I’d like to tell Kevin that my fantasy has become reality and I really am fucking the boss’s wife. But I cannot trust him to be discreet.
Whoever would have thought that my fantasy would be realized simply by opening a door on impulse?
“PUCKED”
Erin O’Riordan
Jena closed her eyes and inhaled. She stood in her alma mater’s dining hall for the first time since she’d graduated five years before. It smelled the same; she could practically feel the freshman five on her hips. She cringed at the way she’d eaten as an undergrad.
Giselle laid a hand on Jena’s shoulder. “Class reunions only come around every five years,” she said. “Have some tater tots for old times’ sake.”
Jena smiled and filled a quarter of her plate with the salty, golden-brown treats. She filled the rest with Caesar salad, grabbed an iced tea from the beverage bar, and set a cup of frozen yogurt on the far corner of her pink tray. She joined Giselle and Carol at the table beside a window overlooking the tennis courts.
They talked about the day they’d met, sophomore year, when they learned they’d be sharing a room. Jena, Giselle and Carol shared that same room until the day they graduated. They shared memories while they ate.
“Where should we go next?” Carol asked as they carried their trays to the pass-through. “It’s Friday night. We could cram ourselves into Flannigan’s.”
Giselle snorted. “I’m a married woman. I have no desire to see the inside of that meat market ever again.”
“I didn’t say you had to hook up. We can go in for a couple of beers.”
Giselle shook her head. “There’s a perfectly nice bar in the hotel. It’ll be full of alumni.”
Carol feigned indignation. “What, you have a problem with fending off pimply frat boys with fake IDs?”
Jena laughed. The trio made its way out the door and onto the quad. “Are you sure I can’t talk you two into coming to the play with me?”
“It’s Friday night, and we’re only together for the weekend. Come out with us and do something fun,” Carol pleaded.
“I will,” Jena said. “After the play. While you two are waiting for me, wouldn’t you like to get a little culture?”
Giselle mimed gagging herself with her finger. “If it was anything else but Shakespeare, maybe,” she said. “I can’t understand a word of that old-timey stuff.”
“I bet you’d be surprised,” Jena said. “A Midsummer Night’s Dream is one of Shakespeare’s most accessible comedies.”
“Whatevs,” Carol said. “We’ll start out at the hotel bar. Text us when you’re ready to do something fun.”
“Will do,” Jena said, hugging each of them goodbye. She hoped she remembered her way around campus well enough to get to the theater. The bright summer evening felt pleasant, despite the sheen of sweat on Jena’s skin by the time she crossed campus and spotted the tall, pointed roof of the two-story theater building.
She picked up her ticket from will-call, and an usher escorted her to her seat in the upper mezzanine. Jena smiled, fondly recalling a mezzanine make-out session with a theater major back in her college days.
As soon as she reached her seat, Jena opened her program and looked at the faces of the principal actors, all visiting professionals, next to their biographies. One caught her eye immediately. His name was Julian Milakovic, and he’d be playing Puck.
At first glance, Milakovic seemed miscast. Nothing about him suggested sprightly mischief. His black and white photo revealed charcoal-black hair, eyes so clear they had to be blue, taut cheekbones, thick lips and a bold chin. He was handsome, but his rugged looks hardly suggested a fairy. Before the curtain lifted, Jena knew he would be her favorite. She couldn’t wait to see him cross the stage.
Jena was glad the theater was filled with undergrads in their jeans and T-shirts. She didn’t feel overdressed in a white sleeveless blouse with a ruffled collar, red knee-length skirt with a flounce and red flats. Red was always Jena’s color; it went with her rosy skin tone and brought out the auburn highlights in her brown hair.
The production began with the overture. The rising curtain revealed the sumptuous Athenian palace of Theseus, who stood with his arm around an appropriately athletic-looking Hippolyta. Humble Philostrate stood in their shadow. Instantly, Jena got lost in the entertainment.
She forgot to await the entrance of Puck, but felt a welcome shiver when he appeared, tall and broad-shouldered, in Act II. He dwarfed the fairy whom he stopped in her tracks as she wandered over hill and over dale. True to his character’s puckish nature, Julian Milakovic looked like a menacing hobgoblin. He wore two little horns in his thick black hair.
“How now, spirit! Whither wander you?” Puck asked, and Jena melted into her seat. Clearly he had a genuine English accent – Jena’s pet turn-on.
To her surprise, Milakovic’s Puck was a shape-shifter. With a few gestures, he became a wild boar, a fox, a panther. These shifts required no make-up, no special effects. There may have been subtle shifts in lighting; Jena didn’t notice. She saw the work of a gifted actor who could become anything moving. His English-accented animal noises were adorable.
Milakovic wasn’t the only hot guy in the show. The one who played Demetrius wasn’t bad to look at, and Oberon wasn’t exactly chopped liver, either. Milakovic had such charisma, though, that Jena felt a connection with him all the way from the mezzanine.
Over the next two hours, the tragedy of Pyramus and Thisbe was enacted, the lovers went to their beds, and Puck emerged with his broom to close the play. After the audience filed out, Jena did something she hadn’t done since the two weeks she’d dated that theater student: she camped out by the stage door at the back of the theater. She watched the actors emerge: first the fairies, then the workmen, then the star-crossed lovers. Everyone except Julian Milakovic; he stood in the doorway and locked eyes with Jena. Evening shadows on his face made him look as if he were still wearing make-up. The only thing that looked different was his head; he no longer wore the hobgoblin’s horns.
She came closer. The closer she came, the better he looked in his simple gray T-shirt and black jeans. “Mr Milakovic, I really enjoyed your performance. I never realized Puck had so many dimensions.” The words embarrassed her. Had she gone back in time five years, become a fawning schoolgirl again?
He filled the doorway, larger in person than he’d appeared on stage. “Call me Julian. I’ll also answer to Puck, or Robin Goodfellow.”
OK, so he was still in character. She decided calling him Julian would suit her fine. Her embarrassment subsided, replaced with bald-faced lust.
“Would you like to have a drink with me?” he asked. “I’m staying at the hotel on campus, which I understand has a decent bar.”
“It does. I planned on meeting my two friends there after the show. I’m sure they’d love to have you join us.”
He shook his head. “While I’m sure your friends are delightful, that doesn’t sound very private. I’m picturing the two of us alone.” She felt a surge of heat in her clit. “Come to my room and we’ll order room service.” He walked to her and took her hand. He seemed to take it for granted she would come with him. No part of Jena’s body objected.
Up close, Julian’s aftershave smelled like it had been designed by a pastry chef rather than a perfumer. It had a buttery undertone, a hint of bitter wheat and notes of burnt sugar and cinnamon. He smelled like graham crackers fresh out of the oven. Jena wanted to get closer and inhale that scent, preferably while her tongue explored the landscape of Julian’s body.
He ordered a bottle of champagne at the front desk and showed her to his room. He talked about the director’s choices as they sat and waited for the wine to arrive. She kicked off her shoes and left them by the door. As he poured the wine, Jena spoke up.
“Excuse me a moment.” She ducked into the bathroom and turned on the noisy fan for a little privacy while she dialed Giselle. Giselle picked up after a few rings. “I’m calling
you from the hotel,” Jena began.
“Is this one of those campus urban legends?” Then she realized the call was coming from upstairs. Giselle laughed. “Come down to the bar and drink with us!”
“Not tonight. I hooked up.”
Stunned silence, a shuffling sound, and then Carol’s voice. “You sound like you’re in a wind tunnel. Why aren’t you drinking yet?”
“After the play, I went to the stage door to meet the actors, and I hooked up. He’s one of the actors, a hot one and he smells like graham crackers.”
Carol did her best impression of a hyena. “You go, Jena! Call us afterward and tell us how big—”
She’d said, and heard, enough. Jena hung up and slipped the phone back into her purse. She left her purse on the sink, turned off the noisy fan and stepped out of the bathroom. Julian’s naked form reclined on the bed.
“Pity you’ve still got your clothes on,” he said in that enticing accent.
She clenched her teeth to keep her mouth from dropping open. Her fingers itched to run along his smoothly muscled arms, his legs that looked chiseled as stone. The actor obviously worked out and kept himself manscaped, resulting in a view a Playgirl photographer would have killed for. Her gaze traveled down his taut belly to his cock, thick and standing at attention.
Two glasses of champagne sat on the bedside table, but Jena wasn’t interested in the wine. She slipped her panties off and unbuttoned her blouse. “Slowly,” Julian admonished. She slipped into slow motion as she took off the blouse, dropped her skirt and joined him on the bed. As they kissed, she ran her fingers up his thigh.
“Do you trust me?” Julian asked as she stretched out beside him, welcoming the heat from his body.
Jena shook her head. “I don’t know you.”
He smiled. “You’d be wise to trust that instinct.” He still sounded like the mischievous hobgoblin of the stage.
She never knew where the feather-soft purple ribbon came from. She only knew that in a moment, Julian had captured her wrists behind her back, tied them together with the ribbon and wound the ribbon up her arms. The binding was loose, but Jena wanted to be his prisoner more than she wanted to free herself. She rolled from her side onto her back and rested her head on the pillow.
He covered them both with the top sheet. Jena shivered with anticipation as he gently kissed her face. She wanted to taste his mouth, but Julian pulled away. His movements on the bed suggested a shape-shifter as much as his stage performance had. His grace as he crawled down her legs was that of the panther. She opened to him. His nose brushed her clit and the heat of his tongue filled her. Jena sucked in a breath. Her soft noises of pleasure were returned by feral grunts from Julian. The panther became the wild boar, rooting for treasures in her moist heat. His mouth brought her close to coming.
“Kiss me,” she demanded, flinging open her eyes. “Kiss my lips.”
With a devilish grin he complied, allowing Jena to taste her arousal on his lips. She groaned with pleasure at the sweetness. She wanted to shout more commands, insist that he fuck her now, but Julian’s kisses would not let her speak. He stole her breath. Her body burned. She longed to use her hands to direct him, but his ribbon had stolen her use of them as surely as his kisses stole her voice. Jena was helpless.
Julian released Jena’s mouth and sucked first one nipple, then the other. When she’d caught her breath, Jena found she no longer had the will to make demands. She submitted happily.
He didn’t prolong her suspense. His broad hands pushed her legs apart further and shifted his weight, holding her tightly. She loved the way their bodies fit together. She felt his cock at her entrance, but only for a moment. The next moment, she felt his fat cock stretch her pussy, a wonderful sensation
With her arms pinned underneath her, unable to explore his shoulders with her palms, she could focus on the places where Julian touched her. The gentle way his smooth chest crushed her breasts felt nice and let her feel his heart beating. His stomach against hers gave her butterflies. He twisted his hips wildly; she tried to echo the motion but found she couldn’t keep up. Her heart raced.
Jena and the king-sized bed shook with Julian’s mad gyrations, which might have reminded her further of wild animals if she hadn’t been too swept up to notice. Her bones seemed to melt and pound through her bloodstream; her entire body felt like molten lava pumping.
As if he’d calculated this effect precisely, Julian took control of the hot flow of Jena’s body with a commanding tone. “Now, my love.” The accent did it for her. She came hard, the sensation extended by his slow-motion hip twists. He caught her mouth with his, stealing her breath once more. She hoped he would show her the mercy of coming along with her. Instead, he slowed down. She could tell he enjoyed this by his wild boar noises. She laughed at his feral grunts, and he seemed to enjoy her laughter. When he laughed along with her, she knew he was close.
Julian placed his big hands on Jena’s hips, bending her to his desires. Her heart throbbed with the forbidden thrill of being so well and thoroughly used. The next morning she’d go back to being a respectable alumna with no interest in shagging passing strangers. For now she would revel in the Puck fantasy.
He pushed her deeper into the mattress and picked up speed. She was surprised by the next sound he made, somewhere between the crow of a rooster and Pyramus and Thisbe’s lion’s roar. She caught herself laughing, and his laughter joined hers.
Eventually they separated. “Are you satisfied, love?” he asked her.
“Yes,” she said weakly, surprised she could form words at all. Her brain felt fuzzy. His response was a slight chuckle. Carefully, Julian rolled her onto her side and untied the purple ribbon.
Freed, Jena stretched and lay back down. She and Julian spooned and settled into blissful drowsiness.
She wasn’t sure how long they napped before she felt his weight leave the bed. He pulled his pants back on hastily, leaving his gray T-shirt on the floor. He turned to her and addressed her with theatrical diction:
And, as I am an honest Puck,
If we have unearned luck
Now to ’scape the serpent’s tongue,
We will make amends ere long;
Else the Puck a liar call.
So, good night unto you all.
Give me your hands, if we be friends,
And Robin shall restore amends.
He held out his hand. Jena offered hers, which Julian kissed. “Does this mean you’re kicking me out?” she asked him.
Julian said nothing. One moment he stood by the open door, and the next moment he was gone. She shrugged and got dressed. After she’d slipped back into her red flats, she pulled the door closed behind her and found the stairs. The scent of burnt sugar lingered.
When she reached the hotel bar, Jena saw Giselle and Carol. They stared as if she’d stepped off a spaceship from Mars, imploring her with their eyes to spill the details. “Well?” Carol said.
Jena smiled. “I’m a theater groupie,” she said. “A Shakespearean slut. A hobgoblin whore. I’ve been well and thoroughly Pucked.” Reaching for each other’s hands in a show of room-mate solidarity, the women laughed.
EROTICA
Volume 4
Edited by
Barbara Cardy
FUN WITH THE FLYING TWINS
Belinda Wolf
The Boeing 777 had leveled out at 30,000 feet and though some turbulence was predicted the crew was unconcerned. Business as usual.
Johanna was busy preparing the first round of drinks. “Did you see those twin guys halfway down on the left?” Cassie asked her. “God, they’re gorgeous, and they look exactly alike.”
“How could I miss them? They both flirt shamelessly,” Johanna retorted. “They introduced themselves as Matthew and Mark, and when I asked how I could tell them apart the one on the outside chuckled and said, ‘That’s easy, sweetheart. The one who will be squawking that he’s terrified would be my brother Mark. The one slipping his hand up your ski
rt and copping a feel . . . that would be me.’”
“It’s not often you see anyone that handsome,” Cassie said, “but to have two of them . . . damn! Wouldn’t you love to fuck them both at the same time?”
“Cassie, shame on you,” Johanna giggled. “Very unprofessional.”
That was a standing joke because neither one of them cared about professionalism when it came to the attractive men on their flights.
The co-pilot was announcing that they were in for “a little” turbulence and should buckle their seat belts.
Cassie was serving drinks as the jet bounced along, sometimes suddenly dropping enough to make passengers gasp.
Her little dimpled knees flashed beneath her tight mini as she moved down the aisle, her voluptuous breasts peeking over her blouse when she bent down to set drinks on trays.
When she reached the twins, Matthew looked up at her, his hypnotic emerald eyes capturing hers. “Angel face, if this plane starts to go down in the storm could you grant me one last request?”
“I’m here to please,” Cassie said, smiling.
“Wonderful. My dying wish is to be deeply imbedded in your luscious body, rapturously shooting my load,” he whispered. The plea on his captivating face was so alluring Cassie couldn’t feel insulted.
“I don’t know, love. We’ll see,” she whispered, unable to ignore the heat that enveloped her, culminating between her thighs.
Cassie’s period was due in the next four days. Before her period she became so violently tormented by sexual arousal that she became irrational in her nerve-racking need.
The Mammoth Book of Erotic Stories Page 10
