The Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica 12: Over 40 outstanding pieces of short erotic fiction (Mammoth Books)

by Jakubowski, Maxim

  They made it out of the hot tub, drying off with the sumptuous extra-large towels. When Emma reached for a robe, Janet tugged it out of her hand. “You don’t need it here,” she said, then squeezed Emma’s cheek. That pressure alone was enough to make her twitch.

  Emma thought about calling Russell on their way back to the room, but she removed her hand from the phone she clutched. She wanted Janet for herself, wanted to see what it was like to be spanked by this aggressive, sexy woman, before sharing her with Russell. The idea of Russell watching was exciting, but she didn’t want to feel like she was putting on a show, the way she sometimes did at the play parties they attended. She liked showing off, but only under the right circumstances.

  Emma shivered as they walked, noticing the envious stares, from men as well as women, when Janet put her arm around her, her hand resting on Emma’s hip. Emma’s fingers trembled as she inserted the key in the lock, and she took deep breaths to center herself. “Relax,” Janet whispered in her ear. “I’d say I don’t want to hurt you but, well . . . you know. I want to make you happy, though. I want to give you what you need, what you deserve, Emma. Why don’t you show me your toys?”

  Janet’s voice was calm but inviting, almost soothing. Emma pulled out their toy box and showed Janet a fraction of the kinky implements they owned; the ones that offered the most bang for the buck and were easy to travel with. Janet held up a wooden paddle with holes in it as well as a shiny red-leather slapper and the old standby, a solid hairbrush that Emma had never used on her hair. “Do you want to get over my knee?” Janet asked, her tone respectful but, Emma sensed, not for much longer.

  “Yes,” Emma said, caught somewhere between nerves and confidence. She wasn’t scared that she wouldn’t be able to take what Janet dished out, or that she wouldn’t like it. Her fears were more amorphous, more about opening this Pandora’s box.

  “It’s going to hurt, Emma, and it’s going to mark you. You have to be ready for that,” Janet said as Emma settled herself across the naked woman’s lap, her hair draping down toward the ground, her legs sticking out in the air. “Your safe word is spa.” Emma committed the word to memory, testing out the start of it, the hissing of the sp against her lips, making sure it was nestled somewhere at the back of her mind in case she needed to call it forth. She settled herself until she got comfortable, murmuring a confirmation. And then there was the first blow, rougher than Russell usually started out with, one that startled her into paying full attention. There was no Russell, no concern about what any of the guests would think, not even, except remotely, concern about what she herself would think. Emma’s focus was on Janet, on making sure she was good for her.

  And that was clearly Janet’s focus, too, as she praised her with “Good girl,” before using her right hand to deliver loud, stinging slaps, and then turning to the hairbrush. The blows were brisk and stern; Emma realized quickly that Janet was stronger than she looked. She wasn’t tasked with counting, the way Russell often made her, and she sank into the sensation of the spanking, the feel of every blow on her skin, which was still just tender enough from earlier to feel the sensation doubly.

  Emma was quiet, her quaking silent and internal, until she couldn’t keep it in anymore. “Ow,” she cried out, receiving a harder blow next. Her next cries weren’t words, merely screams, ones that made the smacks feel even better, helping her get through them in the same way she grunted when lifting a heavy weight at the gym. When Janet cupped her hand again against Emma’s hot ass and dug her long, sharp nails briefly into her skin, Emma whimpered. Janet picked up the paddle and smacked her on the border where her upper thigh met her ass. Emma knew she was getting wet, but she was too focused on her ass to care.

  The next blows were even fiercer, and Emma felt tears starting to fall as stuttering moans left her lips. “Do you want me to stop, Emma?” Janet asked, pausing in her ministrations to stroke Emma’s upper back. “Or should I get something else out of your toy box?”

  “Something else,” Emma said, her face heating up as she admitted that she wanted more.

  Janet lifted Emma and placed her face down on the bed, then slid her red silk eye mask over her eyes. “You just lie there and wait for me. Actually, spread those legs enough so I can see your pussy.” Just as Emma was obeying her, she heard a fumbling at the door. If she hadn’t had the blindfold on, she’d have given Janet a stricken look, but Janet simply pushed her head down and said, “Stay there, or your spanking ends. In fact, spread your legs even wider. I think Russell will want to see how pretty your lips look.”

  Emma sucked in a deep breath and did spread her legs. Janet moved toward the door and she heard only whispers before Janet laughed and said, “Come in, come in, you guys are just in time.”

  So Paul was still with Russell. “You don’t mind waiting until I’m done, do you? Honey, Emma was admiring my ass – very good job, sweetie – and apparently decided she needed to match me. Beautiful, isn’t she?” Janet said and, as she did so, Emma felt a blow from the riding crop greet her ass. They’d shifted from the wider heads to this crop, with its smaller, and therefore more stinging tip, one that Janet took full advantage of. The blows were more concentrated, striking one small section of Emma’s ass and making her bite her lip before moving on to another equally tender spot. “Don’t clench your cheeks, Emma; you won’t get to really feel it that way, and I know you like to feel it. Doesn’t she, Russell?”

  “Oh, yes,” he said, and she could hear the grin in his voice. Janet kept on striking her, occasionally making forays to her upper thighs and once or twice tapping at her pussy, which made more of the squeaking whimpers escape Emma’s lips. “Want a turn?” Janet asked, handing the crop to one of the men. Emma wasn’t sure which, even when the first very strong blow landed. She was too busy sucking the two fingers Janet had inserted into her mouth, pulling them as deep as she could, trying not to bite as the blows got harder and harder, ones she knew were leaving behind reminders on her skin that would be there throughout the trip. Emma sucked harder and harder on Janet’s fingers as the crop kept going and going, until finally she felt it ease away from her ass, the leather meandering down one leg, tickling the ball of a foot, then pressing against her pussy in a way that made her throb.

  “What do you think, Russell?” Janet asked as she eased her fingers out of Emma’s mouth. Emma was grateful for the eye mask, because she wasn’t sure she could handle seeing her husband and the man and woman they’d just met that afternoon seeing her in such a state.

  “Stunning. My Emma’s such a good girl, isn’t she? I hope you don’t mind, but I think I can take over from here.”

  “Not at all,” Janet said, and Emma wondered if he was going to keep spanking her, and wondered if she could take it.

  In moments, he was on top of her, his skin warm from the sun as he whispered in her ear. “You’re amazing, do you know that? I had no idea you had that in you. I’m going to reward you now, baby,” he said and then just like that, he was sliding his cock inside her. She didn’t care that Janet and Paul were watching, not after what they’d just seen. Well, she did care, actually, she found out as she heard them kissing. She cared enough to get even wetter as Russell shifted them so she was on top and he held her ass cheeks, pulling them in a way that surely bared her asshole, not to mention made her hot cheeks even hotter. He kissed her fiercely, like they’d been apart for weeks rather than hours. Emma whimpered some more as she came, the intensity hitting her all at once. Russell, who wasn’t usually one to make much noise at the moment of climax, let out a roar in Emma’s ear. When he went to remove the eye mask, she shook her head, keeping it on as she nestled into him, curling her body toward him as she breathed into the pillow and a few stray tears trickled down her face.

  After Emma had had some time to recover, they decided to head out for cocktails at the bar. The air was bordering on cool, but still pleasant enough that they could go in their birthday suits, which is precisely what they did. Emma had to
resist the urge to keep reaching for her ass, feeling the raised skin, the heat that had stayed with her, stroking her flesh like it was a kinky kind of Braille she could use to read how much of a pain slut she was.

  The marks were something she could carry with her, claim utterly and completely as hers. They branded her as a woman who could take a mean spanking, whether she liked it or not. Emma liked that they invited speculation, and now that she’d gotten used to it, she welcomed the stares. It was like having a particularly bold tattoo, or, in her case, five, the kind people can’t look away from, yet more powerful. Their eyes, even in such a sensual setting, were drawn her way and instead of the judgement she’d expected, there was desire, admiration, respect and curiosity. She could see the questions as they were being raised on people’s faces, and she liked having the power to answer them, or not answer and just let them guess.

  Walking hand in hand between Janet and Russell, with Paul on Janet’s other side, Emma knew they were attracting attention, all of them nude, the women with matching red bottoms. And this time she stood tall, claiming every marker of who she was, what she wanted. If anything, maybe she could be a kind of spanking ambassador and inspire some other attendees to bend over themselves. Either way, she was looking forward to the rest of the stay, and the marks she’d take with her on her way home.

  Halloween in the Castro

  Donna George Storey

  “What should I be? A witch or a slut?”

  Those seemed to be my only two choices. All the costumes in the “adult women’s” section were either black gowns with scalloped sleeves, leopard-skin hooker dresses or naughty schoolgirl uniforms.

  Julian smiled. The lucky bastard already had his costume picked out – an Albert Einstein wig and a fake white mustache. Halloween stores definitely provided a wider selection of alter egos for men.

  “How about a slutty witch?” he offered.

  It wasn’t a bad idea. All I had to do was grab spider web stockings and a pointed hat to go with a slinky black minidress I pulled from the rack. No one expected dazzle from a couple of tourists from New Jersey. Julian and I were going to the famous Halloween party in the Castro to sightsee, not be seen.

  Still, I was happy to note the lustful flicker in my husband’s eyes when I stepped out of the dressing room to model my outfit. Even the plastic skeletons leered down from the walls.

  “I guess it took a trip to San Francisco to bring out my true nature,” I said, noticing in the mirror that the hem of the dress barely covered my buttocks. “You don’t think this is too provocative, do you?”

  Julian stepped up behind me and leaned in close. “I love seeing this new side of you. Besides, all the other guys there will be gay. I’ll have you all to myself.”

  He reached out and gave my ass a quick squeeze.

  I giggled.

  It was the last time that gesture would ever be so innocent.

  The rest of the day followed the ritual we’d established during our week in the City by the Bay. We explored yet another charming neighborhood and ended up at a restaurant that was recommended by our friends Chuck and Michelle. This time we ate dim sum at Pearl City where we feasted on plate after plate of barbecued pork buns, shrimp-and-cilantro dumplings and sticky rice steamed in bamboo leaves – all for less than twenty bucks total. Afterwards we headed back to our hosts’ Noe Valley townhouse for an afternoon tumble on the guest room futon. In honor of the holiday, Julian asked me to put on the witch dress while I “rode his broomstick.” Once he had me flying high, he started whispering that I really was a witch, because the dress made me look so hot he’d wanted to hike it up over my hips and fuck me right in front of everyone in the store.

  I came almost immediately.

  Later that evening, I wore the dress again to go up to the Castro. Fortunately the night was warm for San Francisco, because I was showing a lot of flesh. Not that I was alone. The streets were teeming with partiers in lingerie and seriously dangerous fetish wear.

  “Chuck sure seemed anxious to get us out of the house,” Julian laughed, taking my hand as we strolled along among the Grim Reapers and naughty nurses. “He was talking up Halloween in the Castro all week – it’ll be a night to remember – then suddenly they have to stay home to hand out candy. At 10 p.m.?”

  “They probably started humping the minute we left. There must be something in the fog here that turns everyone into a sex fiend.”

  “I know.” His gaze slid over my clingy costume. “Actually, I can see us moving here some day. Then we can be sex fiends all the time.”

  “It works for me. I’d transfer to Schwab’s office here, and I’m sure you could find something pretty quickly, Einstein. Everyone’s interested in a good physicist.”

  “E equals mc squared! Love your costume.” This from a burly, bearded man dressed as Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz. I tried not to stare, but there was something oddly compelling about thick, hairy legs coupled with a blue gingham skirt and ruby slippers.

  A skinny scarecrow in the same group winked at Julian. “I wish I had your brain, honey.”

  I waited until they walked ahead to tease him. “See, everyone is interested in a good physicist.”

  Julian gave my butt a smack. “Watch yourself, or I’ll have to punish you later.”

  Yes, something about San Francisco definitely brought out our wild sides.

  By now the streets were bustling. We passed more Dorothys, lots of Marilyns, a whole squad of beaming nuns, all in drag. Mixed in with the locals were college kids, obviously drunk, some carrying rubber masks of famous actors or politicians, others not even bothering with a “Cheap Ass Halloween Costume” T-shirt. Soon the crowd was so dense, we were shuffling rather than walking.

  Julian wrapped an arm around me. “Hey, I think that’s the parade up there.”

  I followed his gaze. I couldn’t see much but the head and shoulders of a tall, beefy man in a green sequined evening gown. Perched on his head was a huge golden crown decorated with filigreed towers and terraces like a south-east Asian temple. Shimmying to a throbbing drumbeat, the Halloween Queen wound his way through a roped-off passage in the center of the street. Several other buff guys in bright sequined dresses danced behind him, a fitting court of honor.

  The music was almost deafening, and I was about to shout to Julian that maybe we should go back, but we were already hemmed in by bodies on all sides. The crowd pushed us forward, and Julian’s arm slipped from my shoulder. He wedged himself in behind me.

  The Oz group we’d seen earlier had joined in the conga line. A man dressed as Toto lifted his leg and pretended to relieve himself on the onlookers. He actually used a squirt gun for the gag, and the crowd roared, lurching back and throwing me against Julian’s body. Fortunately he caught me, cupping my bottom and tipping me back on my feet. His hand lingered for a moment, steady and reassuring, then pulled away.

  But apparently, he couldn’t resist my charms for long. A moment later I felt his fingers brushing my cheeks, gently, but with enough confidence to send prickles of pleasure straight to my pussy.

  My eyes widened in surprise, but I quickly adjusted my expression to a neutral stare. Why not let my husband feel me up in public? He probably just wanted to reassert his heterosexuality after being ogled by the hairy Dorothy. Besides, the way he was touching me – as if the illicitness made him appreciate every sweet inch of my ass in a whole new way – was incredibly arousing.

  Maybe I was turning into a slut?

  I rocked back against him, a secret signal to carry on. If the tent pole in his jeans was any indication, he was enjoying this as much as I was.

  That’s when Julian began to caress me in earnest, raking his fingertips in slow circles over my flesh until my buttocks were melting with pleasure. Other parts of me responded, too. My breasts felt heavy and sensitive. My clit ached for his touch. And my cunt was a faucet, soaking my panties with hot juices.

  I lolled my head back a little to let him know I liked it.
/>
  His breath quickened, but oddly, he seemed content with the teasing caresses.

  I felt a flicker of annoyance. He could talk a good game in bed, but when we actually had a real chance to do something in public, he lost his nerve. No one was watching us. A straight couple dressed in cheap costumes from the Spirit Store was the height of boring in this part of the world.

  Little did they know.

  Suppressing a wicked smile, I grabbed the hem of my skirt and inched it up over my hips. Now there was nothing between my ass and that warm, grasping hand but a pair of fishnet hose. Spreading my legs, I tilted forward from the waist, boldly offering myself – just in case he had any doubt of my desires.

  I half hoped he might force his way through the pantyhose and finger-fuck me on the spot, but Julian just kept rubbing my fleshy cheeks. He used both hands now, kneading and squeezing, as if enchanted by the heft, the softness. Not that his new devotion to my butt wasn’t flattering, but I needed more. I swiveled my hips discreetly, nudging his hand along until his fingers slipped into my furrow.

  The hand paused. I held my breath, my pulse throbbing between my legs. If he didn’t touch my wet pink parts soon, I might well pass out from frustration. After one unbearable moment, his forefinger finally snaked down into my cleft and tapped my asshole lightly.

  Electric jolts sizzled through my body, and a moan spilled from my lips. It would certainly be a night to remember if Julian made me come in the middle of the Castro Halloween Parade.

  Suddenly a college kid, reeking of beer, stumbled into me from left. “Hey, let me through. I bought front-row seats, ya know.”

  Staggering behind him, his buddy smacked straight into my body, hurtling me forward through the crowd as easily as a cock glides into a well-lubricated vagina. Murmuring embarrassed apologies to the people around me, I quickly yanked down my dress and turned to find my husband.