The Mammoth Book of Erotica presents The Best of Marilyn Jaye Lewis

by Marilyn Jaye Lewis

  Marilyn Jaye Lewis is an award-winning author whose works range from fiction, to memoir, to essays and to creative nonfiction. She has been a groundbreaking pioneer in multimedia, working in various arts & literature projects on the Internet continually since 1997. She is an internationally renowned erotica writer as well. Her award-winning erotic fiction has been translated into five languages over the last twenty years. She is a devoted mentor to younger writers and is sought after for her private creative writing workshops. Visit her on the web at marilynjayelewis.com.

  Mammoth Books present

  After Hours

  The Best of Marilyn Jaye Lewis: Five Erotic Stories

  Edited by Maxim Jakubowski

  Constable & Robinson Ltd

  55–56 Russell Square

  London WC1B 4HP

  www.constablerobinson.com

  First published in the UK by Robinson,

  an imprint of Constable & Robinson Ltd, 2012

  Copyright © Marilyn Jaye Lewis, 2012

  The right of Marilyn Jaye Lewis to be identified as the author of this

  work has been asserted by her in accordance with the

  Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

  All rights reserved. This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  A copy of the British Library Cataloguing in

  Publication Data is available from the British Library

  EISBN: 978-1-47210-049-8

  Contents

  Acknowledgements

  Chapters in a Past Life

  The Epicures

  Baby, It’s Cold Outside

  After Hours

  Three for the Money

  Acknowledgements

  “Chapters in a Past Life” © Marilyn Jaye Lewis, 1993. First published in The Mammoth Book of Erotica, edited by Maxim Jakubowski, (Robinson, 1994). Reprinted in The Mammoth Book of the Best of Best New Erotica, edited by Maxim Jakubowski (Robinson, 2012), by permission of the author.

  “The Epicures” © Marilyn Jaye Lewis, 2010. First published in The Mammoth Book of Threesomes and Moresomes, edited by Linda Alvarez (Robinson, 2010). Reprinted by permission of the author.

  “Baby, It’s Cold Outside” © Marilyn Jaye Lewis, 2008. First published in Bedding Down: A Collection of Winter Erotica, edited by Rachel Kramer Bussel . Reprinted in The Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica 9, edited by Maxim Jakubowski (Robinson, 2010), by permission of the author.

  “After Hours” © Marilyn Jaye Lewis, 2006. First published in Naughty Spanking Stories from A-Z, Vol, 2, edited by Rachel Kramer Bussel. Reprinted in The Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica 7, edited by Maxim Jakubowski (Robinson, 2008), by permission of the author.

  “Three for the Money” © Marilyn Jaye Lewis, 2004. First published in Three-Way, edited by Alison Tyler. Reprinted in The Mammoth Book of International Erotica, edited by Maxim Jakubowski (Robinson, 2006), by permission of the author.

  Chapters in a Past Life

  Marilyn Jaye-Lewis

  1. Anal

  I knew a woman who had a virgin asshole until she was in her early thirties. I never understood that kind of woman, she’s not at all like me. I’d read about Last Tango in Paris in my mother’s Cosmo when I was only thirteen, for God’s sake – and the accompanying article, too, all about how to do it through the back door and, more importantly, why: because a Cosmo girl is an American girl and American girls love pressure.

  I don’t know if it was related to that distant article or not, but I dropped out of college in a real hurry, after only about six weeks. Something about wanting to feel alive instead, and that’s how I ended up in New York; at the tail end of the disco era, pre-AIDS, a time when any self-respecting underpaid New York office worker drank heavily on his or her lunch hour and didn’t have to be choosy about who he or she wanted to fuck when the work day was over because eventually you fucked everybody. And there were so many exciting cross-purposes going on! For instance, drugs. Did you fuck somebody sheerly because s/he had the good drugs? Or did you use the good drugs as bait to get somebody to fuck you? Of course, if you hung in there long enough, the inevitable descent into hell finally occurred. That’s right, you remember it: you fell hopelessly in love with a completely insane person, a dangerously paranoid schizophrenic perhaps, but you were too fucked-up on the good drugs to even notice it. Maybe for a couple of years.

  When it happened to me, it was with a woman. Back then, she was already twenty years older than me, so God knows, if she’s still alive now she’s using a cane to get around. But she was in fine form in 1980, thin as a rail of course. All bone, no muscle, but that was de rigueur in 1980. We didn’t lift free weights. Every ounce of energy was reserved for lifting cocktail glasses off the wet bar (a long distance endurance process) and for raising those teeny-weeny silver spoons, over and over – all right, I won’t go on. I guess your memory’s a little better than I’d thought . . .

  So I’ll call her Giselle. Not that her name was anything close to that, but it was similarly unpronounceable and she possessed that quick, nervous energy sometimes, reminiscent of the leaping gazelle. And on our first date – or more succinctly – when we hit on each other in that 10th Avenue after-hours meat rack and went home together to fuck like dogs, she was in fine, lithe, energetic form. I know we were kissing in the back seat of that cab, but I don’t remember how we got from the cab to her sparsely furnished living room in that huge penthouse apartment in midtown, with the vaulted ceilings and all that glass. That part’s a complete blank, but what happened from that point on is clear and that’s the sex part and all that matters anyway.

  Giselle’s husband was apparently loaded. And not one of those cash-poor types, either. He seemed to travel on business constantly – or so he said. At any rate, he was away an awful lot and Giselle had nothing but time and money to take his place. You’d think those two things – time and money – would have been enough, but when you’re remarkably thin and nearly forty, and beautiful and sharp and hopelessly underutilized like my dear Giselle, it takes a lot more than time and money to get your rocks completely off. Hence, Giselle’s insatiable drive towards the strange.

  I’d agreed willingly from the outset, I just want that part to be clear. I had my clothes off in a hurry and was letting Giselle douche my ass, simply because she wanted it so much. I was happy to let her do it. I was on my knees and elbows in her half-bath, right off the living room, there. Completely stripped with my ass in the air, a bulb syringe squeezing warm water into my rectum while I had a lit cigarette in one hand and a nice glass of Merlot in the other.

  When the water had done its trick and we were through making a mess in the half-bath, Giselle led me back to the living room and she showed me the huge leather ottoman, how it lifted open for storing magazines and stuff. But she kept her bag of toys in there. It was a pretty big bag. That leather ottoman was sort of like a Playskool Busy Box for the seriously grown up. When she’d emptied out the ottoman, Giselle encouraged me to bend over it, so she could fasten my wrists securely to the wooden casters underneath. She even had specially m
ade rubber wedges she’d shove under the casters to keep them from rolling all over the carpeting. Right away it occurred to me, when I saw the specially made rubber wedges, that it wasn’t likely I was the first girl Giselle had stripped and douched and put over the leather ottoman. But I was OK with that. I drank like a fish and took a lot of drugs back then, so I was usually feeling pretty self-confident.

  Once Giselle had secured my wrists, she inserted a steel thigh-spreader between my legs and buckled each padded end snugly around each of my thighs. And even though the thigh-spreader worked fine – it kept me from being able to close my legs – Giselle attached a padded ankle-spreader between my ankles, too. I guess she just wanted to be sure. And then she came around the front of the ottoman, gave me a hit off her cigarette and a couple of slugs of that great Merlot.

  My head was buzzing. I loved the feeling of being exposed – in fact, forcibly so. Giselle leaned over and kissed my mouth for a while. It made me feel hot. It made my naked backside squirm. When her tongue pushed around inside my mouth, it made my ass arch up and it made me want to have her tongue poking into my hole.

  “Look at this,” she said.

  She pulled a colour Polaroid from a leather envelope and placed it on the floor under my face and went away.

  I studied the Polaroid curiously. It was a picture of a girl much like myself. Well, it was impossible to tell if her face looked anything like mine, but she was totally naked and kneeling over the same ottoman, her legs forcibly spread in the same way, and she was tied down in the same provocatively helpless position. It could have easily been a Polaroid of me.

  That’s when I saw the familiar bright flash coming from behind me and heard the quick grinding sound of the inner workings of the camera. In a mere sixty seconds, the colour Polaroid in front of me was replaced by a colour Polaroid of myself. It was uncanny, you know; the similarities and all.

  We didn’t talk any more after that. Giselle gave me a couple quick swigs from my glass of Merlot and gave me one last drag off the cigarette, then she slipped the gag into my mouth. Tied it pretty tightly, I must say. One of those knots where you just know your hair’s in a big gnarly mess in back.

  Giselle got undressed somewhere, out of my field of vision. I couldn’t see her. But when she straddled my back her slippery pussy was sliding all over my skin. It was obvious she was naked. She leaned down and spoke in my ear confidentially, as she replaced the picture in front of me with yet another one. Of the other girl again.

  “She’s awfully pretty, honey, don’t you think? Her asshole’s so tight, would you look at that? Incredible, isn’t it?”

  I grunted, uh-huh, and nodded my gnarly head in agreement.

  “Not even a hint of a haemorrhoid, see? This girl’s in great shape.”

  I have to admit, I was a little transfixed; I’d never owned a Polaroid camera that took such vivid close-ups! Giselle had obviously invested a fortune in her camera lens.

  “She was very well behaved, if I remember correctly,” Giselle went on. “She took it like a champ, that one did. You think you’re going to be a good girl, too? Huh? You’ve been awfully accommodating so far.” Giselle began to kiss my neck slowly and she rubbed her wet pussy all over my lower back. “What do you think,” she repeated. “You think you’re going to be a good girl?”

  Uh-huh, I grunted through my gag. I was going to be a very good girl. I was going to be stellar.

  “You like things in your ass? You’ve had things in your ass before, right?”

  I nodded my head, yes, but I confess I felt a little tripped up; what did she mean by things?

  Then a different Polaroid was put in front of my face, a slightly more startling one. “Same girl,” Giselle whispered, “but do you notice anything different about her hole?”

  It’s a huge gaping hole, I thought nervously.

  “This is how her asshole looked when I was through appreciating her. Pretty remarkable, isn’t it?”

  Giselle brushed some stray hairs affectionately from my forehead, I guess to make sure my vision wasn’t obscured in any way. I was riveted to that Polaroid, the crystal clear close-up of that well-appreciated sphincter.

  “Of course, this sort of appreciation takes a few hours,” Giselle explained. “You don’t have to be anywhere for a while, do you?”

  I don’t think I really responded to that, I was a little too transfixed. She left the gaping-hole Polaroid on the floor in front of my face and then disappeared somewhere behind me.

  The anticipation is always the greatest part, isn’t it? Man, you’re just waiting and you don’t even know what the hell for. But you feel real certain that you’re going to get it, that it’s eventually going to come. And that’s the sort of excitement I was feeling; like some mad ferret had chewed his paw free from a steel leghold trap inside me and now he tore wildly around in the darkness of my intestines, wanting very much to find his way out. But that was 1980. You know I was young. I was still excited by things like suspense and fear, and the chance to get my asshole reamed by a seriously grown-up girl.

  It started with a simple strawberry. A bright red one with a long stem. Giselle had straddled my back again and lowered the long stem down in front of my face. She twirled it gently, holding the stem between her thumb and forefinger. “What do you think?” she asked. “Can you take it? It’s not too big but it’s awfully fragile.”

  In an instant the bright red berry was gone and Giselle slid her slippery pussy slowly down my back, until I imagined she must have been on her knees between my spread thighs. The tip of the berry was icy cold when she pressed it against my tight hole, but I could feel my asshole clench even tighter. It was an involuntary reaction to the icy intrusion.

  “I can see I have my work cut out for me,” Giselle announced solemnly. “We could be at this a long time.”

  I felt something sticky dribble down the crease in my ass. It oozed slow, like honey. And I think that’s just what it was. When the slowly dribbling drop inched towards my clenching asshole, Giselle’s tongue was there to meet it. She pushed the sticky substance around and around, all over my anus. The stickiness felt strange. It was lightly pulling at my hole. But the warmth of her tongue, pushing into the tight opening now and then, felt good. My hole definitely liked that. When Giselle had licked the surface of my asshole clean, she dripped another trail of honey down the crack of my ass. Again, it oozed so slowly down I felt that this alone, this waiting on the honey business, could in itself take hours. My ass wriggled and squirmed impatiently, perhaps trying to assist the honey in its journey down, but when the honey finally reached its destination, and when Giselle’s warm tongue was once again there to greet it, the honey felt even more appealing than it had the first time. I felt my sphincter muscle relax a little. I felt it eagerly anticipate her poking tongue. I moaned into my gag. And I arched my ass open for her.

  “This is definitely progress,” Giselle announced quietly. “But let’s not rush it. You’re not really ready for the berry yet.”

  Giselle came around in front of me and I watched her polish off my glass of wine. She sat naked where I could see her and she lit a cigarette.

  “I know how to remedy this, though, so don’t lose heart,” she said. “It takes patience and then you’ll be able to get anything you want in there. Even something like a strawberry.”

  I watched her as she thoughtfully smoked and even though I didn’t have some long list of things I’d been trying to get in there, I suddenly felt like I desperately wanted to please Giselle. I wanted anything in my ass that she wanted to put in there. My hips were rotating restlessly against the ottoman while I watched her smoke. I could feel the wetness in my vagina beginning to drool down into a puddle on the carpeting. I didn’t know what she had in mind for me, but I had a pretty good inkling that my ass was going to get fucked good by this gorgeous skinny woman who, let’s face it, was technically old enough to be my mother.

  When she finally stubbed out her cigarette, I watched h
er snap on a latex glove. I’d never been with anybody who’d worn gloves like that before, except the doctor in the examining room and it made my stomach a little queasy watching her snap it on. I wanted to ask her where she got gloves like that, but I had that gag stuck in my mouth and couldn’t say a word. But when she disappeared again behind me and, without much fuss, slid a lubed finger up my ass, I wasn’t thinking about buying gloves. I just gasped. Well, I moaned a little bit, too. She worked that latexed finger into me deep. And it was so slick with lube my tiny hole couldn’t put up any kind of resistance. It tried to push against the intrusion, but Giselle was insistent. She worked against the pushing hole. She slid two fingers in, in fact, and pumped them vigorously in and out while I grunted a little and tried to figure out whether or not I liked it.

  But I didn’t have a lot of options. I was spread open for her either way. She paused for a moment and squirted the lube directly into my hole. It was an icy and unpleasant feeling, but the sensation didn’t last long. It was replaced by the less subtle intrusion of three greasy fingers this time. Three greasy fingers shoved into my lubed hole. Giselle was exerting herself, I could tell; she was grunting from the effort of pumping her three fingers against the muscle that was trying to expel her.

  “Jesus,” I gasped into my gag. And my eyes were riveted to the picture on the floor in front of me. That gaping hole. It was going to be mine before morning came and I was sickly curious about how we were going to achieve this.

  “Are you ready to pick up the pace?” she panted. “Are you ready for some action?”

  Of course I couldn’t answer her and I guess she didn’t really expect me to, but Giselle came around the front of me then and let me watch her strap on the dildo.

  “What do you think?” she asked urgently. “Can you handle this guy?”

  She was referring to the dildo, to its overall size. But I was too caught up in looking at her. I’d been with girls before, and girls with dildos, too, but I’d never been with a woman yet who had actually strapped one on. Giselle looked hot. I was eager again.