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

by Jakubowski, Maxim

  And when she forces her hands into the alien? If intent counts, then what she does, at least, is a rape – or would be if the alien felt anything, responded in any fashion. Mostly it’s like punching a wall.

  * * *

  She puts her fingers in herself, because she at least knows what her intentions are.

  Sometimes she watches it fuck her, the strange coiling of its Outs like a shock wave thrusting into her body, and this excites her and horrifies her; but at least it is not Gary. Gary, who left her here with this, who left her here, who left.

  One time she feels something break loose inside the alien, but it is immediately drawn out of reach. When she reaches farther in to grasp the broken piece, a sphincter snaps shut on her wrist. Her arm is forced out. There is a bruise like a bracelet around her wrist for what might be a week or two.

  She cannot stop touching the bruise. The alien has had the ability to stop her fist inside it, at any time. Which means it has made a choice not to stop her, even when she batters things inside it until they grow soft.

  This is the only time she has ever gotten a reaction she understands. Stimulus: response. She tries many times to get another. She rams her hands into it, kicks it, tries to tear its cilia free with her teeth, claws its skin with her ragged, filthy fingernails. But there is never again the broken thing inside, and never the bracelet.

  For a while, she measures time by bruises she gives herself. She slams her shin against the feeding tube, and when the bruise is gone she does it again. She estimates it takes twelve days for a bruise to heal. She stops after a time because she cannot remember how many bruises there have been.

  She dreams of rescue, but doesn’t know what that looks like. Gary, miraculously alive pulling her free, eyes bright with tears, I love you, he says, his lips on her eyelids and his kiss his tongue in her mouth inside her hands inside him. But that’s the alien. Gary is dead. He got Out.

  Sometimes she thinks that rescue looks like her opening the lifeboat to the deep vacuum, but she cannot figure out the airlock.

  Her anger is endless, relentless.

  Gary brought her here, and then he went away and left her with this thing that will not speak, or cannot, or does not care enough to, or does not see her as something to talk to.

  On their third date, she and Gary went to an empty park: wine, cheese, fresh bread in a basket. Bright sun and cool air, grass and a cloth to lie on. He brought Shakespeare. “You’ll love this,” he said, and read to her.

  She stopped him with a kiss. “Let’s talk,” she said, “about anything.”

  “But we are talking,” he said.

  “No, you’re reading,” she said. “I’m sorry, I don’t really like poetry.”

  “That’s because you’ve never had it read to you,” he said.

  She stopped him at last by taking the book from his hands and pushing him back, her palms in the grass; and he entered her. Later, he read to her anyway.

  If it had just been that.

  They were not even his words and now they mean nothing, are not even sounds in her mind. And now there is this thing that cannot hear her or does not choose to listen, until she gives up trying to reach it and only reaches into it, and bludgeons it and herself, seeking a reaction, any reaction.

  “I fucking hate you,” she says. “I hate fucking you.”

  The lifeboat decelerates. Metal clashes on metal. Gaskets seal.

  The airlock opens overhead. There is light. Her eyes water helplessly and everything becomes glare and indistinct dark shapes. The air is dry and cold. She recoils.

  The alien does not react to the light, the hard air. It remains inside her and around her. They are wrapped. They penetrate one another a thousand ways. She is warm here, or at any rate not cold: half lost in its flesh, wet from her Ins, its Outs. In here it is not too bright.

  A dark something stands outlined in the portal. It is bipedal. It makes sounds that are words. Is it human? Is she? Does she still have bones, a voice? She has not used them for so long.

  The alien is hers; she is its. Nothing changes.

  But. She pulls herself free of its tendrils and climbs. Out.

  Romanesque

  O’Neil De Noux

  Just as I finished snapping a picture of the Romanesque statue of the three nymphs just inside the rear archway of the Arena, a woman walked through the archway, into Verona’s ancient Roman coliseum. Suddenly, the naked bodies of the buxom nymphs looked like pudgy boys to me.

  The woman moved smoothly, catlike, her long black hair swirling behind in the northern Italian breeze. Her low-cut minidress did little to hide a beautifully sculptured body – tall and thin with oversized breasts that took my breath away.

  As she walked past me, her short red dress rose and I saw she wasn’t wearing panties. I almost fell off the steps where I stood, my trusty Nikon in hand.

  As she walked to the concrete steps that led up to the Arena’s time-worn seating section, a voice called out behind me. I turned as a man came through the archway where the woman had entered. Two cameras dangling around his neck, the man called out, much to my surprise, in English.

  “Slow down,” he said as he hurried to keep up.

  The woman slowed, looked back over her shoulder and smiled wickedly. She looked to be about five ten. The man trailing her was about three inches shorter, a lot heavier and wore glasses. He looked around, noticed me and nodded. Looking back at the woman, he pointed up the steps to the seating area. He hurried past her and led the way up.

  As the woman ascended the steps, she looked at me for the first time and flashed a warm smile. I took the smile as an invitation to follow those sleek legs and that nice round ass up the steps to where her photographer had set up.

  She stopped and turned and the breeze lifted her skirt again. I saw her neatly trimmed bush and felt a tug in my crotch.

  “Stand right there,” her photographer said as he bent at the knees and took a picture.

  The woman raised her hands and put them behind her head and I could see up her dress clearly as I snapped a quick picture. The man turned to me, and I asked, “Is it OK if I take a picture?”

  He looked back at the woman and she said, “Sure. It’s nice to meet another American here.” Then, incredibly, she pulled the straps off her shoulders and bared those luscious breasts, her dress dropping to her waist.

  I focused on her breasts, on those small nipples and pink areolae and took several pictures. I was mesmerized, staring at the perfectly matched pair. Heavy and wide, they seemed huge against her thin frame. I was breathing heavily.

  She giggled and sat on the stone arena seat and pulled her feet up next to her, her knees high. She posed for both of us. I scrambled to get her ass and bush and those incredible breasts in the picture. I made sure to also capture that gorgeous face – deep red lipstick on full, pouty lips, dark brown eyes. She threw her head back and, as if on cue, the breeze took her long hair.

  She brought her knees even higher and opened her feet slightly. I could see her pink slit. My crotch throbbed as I carefully focused and snapped another shot.

  The man turned suddenly and introduced himself as Lee and told me the woman was Carrie, his wife. Nodding at her, he said, “Not bad, huh?”

  “She’s gorgeous!”

  Carrie dropped her left knee, giving us a clear view of her pussy. We both took several shots. She laughed a deep, sexy laugh, then moved again, sitting cross-legged. A mischievous smile on her face, she reached down and lifted her dress to her waist to expose her pussy completely. She leaned back and turned her face to the bright sun.

  “Take your time,” Lee said as he noticed me hurrying my shots. “She’s not going anywhere.”

  “Yes,” she agreed, “I’m not going anywhere.” Her voice dropped an octave. “I may come, but I won’t go.”

  Lee told me they were from St Louis. I told them I was from New Orleans and Carrie said they went to Mardi Gras last year. She flashed her breasts all day on Bourbon
Street.

  Her husband looked around and said, “OK. Let’s go for it.”

  Carrie stood and reached back and unzipped her dress. She climbed out of it and tossed it to her husband. Looking right into my camera lens, she posed for me – naked, except for her red high heels. I saw Lee move around to get us both in his camera. So that’s what he was up to, getting pictures of a strange man taking nude pictures of his wife. OK. Who was I to complain?

  I controlled my heavy breathing as best I could as Carrie moved slowly, raising her hands, then reaching down to cup her magnificent breasts, then reaching down to brush her bush, then turning and reaching around to cradle her fine ass as she bent over.

  I kept refocusing and shooting, the flash of my fill-in light bathing the beautiful naked woman as she posed in the ancient Roman amphitheater. Built in the first century AD, the Arena is the largest Roman arena, after the Coliseum in Rome. At least that’s what the tour guide told me before disappearing because it was siesta time.

  He told me how Christians-and-lions spectacles were held in the infield below, how the wide pit was filled with crocodiles so Christians could be thrown to them. Now the Arena was the site of spectacular night-time operas and concerts.

  It smelled of old brick and dust. Towering above the tilted tile roofs of old Verona, it was an architectural spectacle – witnessing another spectacle, Carrie. I wonder, as Carrie sat again, if the Romans ever held orgies here.

  Carrie sat cross-legged again, leaning back, her elbows up on the seat above. I snapped another photo. And slowly, she uncrossed her legs and opened them for me and her husband. Then she raised her knees to give us a better view of her pink slit. I could see it was wet.

  I love a hairy pussy and Carrie’s was particularly hairy. I especially like those soft, silky hairs around the base of the pussy, just above the asshole. Carrie’s looked so delicate. I had an erection that could slice steel. I moved in and took another picture, an even closer view of her breasts. I noticed small beads of perspiration on them and saw them rise with her breath.

  I don’t know why I was nervous. I guess I just didn’t want it to end. I must say, looking back at her husband, as he photographed his wife, I felt admiration for a man who would share such a beauty.

  Lee nodded to his wife and said, “OK. OK.”

  Carrie rolled to her side and laid down on her back on the seat, opening her legs and arms, spreadeagled. I stepped above her and shot more pictures. Carrie, really getting into it, began to move her shoulders and hips around. She rubbed her breasts, squeezed her nipples, then moved her hands down to her pussy.

  None of us spotted the cop until he spoke.

  Standing below us, a uniformed carabiniere pointed a white-gloved hand at us and said, “No. No.” Then he rattled off several hurried sentences in Italian.

  Carrie stood up and brushed off her ass, then moved slowly down to the cop, who was still chattering. She stepped up to him, leaned forward and kissed him on the mouth. He stopped talking. She grabbed his crotch and started pulling him back to the first seating row. I had to shoot a picture. He was slack-jawed, staring at the naked woman pulling him by the crotch.

  Tall, the carabiniere must have been six foot three. He pulled off his hat, a Napoleon-looking hat, and wiped his brow with a white glove. He had slicked-back black hair. Carrie unfastened his belt, unzipped his pants and reached in. The cop looked around as Lee and I took pictures.

  Carrie pulled out his swollen cock. Pointed skyward, it was ready. She kissed its tip as I took a photo, then licked it, then sank her mouth on it and started bobbing her head up and down.

  The cop moaned and closed his eyes. His uniform pants at his feet, the carabiniere fanned himself with his hat and started pumping his ass to Carrie’s sucking. I took more pictures and suddenly Lee said, “Stop. I gotta reload.”

  Carrie stopped moving. The cop looked around incredulously as Carrie’s husband started reloading his cameras. I snapped another picture and hurried to reload my camera too. Carrie pulled her mouth off the cop’s wet cock and started slowly stroking it with her hand.

  The cop moaned again and, just as I finished reloading, reached down and pulled Carrie up. He grabbed her breasts and pressed his open mouth again hers. They French-kissed each other, their tongues probing as the man continued squeezing her breasts. Then he pushed her back slowly, on the seat, and moved between her legs. Carrie lifted her ass slightly, reached down and guided his cock to her pussy.

  The cop still had a hold of her breasts as his cock slipped into her. And as we took more pictures, they fucked right here in the Arena, groaning and moaning, gyrating their pelvises, crying out in pleasure.

  “Oh, God!” Carrie cried as the cop worked his cock in her.

  The cop called out in Italian, something about his mama. I photographed Carrie’s breasts moving back and forth with the humping.

  “Good, huh, baby?” Lee asked her as he took another picture.

  “Yes,” she gasped. “Come on. Fuck me. Fuck me good!” She reached around and grabbed the cop’s ass.

  They pumped away, grinding against one another. Carrie cried out again as the cop pounded her like a pile driver. Then the cop grunted as he came, his ass jerking in spasms. I moved in for a closer view and could see semen leaking from the sides of Carrie’s pussy. Finally, they both eased up and caught their breaths.

  Carrie’s husband started to reload his cameras again. I looked down and saw I had only one shot left. I took it of the two lovers, still pressed together, then hurriedly reloaded.

  When I finished reloading, I move back to Carrie, as the cop backed away and started pulling up his pants. Carrie lay there as I took a close-up of her wet pussy, her legs still wide open.

  When I looked up at those big brown eyes, she smiled and said, “You’re just going to take pictures, or what?”

  Lee bumped into me and reached for my camera. I passed it to him and unzipped my jeans. Carrie was still breathing heavily, her gorgeous breasts moving up and down as she looked at me in expectation. I dropped my pants and climbed out of my jockeys. My cock was up like a flagpole and she smiled at it. She reached for it as I leaned forward.

  I went directly for her breasts and squeezed them, then kissed each nipple, rolling my tongue around each areolae. They tasted sweet and wet from perspiration. I sucked her nipples, then opened my mouth as wide as I could, filling it with tit. Carrie guided my cock to her wet pussy and I slipped inside.

  Her pussy was slick and hot and tight and grabbed my cock as we began to rock and fuck. I heard Lee clicking away, saw my fill-light flash as he took pictures with my camera too. Moving from breasts to breast I continued sucking as we fucked. Finally, I came up for air.

  Carrie’s face was flushed and her hair damp with sweat. I smelled semen and her sweet pussy juice. My God, she was knock-out stunning as she rocked back and forth to my fucking.

  Carrie was one great loving, sexy fuck. She seemed to tune everything else out but me as we screwed. Craning her neck up, she kissed my lips and tongued me. We Frenched long and hard as I rode her until she cried and shuddered and I cried out and popped inside her.

  When I climbed off, Lee was already out of his pants. I eased off and picked up the cameras and shot more fuck shots. The carabiniere was dressed and looking around as Lee fucked his wife and I took pictures.

  When Lee climbed off, I moved in for more close-ups of Carrie lying with her legs open. I focused on the thick cum oozing out of her sopping pussy. She smiled weakly at me.

  The cop started chattering again, stepped forward and helped Carrie up. She kissed him on the cheek. Her legs were rubbery. The big cop deftly scooped her in his arms and carried her back to the arched entrance, to a well-hidden bathroom. They went inside, while Lee headed back for Carrie’s dress.

  Later, Carrie peeked out and asked Lee for her dress. Stepping out in a few minutes, she looked radiant. Lee took her hand and the cop led the way out. I followed, wondering if I should ask whe
re they were staying.

  As they turned a corner ahead of me, I heard the carabiniere start arguing with someone. Rounding the corner, I saw two more carabinieri, each nearly as tall and good-looking.

  Carrie pulled away from Lee, pushed her way in between the cops and kissed each of the newcomers on the mouth. The first carabiniere took a step back. Lee focused his camera and I followed suit. Carrie wrapped her arms around the waists of the two new cops and they all turned toward the cameras. After the picture, Carrie pulled her hands away and pointed her back to one of the carabiniere.

  It took a few seconds for him to realize she wanted him to unzip her dress. The man’s eyes lit up as he did. Carrie stepped out of her dress and tossed it again to her husband. And she posed naked with the cops.

  The cops chattered a lot until Carrie started grabbing their crotches. The men responded and sandwiched Carrie between them. There I took some of the best pictures of those luscious breasts as each cop sucked a nipple, their hands feeling up Carrie, rubbing her ass and fingering her pussy.

  It was there I took the best picture of the lot, a shot of Carrie’s rapturous face with a carabiniere on each breast, both men looking up at her face as they sucked her nipples.

  It took a while for the new carabinieri to climb out of their pants. They turned Carrie around and one slipped his cock into her pussy, doggie style, while she took the other in her mouth. Lee and I snapped away.

  The three rocked back and forth in unison. The two men came together. As soon as they finished, the first cop stepped up, moved Carrie to the stone wall and fucked her standing against it. It was a long, grinding fuck that went on and on and Carrie was wonderful in the noises she made, little cries and gasps, along with the sound of her ass slapping against the wall.

  When they were done, the carabinieri kissed Carrie gently and dressed her.

  They waved and left Carrie still trying to catch her breath.

  Lee and I helped Carrie walk out to a taxi parked against the curb of the Piazza Bra.

  I had to ask, “Where are y’all staying?”