The Mammoth Book of Erotic Stories

by Barbara Cardy

  Suddenly, with the fear of looking too long into the abyss of sensual pleasures, he gently pushed Charlotte off his lap.

  “Enough,” he said. “You may get dressed. Replace the crystal and we’ll forget this little incident ever happened.”

  Charlotte’s lips curled into a mocking smile. “Maybe you’ve had enough. But right now you’re going to fuck me. If you don’t, I’ll go crawling to our host, unable to walk after what his brute of a guest did to me over a simple misunderstanding.”

  “Why you—”

  “Take me from behind. Do it now.”

  Planting her knees close to the edge of the settee and pinning a tasseled pillow beneath her elbows for ballast, Charlotte looked over her shoulder with a commanding glance.

  “All right,” Edwin intoned. He didn’t care how wet she was; his cock had been bursting for purchase ever since Charlotte’s husky voice confronted him at the buffet table.

  He was expecting her cunt to be tight as a reticule but he slipped in easily and for a moment he balked at an unnecessary barrier to his enjoyment. Edwin pulled away and dried his cock off with the tail of his shirt, then plunged back in again. He gripped Charlotte’s hips in order to drive his thrusts in deeper and delivered a few more slaps to her derrière in the process. The sure knowledge that the quim he was into had already been taken aplenty oddly stirred his appetite all the more.

  He wanted to see all the merry minstrels who had lined up to play fiddle to this cunt. It was a glorious envelope not meant to be steamed shut and suddenly he yearned to pound this pussy for all he was worth, drive into it until their sweating humping bodies were propelled out the door, across the dance hall and onto the manicured lawns.

  At the cusp of climax, Edwin bellowed, cradling his cock in hand while covering Charlotte’s bottom with the meringue of his semen.

  They never removed their masks. Charlotte quickly dressed and left the room while Edwin buttoned his britches. She was gone before he even had the chance to wipe the sweat from his brow. The last words he would remember from this conquest (or was he her prize?) would be: Take me from behind. Do it now.

  Well, they had both found a way to make a tiresome evening palatable. Now he had to find a washbasin lest his fiancée get a whiff of his diversion and leave with her yearly income of £60,000. His mind wandered to a shop girl he fancied last time he visited Rome. She had a heart-shaped face and a bottom you could have carved a turkey on. He remembered she too liked to be spanked to fruition. His fiancée begged him for an Italian honeymoon and he had reminded her Paris was the city for lovers. He’d have to tell her he had changed his mind.

  Aunt Louisa had been waiting in the foyer for close to half an hour. Her eyes went as big as doilies when she saw her niece.

  Back in the carriage, on their way home from the Cherel estate, Louisa leaned forward and said, “Why, Charlotte. You look like you’ve been properly fucked.”

  “I have, darling. I have. But now, I just want to close my eyes and rest a bit. I didn’t get enough to eat; I’m feeling faint with hunger.”

  The older woman petted her niece’s wrist. “There, there. Cook will fix you something when we get back to your old auntie’s haunt.”

  “You’re not taking me back to the convent?”

  Louisa smiled with unmistaken devilment. “Tomorrow, sweetheart. In the morning I have a new gardener coming over named Rico. Rico’s from Portugal; I think you’ll like him.”

  Charlotte’s aunt lived in the most fashionable quarter of Paris. Charlotte retreated to her haven of a guest room and wrapped herself in a cocoon of freshly laundered sheets under a damask coverlet. Her sleep was soundless and dreamless, the blissful comfort of the recently sated.

  In the morning, she woke late, past ten. A maid served her a hearty breakfast of ham, cheese, fruit and croissants along with a pot of strong tea. She would need the sustenance.

  Her aunt was right about Rico. Charlotte liked him from the start. Though they didn’t speak the same language, their bodies sung paeans of love.

  Charlotte took Rico to her room and into her bed. At first the young man was shy, but when Charlotte removed her chemise, baring her breasts to those callused hands of his, well, he was all over her.

  They tenderly made love, a nice contrast to last night’s rutting. Nice to mix it up a little bit, Charlotte thought. Rico’s cock was like a world made flesh; it filled her to the point where she would have fain let one of her limbs drift off to sea. When sex was this good, it created panicky sensations in her chest; she didn’t want it to end and tried to focus on keeping this body, this wonder of maleness close to her.

  But even the best lovemaking ended eventually, leaving Charlotte alone in her room at the convent with its gray walls and mattress so narrow she couldn’t turn over twice without falling to the cold cement floor.

  Louisa had packed her a nice picnic basket to take with her: plenty of fruit, cheese and chocolates. Really, life could be worse.

  She held her aunt’s hand in the carriage and gave the generous woman a kiss on the cheek, thanking her for all the kindnesses.

  “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Aunt Louisa.”

  “Quite simply, Charlotte, you’d go mad. You’re a woman made for love. Four gray walls and a cold bath once a week? That’s not the life for you. I’d let you live with me but your parents say that would take you right out of the marriage market.”

  Charlotte’s gloved hands turned to fists in her lap. Louisa gave her charge one last hug before closing the door of her carriage.

  She called out of the window, “Chin up, darling! I’ll be back in a few days.”

  Aunt Louisa was said to have been quite the beauty in her day, wasp-waisted with a high bosom and a tornado of sunshine-yellow hair. Now, Louisa’s body was as thick as the gated door guarding the mausoleum where Charlotte spun out her days and her aunt’s hair was white as a cloud. Charlotte had many things she wanted to think about before the convent’s inevitable dinner gong sounded like a death knell.

  But first she wanted to take that perfume bottle out of her handbag and place it next to the water pitcher on her nightstand, the only furniture she was allowed in her room. She would remove that lovely crystal with its impossibly delicate stopper and she would think about that.

  Yes, that would be the first thing she wanted to think about.

  THE STOLEN KEY

  J.T.Seate

  A beautiful afternoon greeted Robin and Marian. The sky was a perfect blue and the sun still high. They directed their mighty steeds along a trail in the woods. Marian rode side-saddle as was appropriate to her nobility. They wandered past lush groundcover. Evergreens towered overhead and deciduous trees foliated on long branches. The sunlight darted through green stained-glass leaves creating small islands of light that highlighted Marian’s blonde curls.

  The sound of gently running water babbling over stones soon met her ears. The steps of the horses quickened. Large rocks near the creek offered a resting place. Robin dismounted. His hands found Marian’s waist and he lifted her from her mare to the safety of terra firma. Marian smelled of jasmine and lilac. Robin nuzzled her neck and took in the aromas that were seldom found on the women beyond the castle walls. Fresh clean smells were afforded to those with unsullied water and scented powders created by adept apothecaries.

  Robin led Marian to the largest rock. The couple perched upon it and watched the brook slowly meander around several bends as it made its way downstream where it pooled into calm water. Further along, it dropped over boulders and mossy rocks, and then cascaded into a small waterfall. The sound was delightful and refreshing.

  They held hands and gazed past the stream to where the trees fell away to reveal grass as green as Robin’s tunic, meadows with yellow wildflowers and fertile fields of brown earth that stretched across a valley. They pondered their secret liaison as a pair of dragonflies buzzed and darted over the glimmering wet stones.

  Caught up in the frolicsome li
beration Robin’s presence provided, Marian raised her gown above her thighs and hiked her feet up on the rock in a very unladylike manner. She gathered small stones and tossed them, one by one, into the shimmering waters. Her lips curved into a petulant smile as an erotic memory with Robin surfaced.

  Robin studied her. “What wily thoughts lie inside your pretty head today, Marian?”

  “Inside my head lies nothing but magical thoughts of thee, dear Robin.” She chunked another stone into the still pool. It skipped along the surface and over the edge of the waterfall. “My heart always flutters like that pebble upon the water when we are together. Then, like my heart, it drops into the abyss when we must part.” She raised his rough hand to her lips and kissed his palm. “I was thinking of the first time you walked with me through Sherwood. You bribed my chaperone with a king’s ransom to keep her watchful eye at the trail’s entrance rather than upon us.”

  “Nay, not quite a king’s ransom was required to turn your handmaiden into a sentinel. It was only the wealth stolen from a fat merchant on his way to pay tribute to the sheriff. A fair trade, I would say.”

  Marian laughed and looked into Robin’s ice-blue eyes. “Think ye that someday we might lay on satin sheets? You, dressed in the finest silks as the lord of the manor to which you are entitled?”

  “No drafty castle for me, fair lady. And no nonsense about lords, ladies or the trappings of knighthood. It will be rough-cloth outlaws of the forest for my men and I until justice rules the land. No more talk of silks and satins. Not on such a fair day and with our moment so brief.”

  Robin pulled a scrap of smoothed animal-hide from beneath his forest-green tunic. Letters were inscribed upon it. “I’ve written something for you, Marian,” he announced. “My passion may not always be obvious when we play the game of love in frolicsome haste. Perhaps my words will stir your heart beyond its flutters to the knowledge of my deepest feelings.”

  Marion wanted a peek at the scribbling, but Robin turned it so that she could not see. He held the script before him as if he was about to make a proclamation from the king. Marian laid her hand upon his arm in anticipation of his words.

  Robin cleared his throat in dramatic fashion, and proceeded:

  “M’lady reclines in the tall summer grass while I chase after dandelions.

  She smiles from beneath her emerald eyes as if I’d brought her roses instead of wildflowers.

  Two damselflies buzz above our heads as she takes the flowers from my hand.”

  Robin’s eyes darted sideways to see how Marian was reacting to his poetic verse. She seemed pleased.

  “The summer wind disturbs a lock of her hair as her lips approach me with a kiss as tender as the velvet touch of a breeze.

  M’lady closes her eyes to enter a world where only we exist while the gentle music of water sings over stones.

  She smiles again at the wonder of the day, and of me, as she beckons silently, the moment too precious for words.

  She places my hand upon her breast where her heart beats to the rhythm of my pulse in an act of love as pure as nature’s glory that surrounds us.

  My mouth suckles m’lady’s sweet breasts amidst the blades of grass.

  I touch, taste and smell all that is wondrous about her.

  M’lady places my flowers in her hair then touches me, and our perfect universe is complete.”

  “Oh Robin,” Marian gushed, almost in a swoon. “You capture my heart as the song from a meadowlark might capture his mate, and on such a perfect day to offer this soliloquy. Your precious sentiment belongs to me now, sweet rover. Aye, and the beautiful verses upon this parchment. I will carry it next to my heart beneath my royal garments as a reminder of your endearing words written for me only.”

  Robin gave the lambskin parchment to Marian. She laid it high upon the rock, safely beyond the water’s edge. Then she turned to her petitioner once again. “I am inclined to give you something more than sweet words and kisses in return.”

  From a small purse, Marian produced a silver key. “I have snuck away with the key to my virtue. The time has come for you to take me completely, Robin. Let’s delay no longer, my sweet. Your words have won the wholeness of me. Without further entreaties, you may storm the ramparts. Aye, and do more than place your cock and your kisses upon me. What say you to this undertaking?”

  “My cock in the final fissure, forbidden to me no longer? Let me have the key, Marian.”

  Robin took the stolen key and placed it upon the rock next to the parchment. They stood and undressed each other. Marian flushed. Her passion heightened as she unlaced Robin’s coarse tunic and unfastened the leather knots on his breeches.

  Nimbler fingers than Robin’s were usually required to free Marian from her bodice and skirts, but he was up to the task as he peeled her, layer by layer. Covered only by the dancing shade of tree branches, they flung the garments near their mounts. The horses whinnied in approval.

  Robin had taken many a wench in his time, and more than a few women of noble birth, but Marian had always been his prize. She was the one woman in Nottingham worth the time and effort he had invested, with the ultimate goal of her deflowering. A moment that had, at last, arrived.

  There had been many walks through the woods before she took his cock from his breeches and held it fast. And yet more excursions and picnics before his creamy ejaculate had flown from the tip of his prick as if it had been shot from a catapult, with encouragement from Marian’s tiny delicate hands. And longer still before her prudishness collapsed completely and her dainty lips had encircled that loaded weapon with the gusto of swine at their feeding trough.

  Yes, it had taken time and deliberation, but Robin’s favorite pleasure was the simplicity of Marian’s slender form revealed in its grand nakedness. The only flaw was the silver studded leather belt around her waist and between her limbs that encased and protected the Golden Fleece from royalty and ruffian alike.

  Her alabaster skin, unsullied by labor and not stretched from childbirth, was in startling contrast to the wooded backdrop of rough tree trunks and the undergrowth of fauna. She posed for him upon the rock, like an angel from heaven. But instead of possessing wings, her oddity was the irritating and unnatural signpost of purity that covered her Venus opening. How she had smuggled away its key from the Mother Protector he could not fathom, but this was no time to ponder such trivialities, not with the key in reach of the lock.

  Robin planted kisses upon Marian’s lips and stiffening nipples. She glanced down to see if the promise of her quim was stirring his loins. “Your manhood grows quickly like a wild root seeking the nectar hiding inside a dainty flower,” she said with great delight.

  “Well said, m’lady. Now for the key to your jewel behind this wall of exasperation.” Robin took the key from the rock and placed it within the keyhole of the finely crafted apparatus. He turned the key. The belt sprung open and the quarry of hair and flesh stood liberated. He removed the device from around her hips and tossed it near their pile of clothing.

  During Robin’s life as both noble and outlaw, he had sallied forth into many vaginas, but had seen none as fair, or as prized, as the one presented forthwith. It resided in modest repose beneath the triangle of light silky down, waiting to be awakened by the thunderous bulb growing thick between the master’s thighs. “Truly a feast fit for a banquet in heaven,” he said to Marian in praise of her cunny. His words had proven one way to a woman’s heart. He would show Marian yet another use for the tongue, one that would make something other than her heart throb.

  His tongue dampened her pubic hair then darted toward the fissure between her virginal petals. Even here, Marian smelled of fresh flowers. The truth be known, he preferred the natural musky smell of the women of the villages. But it was a small unpleasantness. And there would come a time when he would wash all the pomp and courtly trappings away, and rut her like a lustful woodsman full of drink might mount and shag a common concubine.

  Marian moaned with the p
leasure of a new and alien sensation. “Darling Robin, lay me upon the rock and take me with your sturdy staff.”

  He took her in his arms and lay her down gently.

  “Do not worry about hurting me,” Marian breathed. “My maidenhead was defeated long ago from self-indulgence. I am not completely innocent of the feelings you are about to awaken.”

  “But my siege will be much greater than an attack by your tiny fingers.”

  “Oh, I have been besieged by a little more than that. The fruit and vegetables from the garden have supplied some relief. Even the end of my walking stick has been of service while thinking of our clandestine meetings. But now I have you, Robin – living, breathing flesh and blood to complete my longing.”

  “Hmmmm.” Undaunted by Marian’s revelations, it was time to mount her and ride, gently at first. And then later, shift into a gallop of reckless abandon as if putting the strap to his horse. Robin lay upon his damsel. His bulbous member found her liberated slit. He plunged his prick inside her to a depth which no walking stick or cucumber had previously reached, he felt sure.

  Marian gasped. “Oh, m’lord. You are deliciously deep within.”

  “Is it as pleasurable as you had hoped?”

  “Richard may have the heart of a lion, but you have the cock of a god. Preen and crow, my good cock. Dig your talons into my flesh so that I may be reminded of this robust pleasure far after it has ended, in my dreams of desire when you have departed. I care not if the Mother Superior examines my body and finds the scratches and welts of our passion thereupon.”

  “Cock-a-doodle-do!” Robin crowed to their good humor while he plunged and receded, plunged and receded, like the well-oiled cog of a waterwheel with only Marion’s supple skin between the hardness in his shaft and the non-yielding surface of the rock.