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

by Jakubowski, Maxim

  Bernardo had a bath sheet around his waist when he joined her in the sitting room. His torso was covered with tattoos, a dark green jungle crawling with serpents and dragons dotted with symbols that meant nothing to Veronica. Yakuza, she thought while he was seating himself cross-legged at her feet on the thick wall-to-wall carpet with its leafy design. Without thinking, she held out her legs to him, impulsively stretching her arms and toes, yawning discreetly. Bernardo took her foot and pressed it to his lips, then looked up to see how she reacted. With any other man, Veronica would already have pulled her foot away, but her ethnological curiosity got the better of her: she let him suck her toes, and was soon surprised by the way the feel of his tongue affected her: warm and damp, it was both firm and tender, alternating rough swipes and exciting little licks, sawing back and forth between her toes. Bernardo’s tongue seemed as long as a hand. It curled around her toes with uncommon agility; huge and red, obscene as the tongue of a dromedary when the animal sticks it all the way out, it trailed along the side of her foot without even tickling. Instead of revolting her, the sight of such an unusual proportion of that organ actually aroused her further. A wave of pleasure rose to her knees then flashed up the inside of her thighs and straight to her groin. Her sex was as wet as an oyster between contractions. She knew she lacked the willpower to deny him the follow-up. She was wetter than wet and losing patience, when suddenly her head swam. She came, and her juices swamped Bernardo’s face. He lapped them up quickly and without even a pause to catch his breath, began licking her vulva, descending from clit to anus and back. Scarcely had a few minutes gone by when Veronica shuddered with another orgasm, which left her empty sex throbbing. Her back arched, her ass went tight as another wave swept her high on a deserted shore.

  When she became aware of her surroundings again, Bernardo’s tattooed chest was bending over her. He must have been watching her when she came. She was dying for more. She spread her sex wide, buttocks relaxed, thighs akimbo. Bernardo was ready for a repeat performance. The tongue climbed quickly to the zenith and down again, zeroing in on a point near the entrance, at twelve o’clock, the fount of all sensations.

  When Veronica returned to earth after another moment of oblivion, Bernardo was standing by the minibar downing a two-shot bottle of whisky. He then lay on the sofa, modestly draped in the bathsheet. He must have put on a condom before entering her. His cock slithered through a mire of her juices, yet Veronica felt nothing. Bernardo, who didn’t seem too well hung, came quickly and returned to his bedroom without a word.

  Veronica took a mango to bed with her and peeled it with the switchblade Buck knife a colleague had brought her from a trekking trip in Utah. She always carried it in her suitcase whenever she went on a mission, the way other people might take a Swiss army knife.

  Bernardo knocked on her bedroom door.

  They chatted while she savoured her fruit.

  “Where did you learn that thing with your tongue?” she asked.

  “In Manila, when I was a kid, we used to drink sodas sticking our tongue as deep into the glass as it would go. The one who lapped up the last drop was the winner. It was a kind of initiation for us street kids. Tora-tora, the tongue massage, was invented in the Philippines when the Americans were fighting the Japanese for control of the Pacific islands. There are still women in massage parlours who provide it.”

  He lay down on the bed next to Veronica. She ate a slice of mango, drowsily answered his questions about the camp and fell sound asleep.

  When she woke, her cellphone screen read 6 a.m. The shape of Bernardo’s body was still visible on the sheet. She leapt out of bed. The pilot’s bedroom was empty. The case he’d been carrying was gone too. Not a single personal effect in the bathroom. Veronica ran to her backpack and leafed through her pocketbook: nothing was missing. Her passport was in its side pocket. None of her possessions were gone . . . except the knife. She searched through the fruit basket, under the pillows, even under the bed. She felt muted anger rising. When you came right down to it, the man had taken advantage of her, and then made off with her knife like a thief!

  In the lobby, the desk clerk confirmed that the bill had been paid. There was no message for her. Suddenly she wasn’t angry any longer. She put her pack in the room where tourists left some of their luggage while they did their sightseeing and took a taxi to the airport.

  The Cathay Pacific flight for Manila was posted. She glimpsed the backs of the uniformed crew and caught up with them at their exit gate. When Bernardo turned and saw her, he didn’t seem the least surprised.

  “Give me back my knife, please,” said Veronica.

  “I hid it in the sitting room,” said Bernardo. “Behind the minibar. In my country, a woman with a knife is a dangerous woman.”

  He went through the gate without looking back. Veronica was pensive as she walked to the taxi rank.

  At the Rex, the desk clerk informed her that the suite had just been let to some other foreigners. He offered her a small ground floor room for her remaining night. Veronica settled in with her backpack and collapsed onto a small bed with soiled sheets for a couple of hours of sleep. When she woke, she went up to the penthouse suite and rang the bell. A tall fair-haired man, a German or a Scandinavian, opened the door. The sitting room was a mess, a scene of debauchery. Empty liquor and beer bottles, Thai girls in bikinis, guys as fair as the one now holding Veronica in his arms, calling her “a gift from heaven”. Veronica let herself be kissed. The man offered her a drink. While he rummaged in the minibar, Veronica leaned forward and felt behind the fridge. Her fingers came into contact with the closed blade. She extracted the knife from its hiding place and slipped it into her pocket. The man kissed her again and led her to the sofa where she’d had such powerful sex the night before. She let him have his way and thought back on her adventure. Once again she could see the chief pilot’s tattoos and his huge red tongue. She pulled away gently and stood up, claiming an urgent appointment.

  The next day, in the refugee camp, her predecessor was about to leave for the airport. He was going on vacation. Veronica was here to replace him.

  “So how were those two days in Bangkok?” he asked.

  “Wonderful! I visited the Royal Palace and saw the reclining Buddha.”

  “Isn’t it extraordinary! Even the Buddha’s toes are covered with gold foil!”

  Veronica smiled. Children dragged her to a hand-operated merry-go-round. She started to turn the crank: the machinery must have dated back to the sixties, just like that game the street kids played in Manila, sticking their tongues into glasses. She turned the crank as hard as she could, relishing the physical activity. The Thai children spun faster and faster around her.

  Lessons Learned

  Jade Melisande

  “He says he wants you to teach him how to tie a girl up and spank her,” Sabine told Julian. Julian was in the middle of a complicated tie, holding Sabine’s arms firmly behind her back as he secured them in place. He gave the rope a firm tug and spun her around to face him.

  “Down on the floor,” he said.

  With his hand on her arms to steady her, she sank to her knees obediently, and then, at his direction, further down, so that she was laying flat on her belly with her chest on the floor. For a moment he held her head down, preventing her from looking up: all she could see was the front of his booted feet and the floor beyond. She loved the sensation of being bound, of the strict rope biting into her flesh, of the feel of his hands on her, holding her in place. He moved behind her and bent her legs at the knees to bring them over her back. With a few deft movements, he wrapped her ankles tightly and secured them, heels against her ass, to her wrists. Next he pulled her hair back into the tie, arching her neck and back into a bow and exposing the long line of her throat.

  He stepped back and admired his handiwork for a moment, then moved out of her line of sight. A second later she heard the click of his camera as he immortalized his vision on film. She could just see him out of
the corner of her eye, stepping in closer and then moving further back, the camera clicking away the whole time. He finally came back into her field of vision to stand in front of her. She strained to look up at him where he loomed over her, but the ropes restricted her movement and finally she just closed her eyes, forcing herself to relax into the tie, and felt herself begin to drift.

  “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” she heard him say.

  “Hmm?” she murmured, eyes still closed, still in that half-dreaming state that rope so often put her. It’d been so long since either of them had spoken that she’d lost the thread of their earlier conversation.

  “This,” he said, and delivered two stinging slaps to her backside. She yelped, her eyes popped open and she jerked against the ropes in surprise. Her lover did not favor a subtle approach. “You’d – like – me – to – teach – Rick – how – to – do – this.” Each word punctuated by another smack! of his hand against her backside. As his hands, small for a man’s, but meaty and dense, connected with her bare skin, Sabine felt a familiar warmth spreading through her. As her ass warmed to his touch, so did the rest of her.

  Julian paused and ran his hand over the curve of her ass, soothing, or perhaps only admiring, the heat in her tender skin. The hog-tie did not allow for much movement, but what she could do, she did, wriggling her butt at him in what she hoped was a suggestive manner. The suggestion being: “Spank me! Spank me more!”

  He seemed to understand her body’s unspoken language perfectly. First, though, he reached down and loosened her hair from the tie, allowing her to drop her head to the floor so that she could catch her breath. Then he crouched next to her and started in again.

  This time he did start slow, patting her round, full ass from the curve where it met her thighs to the dip in her lower back and down again, striking every inch of flesh that the hog-tie left exposed. He slapped the skin on her thighs and hips and what he could reach of her calves, warming every bit of her. She sighed in pleasure, giving herself over to the feel of his hands on her flesh, to the rhythmic rat-a-tat-tat and the heat it was generating. Without changing the tempo, he began to ratchet up the intensity, smacking her harder, the pats becoming slaps and then deep, steady blows that threatened to take her breath away. She grunted as each strike connected, her body jerking involuntarily, and felt her cunt begin to throb in time to his slaps. Soon she was panting and moaning beneath his hands, writhing helplessly in the ropes on the floor, alternately trying to wriggle away and to expose more of herself to him, to open herself up from within the ropes even as her body flinched, even as she felt the blows reverberating throughout her entire body. She was no longer sure if she wanted him to continue or to stop.

  He stopped, and without a word slid a hand between her legs. She gasped as he pushed two fingers against the opening he found there. The folds of her cunt opened easily for him and she felt her wetness drenching his fingers as her body spread wide, like a greedy mouth, to accommodate him. She pushed back against his hand, moaning softly, fighting the ropes that kept her immobilized, wanting so much more.

  He laughed and pulled away. Standing abruptly, he looked down at her. She struggled to steady her breathing. He leaned down and put his fingers into her mouth, letting her taste her own excitement.

  “Oh yeah,” he said, “I think you’d like that a lot.” And then, “Set it up.”

  A week later Sabine perched on a barstool at her favorite wine bar, tapping her foot nervously as she waited for Rick to arrive. She checked her cellphone for what seemed like the tenth time. He was only five minutes late. She sipped her wine and told herself to be still.

  A moment later Rick walked in. She waved at him as he came in the door and he hurried over. “Sorry I’m late,” he said, giving her a somewhat awkward hug. She hadn’t seen him in a month or more, and she looked at him curiously, trying to figure out what was different about him.

  He saw her looking at him curiously. “Contacts,” he said, pointing to his face.

  “Aha!” she said. They both laughed, their initial awkwardness broken.

  While he ordered a beer, she discreetly gave him the onceover. A handsome man with blond hair and startlingly green eyes (she wondered how she could have missed their color before, even behind glasses), he towered over her own five feet two by at least a foot. She had never felt intimidated by his size before, however, and wasn’t now. She felt comfortable with him, even knowing that within the hour she would most likely be naked and bound before him. Her gaze dropped to his hands, which were large and long-fingered; thinking about what those hands would surely be doing to her soon, Sabine shuddered delicately.

  They’d met several months before at, of all things, a book discussion group. The book they’d been discussing had had some oblique references to a D/s relationship, and Sabine had felt compelled to correct some of the group’s misconceptions about the lifestyle of which she was a part. She had noticed Rick’s rapt attention as she spoke (as well as several others’ obvious disapproval) but she had only exchanged pleasantries with him in the months since.

  That is, until he had emailed her and asked her to tell him more about what she and Julian did. She had known instinctively that his enquiry wasn’t for wank material but that there was a genuine interest there, and they had exchanged several long emails before he had finally asked her if she and Julian would be willing to meet him in person to give him a “lesson.”

  BDSM 101.

  “When did you get interested in spanking?” she asked, when his beer arrived.

  He took a sip and looked thoughtful. “To be honest, it was your description of your relationship with Julian that intrigued me,” he said. “What he does to you, what you share, is so unique. So powerful. I haven’t stopped thinking about it since. And now . . . well, I’ve met someone. A woman who says she wants me to tie her up and spank her. It’s like a dream come true! Except . . .” He spread his hands wide and shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know how to do any of the things she wants.” He actually blushed as he said it, and Sabine felt her stomach do a little flip-flop. She remembered, now, how quiet and reserved he had always been in their book group and she found it both amazing and endearing that he had worked up the nerve to do this.

  She placed a hand on his arm. “We all had to start someplace,” she said.

  That someplace was Julian’s house a little less than an hour later. Sabine stood in the center of the room in only panties and a chemise, while Julian demonstrated different rope techniques on her. First he would tie a limb or other body part, then he would have Rick do the same to her. Rick was a fast learner, and although the setting was not in and of itself erotic, Sabine couldn’t help reacting to the feel of his and Julian’s hands on her, to the feeling of being a life-size doll, put there only to be moved around like an inanimate object, turned this way and that and maneuvered between them by their hands and the rope. She felt a slickness between her thighs, her pussy ached to be touched, and the room was redolent with the scent of her arousal.

  If either man noticed, they weren’t letting on.

  Occasionally though, as she was spun around or moved from one position to another, her arm or hip, or even, once, her cheek, brushed against a groin, and she felt an erection there, both Julian’s and Rick’s.

  You’re not as unaffected as you seem, she thought with a gleeful inner smirk.

  Finally Rick asked Julian about the “correct” way to give a good spanking. Sabine listened quietly as Julian went over the basic techniques for a “safe but effective” spanking. As he talked he re-coiled the rope and tossed it aside. Standing off to the side a little, Sabine stifled a yawn. She was much more a hands-on kind of girl. She sighed, shifted from one foot to the other, and wondered if he was ever going to actually show Rick how to spank her.

  Suddenly, and with no warning, Julian grabbed her by a handful of hair. Sabine let out a startled yip as he dragged her unceremoniously over to the spanking bench that he had set up in the mid
dle of the room. Ignoring her protests, he pushed her roughly down across the bench and pinned her there with one hand.

  Sabine gasped as he landed the first blow across her ass, but when she jerked instinctively away he held her down more firmly and said, his voice cracking as sharply as his hand had across her ass, “Don’t move, slut!” He continued slapping her ass with his other hand, striking heavy blows on first one cheek and then the other with a ferocity that made her flinch and struggle futilely against his hold on her.

  “Julian!” she finally managed between gasps and grunts. “Please!”

  He stopped. “What?” he asked. “You want more?”

  She swallowed, still panting. Her backside was on fire, and her mind reeled, but the truth of the matter was that yes, she did want more. Yes, she liked a good long, warming-up-to-full-on spanking, but she also loved this too, this balls-out aggression that Julian exhibited at times. But the thing was, she knew that Rick was looking for something else. He’d told her about the talks he’d had with his new love-interest, and it didn’t sound to her like this was exactly the sort of spanking she was looking for. Something more . . . civilized . . . was in order.

  She looked back over her shoulder at Julian, with Rick standing right next to him, his mouth hanging open. She knew that with her legs spread like this over the spanking bench, both men could see very well how wet she was; how much the spanking had excited her.

  “Yes,” she said, because there was no sense in lying, “I do want more. But . . .”

  She had a sudden inspiration. An inspiration and a conviction that had been growing in her since she had sat next to Rick at the bar and watched him blush when he talked about what it was that he wanted.

  Straightening up from the bench, she turned around to face the two men and cocked her head. “I have an idea,” she said, rubbing her tender ass. “May I show him something, Julian?”