Best of the Best Lesbian Erotica by Tristan Taormino

Author:Tristan Taormino
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Cleis Press
Published: 2010-08-16T04:00:00+00:00

Meeting Halfway

Peggy Munson

This is because she likes to be protected, I think to myself, stretching the belt taut between my hands and pressing it flat over her mouth, to hold her lips shut and her head to the pillow. This is because she likes to be protected, I think to myself, as I buy her bondage bracelets, a dog collar, as I ease my hands into leather gloves. This is because she likes to be protected, I think to myself, as I hold her down on the bed.

This is because she needs me as much as I need her, I think to myself, as I pull into the parking lot of the hotel. I hate arriving first, worrying she won’t show up. All I can do is think of ways I would like to remind her of what I can give her that nobody else can. When she finally pulls up, late, I want to punish her for making me wait. All I can say when she taunts me in the room, though, is “Fuck you,” like some monosyllabic child whose parents cuss around the house. I repeat it again and again, “Fuck you,” with different emphasis, until she finally taunts, “So, why don’t you fuck me, then?”

I circle her a few times. I know she dressed for me, even though she’s tried to look like she pulled something off the floor just to cover herself. She gives me her cutest hangdog expression because she knows she has pushed me just as far as she needs to. I pull her to me, kiss her roughly, unbutton the fly of her Levi’s with my thumb and forefinger, let her stand there for a minute while I examine her. We know neither of us will be satisfied sitting around talking. We’ve been waiting. My hands shook in anticipation when I took the keys from the desk clerk.

I push her onto the bed, yank her down over my knee, and pull down her Levi’s. I stroke the softness of her underwear, the cottony, well-washed softness of it. She wants the reprieve of exposure. She wants me to know her quickly, forget formalities and bring the secrets of her blood tingling to the surface. But first I stroke the cotton, as if I were getting myself off in a fabric store imagining a wealth I never had, fondling the finest velvet, the tightest weave of silk, the frivolity of gingham. I bend down and kiss her where her spine starts to curve inward, then lick the top of the elastic. She moans quietly. I move my hand in slow circles on the cotton, over the curvature of her ass, down the quiet ravine into the warmth of her cunt. I hold my hand millimeters away, just thawing myself there, and then press slowly against her cunt to see how wet she is. I bend down so my lips are right over her ear. “I know what you need,” I say to her. “I can make you wet just by telling you.

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