Lesbian Erotica
"The Gold Trail" a sex story by Clio Jones
Nell has an art show, her first, a group of drawings and paintings inspired mostly by female saints. She's been super-secretive, riding her bike down to the studio space she shares with four other artists -- each with a schedule of appointed hours. This is her first show. Avery will be the first one to see it.
It's in a new gallery, in the street level of a converted warehouse. A steel door with a sliding grate, the kind popular in Prohibition times that is too heavy for most girls (including Nell) to lift, marks the entryway. Unless you knew what you were looking for, you'd never find it. It's a windowless space, although the owners have installed expansive skylights in the ceiling to create the illusion of openness. From the way Nell walks around it's clear she knows every inch of the space. The opening is later that evening, and Nell's already dressed for it in a short skirt, heels and tight lycra jersey. Nell's already gone to the hairdresser to have her kinky hair blown and curled into ringlets; she could be a character from Elizabethan England, with her ringlets and made-up lips and long strands of pearls in her ears. Except that Nell's skin is coffee colored, and she has inky black eyes and a curvy, womanly figure.
"And here is your favorite," Nell says, reaching for Avery's hand and interlacing her darker fingers with Avery's barely lighter ones. "Saint Theresa," she says. Avery echoes her. The figure gleams as if with sweat or holy fervor, shines like Nell's arching body the night before, as Avery had fucked her with their new strap-on. "It's perfect," Avery said.
"I had to work for days just to get the gold right. I have maybe a dozen rejected versions in my studio."
"I'd love to see those," Avery says. "I'm sure they're really interesting. I can collect the series."
"You're my biggest fan."
"That's right, I am," Avery answers, stepping back and putting her arms around Nell. She stands behind her, looking up at the wall of art inspired by the saints, but also by Avery herself, who'd been the one to tell Nell the story of Saint Theresa. As Nell leans back, enjoying the embrace, Avery peppers her shoulder and neck with little kisses. "I'm so proud of you."
"I did it for you." Nell spins around to face Avery and traces the sharp line of her face with one trembling finger. "You're the best thing in my life."
"Well, I think I take back seat to the show right now. This is going to make you. The critics are going to love it. Flyers are up all around the neighborhood -- I'm sure this place will be packed."
"No, you're still the best," Nell says, leaning in. Her lips are soft and warm. She takes Avery's lower lip between hers and sucks softly. When Nell gets all femme, she is usually in the mood for soft kisses and gentle touches. She wriggles closer to Avery, pressing her body against Avery's. Hip to hip, breast to breast.
One of the things Avery loves about Nell is that they're the same height. And they're almost the same hue -- Nell is slightly darker-skinned.
Their kisses grow longer, deeper. Nell backs Avery into the desk at one end of the gallery, and the slightly rounded wood edge prods her ass. "Hey," Avery whispers "stop."
"No, baby." Another thing about Nell in her femme moods: she likes to be in control, keeping Avery enthralled and in her power. "I think this occasion calls for a little celebration." She pulls her jersey over her head, revealing a lacy pink bra. She eases the shoulder straps down, steps in closer, purposely placing one hand on the lip of the table between Avery's open legs, close enough to feel the heat from her body. "I mean, don't you want to touch me?" Nell giggles, lowering her half-covered breasts in Avery's face "Just a little?" If Avery tilts forward, just a little, she can get the annoying bra out of the way and bury her face in Nell's chest. Avery squeezes her legs around Nell's fingers, straining to be touched, as she takes the lace between her teeth and lowers it, kissing the soft flesh. She lazily flicks her tongue on Nell's brown nipples; she could do this all day.
"It's my celebration," Nell says. She gently wrestles Avery's head out of her chest. Then she pushes her back against the desk, not entirely lightly. The thud that results from Avery's body sinking into the desk is satisfying. Nell reaches out and dips her hand under the lip of her girlfriend's pants. She digs lower, rubbing her fingers over Avery's pubic bone, groping to feel the wetness.
"I'm so wet," Avery admits. "God, I'm still thinking about last night." She'd strapped on a new dildo and fucked Nell hard, riding her from behind. The memory of Nell pushing herself backward, trying to fit the dildo shaft deeper into her pussy, moaning so loud that Avery began to get nervous about their roommates hearing them. Afterward, Nell sank to her knees and sucked on the dildo, twirling it around in her mouth, bracing her hands on Avery's butt and squeezing her round cheeks rhythmically as she licked her own juices from the toy. She'd been so hungry for it, so hot and turned on and wet. It was the sexiest thing Avery had seen in a while. She'd been slightly wet all day thinking about it, and now the warm wetness leaked out and onto Nell's fingers.
Caught Moment #1 by Samantha Wolov
"I know," Nell says. "But this is my celebration. Which means: I get to decide what to do to you."
"Fair enough," Avery says, reaching out to twist Nell's firm nipples. But Nell backs up, out of reach.
"No," she says. "I want you frustrated and horny and dripping wet." She walks away from Avery, goes behind the desk, and begins rifling through the drawers. Nell pulls out a small vial, and a paintbrush.
"What's that," Avery asks.
"My gold leaf," Nell says. "I still have a little left. I thought maybe I'd stake my claim on you."
With that, she carefully undoes Avery's shirt and unhooks her bra. She nuzzles Avery's breasts, sucking greedily on her nipples, kneading her flesh until it is ripe and round. Then she pulls back and with an artist's eye begins to dab each breast with the gold leaf. Delicate designs emerge: flowers, abstract shapes. On her sternum, the old mathematical equation: I love you, with a plump heart and a capital letter U.
Avery laughs a little, because the paint tickles. Nell moves to her arms now, rubs them with tiny circles. She paints three solid lines, one for each of the years they've been together, in a thick armband around Avery's upper arm. She moves lower, kissing the delicate expanse of Avery's belly, tonguing her belly button, trailing the paintbrush after wherever her lips go.
She sinks to her knees, pushing her face into the crotch of Avery's underwear, mouthing the cotton between her lips and Avery's clit, teasing out the wetness. Avery grips the table for stability. Nell peels the dripping wet panties from Avery's body, and slides them down her thighs. The paintbrush tickles back and forth between Avery's legs, drawing her attention away from the insistent pressure on her clit. Nell sucks and swirls, and pushes her face deeper into Avery.
Avery shivers. The paint is a nice distraction, tickling and pricking her inner thighs. It has the effect of drawing all the sensation and blood and pleasure in her body into that tiny triangle of pussy and thighs, and each new dot of gold paint finds resonance with the slide of Nell's tongue over Avery's clit. Avery shivers, riding the sensations as she reaches orgasm. The plunge begins. She cries out, lightly rocking back and forth, feeling as though her whole body is poised on Nell's fingers and Nell's mouth. She lowers herself, wanting to be consumed alive.
She falls as she comes, sprawls backward over the desk, and finds herself staring at the gallery ceiling. Nell is quick to follow, not wanting to break the spell. She hovers over Avery's body, trading her fingers for her mouth. She rubs Avery's clit, and finds a rhythmic stroke that sends Avery over the edge.
When Avery finishes, Nell takes her fingers, smeared with pussy juice, and rubs them over her belly and across her hips. "We're both marked now," she says. "I'm yours, and you're mine."
"Right," Avery says, slowly pulling her clothes back on and sitting upright.
"I owe all my success to you," Nell whispers, stroking the hairs on Avery's arm.
And the show is a success. As hordes of art critics and hangers-on gather around Nell to pepper her with questions about her inspiration, her process, and all those other things, she repeats that line to them. "I owe it all to my girlfriend Avery." Avery smirks, hearing in those words an echo of the pleasure they took that afternoon across the desk, the same desk that now bears wine and cheese and the hors d'oeuvres that all these women feed upon. Avery reaches under her shirt to touch the dried gold paint and smiles.
Originally published March 2006 - "Straight Lines and Sexy Curves"