbbed and thought about his cock swelling under me, picturing my ass with the black-and-blue plug, knowing he wanted my thighs and cheeks to match it, aching for release.

I was lost in my own need, writhing on Sir’s lap, when I felt Dexter’s hands grip my hair. I spasmed, loud begging noises coming from my throat, until they were silenced by his cock, hard and thick and made of unforgiving silicone. Sir kept slamming the baton into me, and it drove my mouth onto Dexter’s cock, his hands holding me there, taking my throat for his own, claiming me.

“I know how much Christian likes the sounds you make. I want to feel you begging around my cock, girl,” he said.

I worked to get louder, choking on his cock, my whimpers so loud in my own head, tears flowing. I could feel my need covering my skin, wrapping me up; my cunt grabbing air, aching to be full too; my throat gaspingly crammed. It was so much, too much, building and building inside me with nowhere to go. I began to beg louder, desperate to come, and I could hear Sir chuckle.

“No, girl. You don’t get to come until he does. So you better please him.”

I began to sob, choking, helpless, my hands reaching for Dexter, grasping for his thighs, holding on, as if I was going to wash away. I looked up at him, eyes begging, throat closing on his cock, needing him to come. I formed the words around him somehow, over and over.

“Please, Sir. Please. Please. Please, Sir.”

I didn’t know if he could understand, but I said it again and again, taking him into me, aching for him, all my need concentrated on his release. His hands gripped my hair tighter, moving my mouth how he wanted it. Yes, I thought. Yes, use me, take me, claim me. Sir offered me to you, and now I offer me too. Take what you need from me. I want you to have it. Please take me. Please.

There is no greater high than this, when I give myself over, my need wrapping around another’s. I wanted him, wanted to please him, wanted him to use me, wanted to be given and taken, to be worthy for exchange. Sir began to beat my inner thighs, and I wanted to be sore and bruised for him, ached for it, wanted these men to take exactly what they needed from me.

Dexter shuddered in my mouth, growling, his hands holding me still as he thrust, deep in my throat, coming. I closed my eyes and savored it, knowing I had pleased him.

“Come for me,” Sir said.

I did, letting it out, moaning around Dexter’s cock, writhing on Sir’s lap as he continued to slam the baton into my thighs, holding on as hard as I could. It felt so good to come, so right.

I felt limp, as they moved me around, got me situated, ready for the next thing they wanted to do to me. It wasn’t until I felt myself being held down and spread wide that I fully opened my eyes. Sir had my head resting on his bare cock, his thighs pressing my arms into the bed. My ass was propped up on a pillow, my skirt pulled up, and Sir’s boots were spreading my legs, holding me open. I was cradled between his legs, held open for Dexter, who could see everything. My eyes met Dexter’s, captivated, as Sir laid his gloved hand across my throat. Oh.

Dexter pulled his belt from his jeans, the sound making my heart race.

“You need to be marked here too,” he said, running his hand along the front of my thigh above my stocking.

Yes, I thought. Mark me.

“Please,” I said, my voice trembling.

Belts reached inside me. The pain invaded, ripped through me, wrapping round my throat and stopping my breath. He did not warm me up, and I wanted it that way. Wanted him brutal, wanted him to claim me without holding back. Wanted to show him how my Sir had taught me to take pain, savor its delights and feed it back to him, tears streaming, moaning for more. I wanted his belt deep inside me, as his cock had been and hopefully would be again.

“Take it for me,” he said.

I took him in, tasting like liquid metal in my throat, trembling with the intensity of his belt, and let the pain pour out of my eyes, stream out of my mouth; let my cunt drip with it as my ass clenched around it. I begged him for more even as I screamed, my hands clutching the blanket, safely held down by my Sir, feeling him smile proudly at me.

My thighs were on fire, and the flames took me over, until I could feel my cunt burning with it, my chest hot, and I was begging to come for him; could I please show him how much I appreciated his cruelty, please, Sir.

He laughed, and refused me, continuing to lay pain onto me as I writhed, moaning, sobbing with it, blazing. I begged him not to stop, to please keep hurting me, claiming me with his belt. Saying that I needed it, needed his marks on me. He was ruthless and I shuddered with it, a conflagration of need taking me over. I was in that place where I felt like I could take all the pain in the world, eat it all and spit the flames of it right back, a burning circle between us, for as long as he wanted, perhaps longer.

He stopped. Let me writhe in hunger, aching for him, wanting more, begging him to hurt me. He just smiled his cruel smile and watched me, as Sir covered my mouth and nose with his hand, taking my breath and holding it. He made me come, as he held on to my breath, orgasm exploding in my head, sounds escaping my mouth around his hand. I started to move my head, fighting to breathe. Finally, he let me breathe.

“Thank you, Sir.” I said, my eyes locking on Christian’s, thanking him for so much more than just the privilege of breathing.

Dexter got on the bed with us, reaching for me, and I could feel Sir relax a little. This was what he wanted. They smiled at each other, and there was such intimacy in it, a thousand scenes, hundreds of nights of shared enjoyment. They had missed each other. It was palpable in the room, this aching hurt in their throats. Together again, after seven years, able to connect again. I was one of the conduits of that connection, I could feel it. I was being offered, and with me came new possibilities.

When Dexter’s knees came to rest on my thighs, spreading them even wider, I gasped. Then I felt his mouth on my nipple, subtle, precise, a dozen points of pleasure concentrated together, and I began to writhe. His hand gripped the other nipple, thumbing it gently, and I could not be still. My nipples are very sensitive, gentle touch is intense, and firm touch hurts. He was being gentle, and it made my cunt grab for something, aching to be filled. I was spread wide, writhing and empty, and it was overwhelming, this pleasure so close to my heart. I began to cry.

He moaned around my nipple, and Sir began to stroke my hair, forcing gentleness upon me, making me stay with it. My ass was so full and my cunt so greedy, my mouth formed this O of ache, tears streaming down my cheeks. Sir told me that I could come, as many times as I wanted, as long as Dexter was touching my nipples, and I sobbed, looking up at him, devastated by this. Dexter’s hand left my nipple, and instead I felt Sir’s gloved hand on my chest, pressing into my breast, just holding it firmly. I came, moaning, begging them to stop; it was too much.

They knew better, and made me take it, as Dexter’s tongue wrote pleasure on my skin, and Sir’s hand held me. Dexter’s hand pressed down onto my cunt, cupping me, the heel of his palm pressing onto me, firmly, and I came again, shuddering, whimpering. He began to suck my nipple, and I begged him to stop making me come, I couldn’t take it, it was too much. He didn’t stop; I knew he wouldn’t, and I couldn’t stop sobbing.

Sir began to stroke my throat, Dexter licked a line across my chest to the other nipple, and it undid me. I couldn’t do it anymore. Anything but this. Give me pain, force me to take it for your pleasure, fuck me ruthlessly, don’t just give and give like this. I began to try to fight my way free, Sir’s thigh holding me down, Dexter’s weight sinking into me, not letting me free, as he tongued and sucked and tortured my nipple with gentleness, his finger reaching down to stroke along the side of my clit. I held on to the bed as tight as I could, coming, begging them to hurt me, to fuck me, to stop doing this to me, the pain in my thighs from Dexter’s knees anchoring me.

“Please, Sir. Please hurt me. Please. I will do anything. Please. Please hurt me. I need it. Please. I can’t stand it. Please hurt me.”

Finally, he did. His teeth sunk into my nipple, and it was so good. He had me tight between his molars, and ground my nipple between them, and the pain was lightning intense, and exactly what I needed.

“Please don’t stop. Please, Sir. Please don’t stop.”

Sir’s hand gripped my other nipple and twisted it between his thumb and finger, and I screamed, so grateful, begging them not to stop.

“Come for me,” Sir said.

As I came, I felt the baton sliding between my thighs, entering my cunt. It was hard and cold and slippery and I wanted it deep inside me now. My cunt grabbed on to it, my ass contracted around the plug and my breath caught in my throat as I realized how full I was going to be. I began to beg louder for him to fuck me, now, hard, fill me, thrust it into me. I needed it. He kept it right there at the entrance, teasing me with it, as Sir began to run his nails along my nipples, smiling down at me.

They felt good at first, sharp intense sweetness. But soon they began to just hurt in a tormenting stomach-constricting way. They made my ass grab on to the plug and my skin shiver and I could not stop my toes from clenching over and over, my eyes locked to his, begging him to stop. The baton burrowed into me, and it was so hard. My cunt grabbed for it, spasming around it, and I started to cry. It was too much, too overwhelming, and I begged them to stop. The baton went still inside me, and it was too fucking much to have it there, insistent, the hardest thing imaginable. My ass was full, my cunt stuffed, my legs spread wide, my arms held down, and I could not take it, and yet I had to. They were giving me exactly what I needed, what I had begged for, and I didn’t want it anymore, but I still took it. Tears were sliding along my neck, and I couldn’t even form words anymore, just whimpers.

Sir smiled down at me, put his hands round my throat, and ordered me to come for him. My body responded before I even thought it, just began to move, wracked with pleasure so intense it hurt, my hands clasping on to the bed as hard as I could. As I came, Dexter held the baton there, not letting my spasms push it out. It was relentlessly wooden and stiff inside me, and I ached to be impaled upon it. He pulled it back just a bit, and pressed up with it, in that perfect spot, twisting it inside me, and I sobbed, begging to come, not sure I could stop it from happening. Sir gave me permission, and I spurted all over that baton, my entire body shaking.

Dexter slid it out of me, smiling into my eyes, and stroked my skin, feeling me tremble. I whimpered for him, eyes begging, lost. Sir fed me water, smiling down at me. Dexter lifted his head to look at Christian, raising his brow and gesturing. Sir nodded, and Dexter gave him a wicked grin.

“That kind of girl, eh?”

“She’s very good,” Sir said, and the words sunk into my skin, calming me just a bit. “She will do it, for me.”

Dexter pulled out his cock and told me he was going to fuck me now, that he hoped it would make me cry, because he loved nothing better than to fuck girls as they were crying. Sir hooked his boots around my thighs, spreading me so wide I could feel the muscles pulled taut. He attached clover clamps to my nipples, and gripped the chain tight, pulling on it so I could feel it tighten the clamps. I stopped breathing, staring at Dexter’s cock, not sure I could do it. He scared me, the way he wanted my tears.

Sir told me that I could come as much as I wanted to with Dexter’s cock inside me, and that I had to take it for him, for as long as Dexter wanted; that I was his to offer, and I needed to make him proud. He said he would help me, give me pain, hold me down, spread my legs, keep me in his arms. It was my job to take it.

I didn’t think I could do it. The slightest touch felt so intense. The steady pull of my thigh muscles, the twisting pain in my nipples after all that, and I could barely breathe. I could feel my eyes go wild, could sense the panic brewing.

He took me. He just rammed his way home, hilt deep, and it felt so right. My cunt needed him. His eyes grabbed mine, his weight pressing me into the bed, my head shifting until I felt Sir’s cock curve around my neck.

I was surrounded by them, covered in them; it all blended together, swirling into a maelstrom of sex and need and pain and helplessness and pleasure, as he pounded into me, his eyes holding mine captive. All I could do was let go, give myself over to it. The lightning pain in my nipples, the cock slamming into my cervix, the plug so thick in my ass, the bruises on my thighs and ass aching, Sir’s cock sliding along my neck as he began to pant just a bit.

It was a storm of sensation and I finally found my calm in it, letting go of everything, my body limp, feeling myself filled again and again, the center of connection between them; feeling them squeezing into every crevice of me. Sir reached for Dexter, resting his hand in the center of Dexter’s back, and the electricity shot through me, slamming me as I screamed.

I writhed between them, caught, trapped, feeling them smash into me, both of them, as Dexter reached for Sir, and they held each other, me between them. It built in my chest and cunt, this intense ache, and Dexter drove it out of me with his cock, Sir yanked it out of me with that chain, and I let it out, pouring from me, sobbing, coming, desperate, losing all sense of ground.

Dexter roared in satisfaction, shoving his cock into me even harder, so fast I could tell he was coming too, pushing another orgasm out of me before I finished that last one, and I was sure I was not going to make it, and started whimpering as I cried and shook my head. He began to growl as he fucked me, ramming into me, telling me I had to take it for him, that he was going to fuck me as much he needed to, and I had to take it. I was sobbing and shaking my head, I couldn’t take it, it was too much, too hard, and I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t let go any more. I had to hold on to something. He was merciless, grinning down at me as I cried, moaning and grinding his cock into my cunt in time with my sobs.

He shuddered inside me, his eyes feral and frightening. I didn’t want him in me anymore, he was too scary, too much. I couldn’t do it, I didn’t know how to please him, wasn’t sure he really wanted me to let go. I shook my head harder, crying, and looked up at Sir, desperate.

Sir told me to just let go and take it for him, that he needed me to please Dexter. There was no escape from it. I was trapped between them, helpless. I took a slow breath, and looked up at Dexter, aching for him to tell me what he wanted from me.

“This is how I like it. I like fucking you as you cry. I like knowing that it’s my cock that is making you cry. I like claiming your cunt with my cock as the tears slide down your cheeks, knowing you are helpless to stop me. That’s my good girl. Cry for me.”

I felt the tightness in my chest release. He did want me, he did want me to cry as he fucked me. I could really let go. I wailed, and held his eyes as I did it, feeling his cock ramming into me, letting it all out, showing it to him, feeling how it made him come. It felt so good to let go. He was really going to catch me. I was safe. He leaned over, and slid his finger along my cheek, sliding it into his mouth and grinding his cock into me as he tasted my tears. Then he lifted up, and pulled Sir’s mouth down to his.

“Taste her tears on my lips,” he said reverently, going still inside me, holding his breath as he waited for Sir to complete the motion and kiss him.

I held my breath too, knowing how much they both needed this, how important it was. I trembled, waiting, trying desperately to be quiet for this moment. Hoping.

When they finally kissed, I was aching to breathe, and couldn’t. It was like a prayer at first, and then filled with hunger, and sadness, and so much love it made my heart burst and my cunt explode, and I couldn’t be quiet anymore.

They began to writhe with me as they kissed more fiercely, cocks shuddering as they came, growling into each other’s mouths. And after we came, we broke into laughter, falling all over each other, sweaty and joyous, limbs all confused and tangled, eyes smiling.

My Sirs wrapped me up that night between them, holding me as we slept, hands gently stroking me, heads resting against mine, slow steady breath on my skin. They had found each other again, and we all knew that they would not let go this time. It was what we all wanted, needed. They were big enough, powerful enough, and cruel enough, to hold all of my aching desperate need, wring every ounce out of me. And I was glad to be held by them, used by them, claimed by them both.