Best Lesbian Erotica 2015 Read online

  Michelle, one of Justine’s fellow WASPs, shook her head as she watched the crowd. “You’d think those guys had never seen a woman before.”

  Carla, Justine’s other fellow WASP, just smiled. “That’s fine by me,” she said. “That means we’ll have our pick of the litter after she’s done warming them up.”

  Olivia Hill spanked herself with the sparkler, bringing wall-shaking cheers from the airmen. She finished her song, lit an airman’s cigarette with her sparkler and then disappeared behind a curtain.

  “Come on,” Michelle said. “Let’s work our way closer so we can rub against some of those fellas.”

  “I’m going to get some air,” Justine said. “It’s like an oven in here.”

  “We’ll see you back at the bunks, then,” Carla said. She and Michelle weaved into the crowd and were soon swarmed by horny pilots and mechanics.

  Justine shut the mess-hall door behind her while she tugged at her uniform’s collar. It was eerily quiet. She froze in place and thought for a moment that stealth Japanese commandos had raided the base. She let out her breath when she saw a couple MPs walk by.

  “Hey, you!”

  Justine turned to see another MP was moving toward her with urgency. She wondered if she’d unknowingly committed an offense or if someone had found out about what happened with that waitress outside Hamilton Air Force Base in Novato.

  Justine stood at attention. “Yes, sir?”

  “You have some hairpins, don’t you?”

  The question was so out of left field that Justine gawked at him.

  “Hairpins!” he yelled. “In your hair! Right?”

  She jolted out of her confusion and patted her pinned brown hair. “Y-Yes, of course, sir.”

  “Come with me,” the MP ordered and then turned away without making sure she’d followed.

  Justine caught up with him and he took her around to the back of the mess hall. Two more MPs stood at a door, but one opened it to let Justine and her escort inside. She could hear Abbott and Costello cracking more jokes. The swing band lounged in the kitchen’s makeshift backstage area, smoking cigarettes and begrudgingly drinking bottles of root beer.

  The MP held open a door to a storeroom. He pointed to the room and kept thrusting his hand to urge her along.

  “Today, WASP!”

  Justine scurried into the room and was greeted by the smell of lilacs. It had been so long since she’d smelled flowers that the scent almost gave her a head rush. She saw the racks of pots and pans and dry goods and then the mirror propped up on cans of beans. She saw the red, white and blue sequined bikini draped over bags of ground coffee.

  Olivia Hall stood with her back to Justine. She was putting on a green toga and her beautiful bare back moved like a rippling bedsheet hanging to dry in a slow wind. Justine saw no lilacs and realized the smell was Miss Hall’s perfume.

  “Close the door, will you?” Miss Hall asked.

  Justine shut the door. She was surprised at how quiet it was in the storeroom.

  “Some dressing room, huh?” Miss Hall asked.

  Justine swallowed. “It sure is, Miss Hall.”

  “Please, call me Olivia. You’re the pilot here. I’m just an actress.”

  “I wouldn’t say you’re just an actress, Miss—Olivia. You’ve starred with Basil Rathbone. I thought you matched him.”

  Olivia smiled over her shoulder at Justine. Justine’s hands flinched.

  “Thanks,” Olivia said. “Basil’s a true gentleman. He made the job easy.” She turned to face Justine. “What do you think of the outfit?”

  Justine thought that the one precarious knot behind her neck in the green sheet Olivia appeared to be wearing would come undone with even a tiny tug. “It’s going to drive those airmen out of their minds.”

  “They are sweet, aren’t they?”

  “I suppose so.” Justine bit back the words, but it was too late. She looked down at a box of powdered eggs.

  “It’s supposed to be a Lady Liberty outfit,” Olivia said. “I’ll walk out there with another sparkler in one hand and a book of Air Force regulations in the other. I have a crown.” She pointed to a green crown near the mirror. “But I forgot hairpins. Can you believe it?”

  Justine looked up from the powdered eggs. “Oh! I wondered why that MP kept asking me about them.” She took off her hat and pulled the pins from her hair, letting her brown curls bounce down to her jaw. She handed the pins to Olivia. The palm of her hand was soft and warm.

  “It’s a shame you can’t wear your hair down,” Olivia said.

  “It’s adorable.”

  Justine blushed. “Thanks.”

  “Now will you help me with the costume?” Olivia asked.

  Justine looked around the storeroom. “Which one?”

  Olivia pointed at her chest. “This one.”

  Justine’s lips curled out as she attempted to express her confusion but couldn’t find the words to do it. “It looks great. I don’t think it needs anything.”

  Olivia giggled. “Oh, darling, you’ve been on this base too long. It’s a good thing you don’t play baseball because you’d never make it home if you kept missing so many signs.”

  The room grew humid. Justine’s hands twitched again. “Signs?”

  “You threw enough at me the moment you walked in.”

  “I did?”

  “It’s in your walk, honey. And in your eyes when I caught you looking at my back.”

  Justine started to back toward the door. “Miss Hall, I can’t—”

  “Neither can I. It’d be quite a scandal if MGM found out, wouldn’t it? It’s a good thing the band’s going to play a couple numbers and I have this dressing room to myself. No one will hear a thing.” She took Justine’s hands and moved them to the toga’s knot. “Now help me with this outfit.”

  They started with a slow kiss as Olivia’s toga fell to the floor. She was naked and Justine wanted nothing more than to get out of her WASP uniform, pop open a can of cooking oil and rub it all over both of them. Olivia kept it slow, however, and their tongues quickly met before Justine dared to hold Olivia by the head for a stronger kiss. She stroked Olivia’s plump breasts and Olivia finally started to unbutton Justine’s uniform.

  She had Justine naked just as the band started up their set. She nudged Justine to sit back on a stack of sugar bags. Justine leaned against the cool wall as Olivia got on her knees. She didn’t waste time. She licked down Justine’s belly and soon Justine was holding her by the head and rubbing her pussy on Olivia’s face. Justine closed her eyes and turned her head to make extra sure she wouldn’t linger too long on the sight of Olivia Hall’s movie-star mouth clamped onto her cunt. The image almost made her come and she didn’t want things to end too soon.

  Olivia stood up so they could kiss again. Justine let a little shudder escape, but held back the lurking spasms that struggled against the cage of her belly. She took Olivia by the shoulders and laid her back on the bags of sugar. She wanted, needed, to feel inside her. Olivia smiled as she spread her knees and stroked Justine’s hair. Justine lapped at her clit and slipped one finger inside her. It was like reaching into a little jar of warm honey. She tasted just as good.

  She wanted to feel more. She slipped another finger into her and used her other hand to rub Olivia’s clit. Olivia rocked on her hand. Little cries popped out of her mouth that went unheard by the USO crew outside the room thanks to the swing band.

  Olivia grabbed her by the chin and looked dead into her eyes. “Harder, pilot, harder.”

  Justine grinned. “How much harder?”

  Olivia grabbed her wrist and pumped Justine’s fingers deeper and faster. “Just like that. Like that.”

  Justine obliged as Olivia sat back to play with her own nipples. Olivia’s little moans became little giggles and then joyful laughs as she soaked Justine’s fingers. Justine pulled out her slippery fingers and put them in her mouth, humming as she sucked them.

  “I love these USO tou
rs,” Olivia said.

  She pulled Justine down on top of her and wrapped one leg around her back. She slapped Justine on the behind to encourage her, and Justine started grinding her cunt against Olivia’s. Olivia nodded in approval and her short cries and moans, mixed with the smacks on Justine’s ass, started to fill the little room.

  Justine felt the fuse light at the bottom of her throat as Olivia kept spanking her and their pussies bumped each other so hard that the sugar bags started to shift underneath them. The fuse ran down over their sweat-beaded tits and between their bellies. It reached her clit, which she pictured as a big hard cock plowing into Olivia, and there it set off the charge. Justine’s body snapped rigid, her eyelids fluttered, a sugar bag burst, and she let out a long grunt that she was sure could be heard even over the swing band.

  They lay in a sweaty clench atop the sugar bags and stole little kisses from each other until there was a knock.

  “Five minutes, Miss Hill,” said a USO crewman from the other side of the door.

  “Do you still want help with that outfit?” Justine asked.

  Olivia laughed. “I sure do.”

  Justine helped her put on the Lady Liberty costume. They pinned up the toga so it showed off her shapely legs. Justine gave Olivia’s hair a quick comb as Olivia scribbled a note with her lipstick on the back of a bag of coffee.

  Justine put the crown on Olivia’s head. Olivia grabbed the airmen’s manual and another sparkler before heading for the door. She turned back and tossed Justine the bag of coffee.

  Her phone number was on the back. Justine stared at it in disbelief. There were hundreds of airmen outside who would go on a hundred suicide missions for it.

  Olivia opened the door and looked back before heading out for her next number. “Call me if you’re ever in Hollywood, and stick around for now, pilot. I’ll need help getting out of this in about fifteen minutes.”

  KRISTIE’S GAME

  Alexandra Delancey

  “I’ve always wanted to try it with a woman,’ she said. I flicked a smiled at her and looked away again, too bored to put a response together.

  It hadn’t been a good night. It had started well, with a bunch of friends having drinks at my place. Melissa had come back from her trip to Europe full of stories, and there was Max, and Tina who I hadn’t seen forever. But after that things had deteriorated, exponentially. In the rush of getting taxis, Adriana had somehow not ended up in my taxi, and I’d taken a taxi alone with Kelly. I could see Adriana’s point. The feeling of Kelly’s thigh pressing against mine during the journey, and the glimpses of cleavage she kept insinuating under my nose were probably the reasons why I hadn’t immediately called Adriana when I arrived at the venue. And after that, I got swept through the door in a jumble of tickets and stamps and coats, and didn’t stop until Adriana’s small figure was three feet away, yelling into my face for all she was worth.

  “How could you forget me?” she was screaming over and over, ignoring my attempts to explain myself. Then we’d ended up out in the parking lot. Me shivering hard, regretting putting my coat away before she’d had a chance to get hold of me, and her going at it, blaming me for everything that had ever gone wrong between us. If anything, Adriana was too beautiful for me. I remember looking down at her, my teeth clamped together, partly to stop them chattering and partly so I didn’t scream back at her, with her flashing black eyes and flashing white teeth, and thinking there was something weird about someone looking so perfect when she was so angry.

  When I wasn’t saying anything, Adriana called her entourage, and they rolled up minutes later and swept her off, maybe for the last time. She was a firecracker. A tiny, Italian firecracker. Max had said it, before I’d even known who she was, and, of course, it had been part of the initial attraction. But it was our thirty thousandth argument, and I’d had about all I could take. I’d gone back inside and ordered a mohito to celebrate, and one for Kelly, and then a stray dab of coke had come my way and everything had gone fuzzy.

  And then there was no more coke, and it seemed Kelly had left without me, and so had everyone else, and I had no idea how I’d gotten here. But here I was: in a grimy bar on the other side of the city, bored, bored, bored, and unimpressed by the straight girl who was straining for my attention. Short of anything else to do, I tuned back in.

  “Or maybe you’re not that kind of girl,” I heard her say. I turned my head and looked at her properly. She was blonde, blue eyed and very slender, with naturally straight hair. Not my type. But she was exceptionally pretty. Prettier even than Adriana, maybe, and definitely prettier than I deserved right now. I turned back and surveyed my reflection in the mirror behind the bar. I looked wrecked by all standards; my eyes were big, dark smudges, and my hair was in tangles. But, I must admit, the effect was not unbecoming.

  “Yeah, I’m exactly that kind of girl,” I replied.

  At last the bartender was looking my way. I waved a twenty and he came over.

  “Two Sambuca shots!” I yelled, wincing at the alcohol-soaked rasp to my voice.

  “Where’s your boyfriend?” I said to the girl, more roughly than I would’ve liked.

  “Oh, I’ve been single for a couple of months,” she said. I looked her up and down, from the flawless hair, to the baby-pink dress, to the attack-me shoes. Girls like that didn’t travel alone. They went in packs, more tight and complicit than Adriana’s.

  “And you’re out by yourself?”

  “I was with a friend,” she said quickly. “She picked up.”

  “And dumped you?”

  “I don’t mind. It’s kind of an agreement we have. And then I realized I wasn’t far from here, and…”

  “And you found yourself wandering in?”

  “Yeah. I mean, I’ve passed it before and thought it was probably a gay bar.”

  The shots arrived, and we clinked shot glasses and swallowed aniseed intensity. With the heat glowing all the way down to my stomach, I leaned forward and kissed her, experimentally. At first, I felt her pull back. So, this wasn’t some pickup line—she really hadn’t been with a girl before. But then she kissed me back, really launched herself at me. Her lips were a sugary crush, and her tongue hungrily probed my mouth. It was a hot, sticky, arousing kiss, and soon the heat in my stomach spread down to my clit. I nudged my stool closer and pulled her toward me. My knee eased between hers and her thighs parted easily. Her skirt was forced up high enough to give me a glimpse of underwear: probably some butt-eating thong, but it looked like lace, at least. Out of the bartender’s sight, I groped her breast over the fabric of her dress and felt the soft warmth of an unpadded bra. She moaned when I pinched her nipple, shooting another bolt of heat into my clit.

  Already I was at my turning point—the ache in my cunt that rose up, obliterating every other sensible thought. All of a sudden, I really wanted to fuck this girl. And I had a place in mind—a staff toilet upstairs that another girl and I had stumbled into months before, on the hunt for a little privacy. But I also wasn’t sure how wrecked I was. I pulled away from the girl and stood up. I stretched, ran my fingers through my hair, looked at myself in the mirror: no, I was good. I slipped between the girl’s thighs again.

  “So, let’s try it,” I said, close to her ear.

  “Wait—I don’t even know your name,” she said.

  “It’s George. What’s yours?”

  “Kristie,” she said. “George—so, that’s short for—Geor-gina?”

  “Maybe,” I said. I reached for her hand. “It doesn’t matter. Let’s go upstairs.”

  “Uh, okay,” she said, in a smaller voice than before. The hint of reluctance increased my desire for her. I cast a glance around as we walked away from the bar, but no one was paying us any attention. The bartender was talking to someone down at the other end of the room and anyone in the bar at this time of the night most likely had no idea what was going on anyway. I pointed out the stairs and made her walk ahead of me all the way, watching her hips moving fro
m side to side in her ridiculous shoes, the curve of her ass, the candy-pink dress lifting high on her thighs. I felt like a predatory beast, about to eat the Sugar Plum Fairy.

  The staff toilet was just past the top of the stairs. We stopped outside and I tried the door. It opened.

  “Come on.” I took her hand and pulled her inside. I flicked the light on. It was a bald strip light, concealing nothing. I bolted the door, and Kristie looked around dubiously at the small, shabby space—toilet, sink, mirror, bucket and mop, and a few coats hanging up. She met my eyes, hers showing apprehension. I moved close and kissed her hard on the mouth, twisted my hands in her hair. I was really turned on now, and I felt rough. I was still angry at Adriana, and I felt like I wanted to punish this pretty, expectant girl for it. I pulled the straps of her dress over her shoulders, and yanked the zip all the way down at the back. With nothing holding the dress up now, it fell to the ground. Kristie looked down at it, almost sadly, then stepped out of it and hung it up with the coats. Her underwear was pale pink as well, and matching. The mirror gave me a perfect view of her slender back and the round, firm asscheeks separated by what was indeed butt-eating underwear.

  “Take your underwear off,” I said. She looked at me, shocked by my abruptness, but I didn’t say anything else. Self-consciously, she reached behind her and unfastened her bra. She slipped the straps down and pulled the lace demi-cups away from her breasts. My breath caught at their round fullness, the small, rose-colored nipples, but I concealed my reaction from her.

  “And the rest,” I said. After a long pause, she hooked her fingers into the sides of her thong and eased it over her hips, down her thighs, and finally slid it over her ankles. In the mirror, I caught a scorching glimpse of her pussy as she bent over to retrieve it.

  Kristie stood up straight again, presenting herself to me. The elevation of her heels thrust her body forward. It was slender all over, with a nice, curvy waist and hips. She was perfectly smooth, every hair on her body immaculately waxed or shaved away. She was prepped like a sacrificial offering, I thought, smirking inwardly. Her bare pussy gaped very slightly, exposing a whisper of inner labia.