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

by Jakubowski, Maxim

  That’s when I realized it would have been better if she’d seen me. I could have made an excuse and hurriedly left. Now I was trapped. I was locked in her private space with them, and by the looks of it they were about to indulge in some hot bed action. I had to announce myself, and quickly. But just before I got the words out, Stella embraced the man and looked over his shoulder, making direct eye contact with me. She lifted one finger to her lips and winked at me.

  It began to dawn on me – she’d obviously set this up on purpose. Stella was an exhibitionist. My mind and body buzzed in response to that sudden realization, the heady rush it unleashed unlike anything I’d ever experienced before. I tried to steady my erratic breathing. I had to get a grip on myself. She obviously didn’t want her companion to know, because she kept him standing with his back to me as she undressed him and went about measuring his chest with her hands and whispering things to him as she went, making him grin with pleasure. Did she just like an audience, I wondered, or was she bi and this was her opener?

  The guy she’d brought to her bedroom was well built, and I recognized him as one of the university football team, a real stud who could have his pick of the women. It didn’t surprise me that he was quite willing to be Stella’s plaything. However, when I looked at the way she handled him, I wondered if he was just a prop for what else was going on here – the silent link between us, our shared secret. Or was I the prop? Either way, she was getting off on it. Oh, the thrill! I’d already been turned on, and my recognition of the true nature of the set-up made my arousal flare wildly. The skin on my neck prickled with heat, my center tightening with anticipation as I watched.

  “Jesus, you really are horny,” the guy commented as Stella made short work of undressing him.

  She laughed aloud and tugged his belt from his jeans, casting it aside before popping the button and wrenching down the zipper. “You better believe it.”

  She backed him toward the bed with her hand flat against his bare chest then pushed him down onto it. With a sexy purr of a laugh, she quickly removed his shoes and tugged off his jeans. From time to time Stella smiled in my direction. When she tucked down his jockey shorts, he growled and try to snatch at her, but she ducked and escaped his clutches, determined, it seemed, to stay in charge of the situation.

  His cock bounced up, long and hard and ready. He groaned and pushed his head back into the pillow, quieting down while she examined him. She traced the length of his shaft up and down with one elegant finger, making his cock twitch.

  “You’re tormenting me,” he whispered from between gritted teeth.

  “Not for long.” She kicked off her heels and reached for the hem of her dress.

  He watched while she lifted the fabric up and off, shimmying out of that slip of a garment. “Get over here now,” he urged.

  His response didn’t surprise me; she was magnificent.

  She wasn’t wearing underwear, yet she looked as if she were instantly more comfortable in her naked self, her hands running over her body as she moved toward the man on the bed. She opened a bedside drawer, reached inside and then stroked his upright cock with one hand as she held aloft a condom in the other.

  He snatched it from her raised hand, tore it open and rolled on the condom, holding the base of his cock with both hands after it was on, as if he didn’t trust his cock not to leap at her of its own accord. Seeing his erect cock sheathed and ready made my core clench.

  Once again Stella smiled my way, and she did it as she straddled his hips. My emotions grew tangled. What was she doing to me? I was aroused to the point of distraction, unable to look away, and yet her blatant glances made me feel so unbearably awkward. To top it all, the confined space of the wardrobe was growing increasingly hot, my own levels of arousal making the air stifling. But I quickly forgot my own discomfort, enthralled as I was by her blatant actions.

  The guy muttered something that I couldn’t catch then reached for her hips. Stella reached into the drawer by the bed, pulled out a pair of metal handcuffs and dangled them in front of his face.

  “Oh, fuck,” the guy said, “you kinky bitch.”

  I shook my head at his graceless comment. It wasn’t regal enough for our Nordic dominatrix. Stella chuckled and tugged his wrists together, weaving the handcuffs between the metal uprights on her headboard before locking the second cuff into place. I was in awe. How easily she took charge of him – how easily she had taken charge of both of us, in fact. In the space of a few minutes she’d managed to arrange both of us exactly where she wanted us. Still I wondered why. Was she tormenting me, not him, was she laughing at me? Did she just like an audience and I was a convenient onlooker? I hoped not, I wanted more.

  “Don’t be cheeky,” Stella said as she guided his sheathed cock and mounted it.

  The guy grunted with pleasure. Leaning back, she put her hands on the bed behind her and rocked her hips, working herself on his rigid cock. Her body bowed exquisitely, everything on display. My hand went to my crotch and I squeezed myself through my jeans for relief, my core clutching as I watched. I could feel it all, Stella’s gorgeous body, milking him off, and the rock hard cock she had inside her. The guy was completely gone on being ridden by Stella, his chest arched up to her, his head rolling against the pillows.

  She looked like a goddess. It was her glorious abandonment to her pleasure that was so fascinating, her sheer hedonism. I wanted to be the one lying under her, her sex slave, having her ride my fingers, or better still a strap-on. As the desire ran through me, turning me to liquid heat, her hips moved faster, her mouth opening as she took her pleasure from the man beneath her.

  Oh, to be giving her that pleasure, I wished. Oh, to be fucking Stella.

  Burning up inside, I forced myself to face up to it. Before I saw Stella, I was a woman who wanted men. I’d admired other women before. I’d wondered what they were like in bed, but never before had I felt this need, this desperate craving. I had to consider the fact that I was bisexual, and it was because of Stella that I’d found out. The worst of it was that this revelation made me hornier still. The need to come was overwhelming. My hand was wrapped around the seam of my jeans, applying pressure to my throbbing clit, but as she stirred her hips and turned her head to brazenly meet my stare, it suddenly wasn’t enough. Stella was naked and performing in front of me, and I had to find release. I plucked open my button and shoved my hand inside my pants, my fingers centering quickly on my hot, swollen clit. I rubbed fast, nipping and pinching, chasing relief.

  Stella knew, and approval shone in her eyes. Then she planted her hands flat to the bed either side of him, the lioness crouched over her man. He groaned, his hips pushing up into hers. She worked faster on him, lifting and plunging. He was about to come, and so was she. Her eyelids lowered, her eyes narrowing into slits and her mouth opening. Oh yes, she was about to come. And still she looked like such a lady, a totally decadent lady. It made me smile. I bit my lower lip as I locked my clit between two fingers, squeezing until I flooded. I staggered against the shelves of clothing, closing my eyes a moment. Not for long, once I heard her make a sound I was watching again. When she recovered she laughed gleefully and lifted her arms. Her fingers ran through her hair as she gave an ecstatic post-coital stretch.

  “Come on, let me touch you,” her lover demanded.

  She made him wait. No one could order Stella around – that much was obvious.

  She climbed off him and stroked her slit languidly. I knew what she was doing, capturing the wave, making herself come again while she was still right there on the edge, claiming every ounce of pleasure and not giving a damn. In that moment, I loved her for being everything I wanted to be, and more.

  Eventually she undid the handcuffs and threw them aside. The man beneath her grabbed her and rolled her over, but he couldn’t hold Stella down. She was on her feet and stepping back into her high heels, pacing her bedroom naked, smiling secretly to herself. As he attempted to look cool and tug on his jeans, she slappe
d him on his bare arse before it was covered up. “Get me a drink and I’ll join you out there in a few minutes, when I’ve freshened up.”

  Once again, my pulse went out of whack. She was trying to get rid of him, and she was staying behind. I felt the sudden urge to flee my hiding place, to flee the building and hide myself somewhere. But there was no way out. Stella had made sure of that.

  He’d barely left the room when she made her way to my hiding place. My heart thumped hard in my chest and my mouth went dry. She pushed the door wide open, and flicked on the light. I blinked, trying desperately to meet her gaze and not stare at the rest of her, glorious as she was in her regal nakedness, deliciously enhanced as it was by her post-coital glow. Nerves assailed me.

  “Sorry.” I blurted the word out, unsure of myself.

  “Don’t be.” She stepped closer. “I did it on purpose.”

  “Why?”

  “I like you.” She paused, as if to let that sink in. “And I like my female lovers to be into men as well, as I am.”

  My lips parted, but I couldn’t speak, because I couldn’t find the words to respond to that. She’d said so much in that simple statement.

  Stella laughed softly and stroked my hair back from my cheek. “Did it turn you on?”

  The mischievous look in her eyes made me hot all over again. I nodded.

  “I’d like to be sure.” Swift and deliberate, her hand dived inside my jeans and panties, where mine had been moments earlier. I nearly passed out when she touched me that way. Then her nimble fingers parted my folds and moved over my sensitive clit. “Oh yes, you really did like it, didn’t you?”

  There was a growl in her throat and I could see how much she enjoyed the fact I was wet because of what I’d witnessed. The evidence was right there in her shining eyes and the deliciously peaked tips of her erect nipples. Meanwhile her touch was unrelenting, one eager digit sliding inside me while the palm of her hand settled over my clit.

  “Yes, I did.” I steadied myself by putting one hand on her upper arm. It was an excuse to touch her, and a moment later I ran my fingers around the outline of her breast, my thumb stroking over her nipple. “Did you want me to . . . to be . . . turned on by watching you?”

  “Of course I did, but this is the best part.” She pushed her finger deeper, moving it around in my wet heat. “Knowing what it did to you . . . that’s so good.”

  Her pupils were dilated, and there was no doubting that she was aroused.

  “You liked me watching?”

  She nodded. “I’d have liked it even better if you’d been in the bed too.”

  A moan of pleasure escaped me. My hips began moving of their own accord, rocking in time with the thrust of her fingers, the nudge of her palm against my tender clit making me gasp aloud. Driven by lust, and knowing for sure that having me there had obviously made her hot, made me bold. My hands roved over her, reveling in the way she felt. Stella moved closer still, responding.

  “Mmm, yes,” she murmured encouragingly.

  I moved my hand lower, to her bare pussy, and stroked my knuckles over the plump cushion of her mons. When she didn’t pull away I acted quickly, finding my way into her slick niche to the bump of her clit. Our eyes locked and it sank in that we were there together, each with a hand wrapped around the other’s pussy, about to jack each other off. Then sheer physical need took over.

  Pumping and grinding we worked each other hard and fast, our bodies shunting together. Elbows and hips hit the shelves and clothing fell to the floor. The storage unit creaked loudly as we worked each other to a mutual peak up against it. My earlier orgasm had been quick, furtive and desperate, but this was so wild and hot and mutual, and my body was practically singing as she drove me into ecstasy. It barreled through me, stealing my breath away and making my legs weak. It was the most marvelous thing ever, because I had never come that way before. I could feel Stella’s core clamping on my fingers and her juices running into my hand. It made my chest burn with pride.

  When she leveled, Stella laughed joyously, and her smile lit something in my chest. I was smiling too. Sweat broke out on my skin and my crotch was drenched, my cunt pounding with release. She kissed me then, tentatively, then more insistent and seductively, her tongue teasing between my lips. She was so soft yet so strong and decadent, and I wanted her badly.

  Meshing her fingers with mine, she kissed me along the jaw and when she reached my ear whispered to me. “Come on, I’ll get dressed then we can go back into the party together.”

  She squeezed my hand, meaningfully.

  That surprised me because she had arranged to meet her male lover. “But he’ll know I was in here.”

  She shrugged and mischief shone in her eyes. “He won’t be sure, and it’ll drive him mad. Don’t worry, he knows I’m bi. I’m sure he’ll be pleased to meet you.”

  She kissed me again, long and hard, and it meant something. It held a million promises. She drew back, and looked me in the eyes, all serious. “Are you willing?”

  How could I resist? I grinned, and nodded. “Willing and able.”

  Make Your Own Miracles

  Nikki Magennis

  Violet takes a steamcab to the dirty end of town. She suspects the driver is taking her a tortuous, inventive route, but she doesn’t mind as much as she should. She likes these dark narrow streets, the pockets of decrepit and dangerous buildings populated by fiends and outlaws. In addition, she herself is up to much the same kind of farrago. This whole trip, in fact, is part of a tortuous, inventive route to increase her personal gain. Her very personal gain.

  She raps on the ceiling.

  “Here will do,” she calls, over the hissing of the pistons. The wheels grind to a halt against the cobbles. She’s on the corner of Trongate, could almost be visiting a hat shop, looking for a suitable frippery to wear to her next afternoon garden party – if she weren’t dressed, that is, in rather unusually sombre clothing and if she were not draped with a dark, voluminous cloak of thick velvet.

  “Tenner,” said the driver, turning to spit into the gutter.

  “That’s outrageous,” she said.

  “My usual rate for such a precious cargo. Sir Catter wouldn’t like to think his daughter were bein’ carried round by some fly-by-night villain, now would he? ’Specially in these parts of town. A woman needs lookin’ after round here, don’t she?”

  He leered at her with a mouth full of broken teeth.

  Violet passed him the note, her fingertips feeling greasy although she didn’t touch his grubby mittens.

  Once the cab had spluttered along the street and was lost among the afternoon traffic, Violet slid down the alley between the bakers and the music hall. The smell of hot bread made her mouth water, as it always did. Or perhaps it was anticipation of another sort.

  The door was heavy, but Violet had learned the trick. With one sharp kick of her leather boot, it sprang in the hinges and gave enough that she could tug it open. She lifted the cape to cover her face. The smells down here were of the nightsoil variety – thick enough to make you retch.

  The lift was a fearsome cage – rusted so thick that it appeared to be made of dried mud. Flakes of old paint came away on her glove when she closed the doors behind her. She swallowed her fear. Four floors, she said to herself, pulling the lever to raise the lift upwards. The higher she rose, the more light-headed she felt. Her palms were damp, and she rubbed them against the soft fur of the cape.

  He knew she was coming. Of course he knew. Would he be waiting for her? Automatically, she reached to her face, buried her hand in the wild black frizz of her hair. She drew her shoulders back and watched the floors roll slowly past outside the criss-cross lift bars. Something clicked as she rose higher. A cog complaining of the strain. Cables stretched to breaking point.

  Violet closed her eyes.

  The lift drew to a halt. She got out and arranged her skirts before ringing the bell.

  “Hello,” he said, pulling open the studio door.
/>
  “You were expecting me.”

  “Of course.” He stood watching her. His – she didn’t know exactly what to call it – his machine hand, the prosthesis, gripped the doorframe.

  “It is cold out here, sir.”

  “Come in, come in.” At once, he flung open the door and turned to the dim chaos of his studio. Violet followed with as much dignity as she could muster, even though her knees felt horribly like they were not connected to the rest of her. As if she were cobbled together, like Gustav, a broken person who’d been remade and was now something other than entirely human.

  “Care for a drink?” He threw the question over his shoulder.

  “Yes.” She needed something sharp.

  Gustav lived like a wild animal. His workshop was also his home. Violet had been shocked, on her first visit, to see a heap of blankets and animal skins tumbled in a corner, dishevelled and obviously recently slept in. Women like her were not raised to visit the sleeping quarters of males. The sight of Gustav’s bed sheets was enough to make her cheeks burn. But Gustav laughed when she blushed, and now, after two subsequent trips out here to Hell’s western outpost, she had taught herself to ignore the depraved manner in which the man chose to live.

  “I’ve made some modifications,” Gustav said as he reappeared and handed her a shot glass. “I think you’ll be pleased.”

  “I know what I want.”

  “And you are all the more admirable for it,” Gustav said. He raised his glass to her. When he threw back his drink, Violet’s treacherous gaze hooked onto his throat, the jut of his Adam’s apple. Her eyes slid inexorably down, towards the second, more shadowy jut, the slight protruberance at his crotch. It wasn’t the first time she’d been secretly fascinated by the workings of a man’s body. Only Gustav’s seemed, somehow, so much more . . . vivid than those of other men.

  “Unusual,” Gustav said.

  Violet’s eyes jerked up to meet his. She swallowed, and tasted the fumes of whatever potcheen he’d just served her. “What is?” she asked.