The Mammoth Book of Erotic Stories

by Barbara Cardy

  “Is there any way that I can repay you for your kindness earlier?” Her hand continued to stroke his thigh, moving up slowly so that her fingers were almost touching his straining cock.

  He looked at her for a fleeting second in disbelief, then an even bigger grin cracked and spread across his face. “Sure can,” he pronounced, gently taking her teasing hand and moving it up his thigh to where his cock was pushing at the fabric of the shorts. Faith slipped her hand into his shorts and he moaned in delight as she freed it from its confines. He shifted in his seat, pulling the shorts down as he did and enabling Faith to see his manhood in its full glory.

  His cock was long and girthy, firmly rooted in a bed of springy dark hair. A single vein pulsed along its length, from the proudly engorged helmet along the clean pink of the shaft. Zak groaned as she slowly and softly ran her hands over the sensitive head, barely touching it. She grasped his cock in her right hand, slowly pulling the foreskin up over the head as a small tear of liquid was wrung from its eye. He moaned in unabashed delight and groaned again as Faith slowly but firmly ran her hand back down his length. As she found her rhythm, he turned his attention to Faith, slipping one callused finger underneath the tie of her pink silky top, pulling it loose from its functional ties. The flimsy halter top crumpled, helpfully falling down so that her firm breasts were exposed.

  Faith was surprised that she was so excited, but here and now, with the hungry eyes of Zak upon her and the threat of being caught at any moment, she was impossibly turned on. He ran an appreciative eye over her breasts, taking in the white triangles left over from her recent Caribbean holiday. This whiteness only accentuated the warm dusky pink of her nipples, which were bullet hard. The same large thumb that had freed them now brushed appreciatively over each nipple in turn, sending little shivers of delight through her. Swiveling slightly to face her more, he cupped one whole breast in his large hand, savoring its soft firm feel. His head soon followed his hand, an exploratory tongue snaking out to lick her nipple tentatively, in the same way that she had first explored his cock. Now, as she became more aroused, Faith’s grip on his shaft tightened and her strokes became quicker. Encouraged, he used both hands to roughly cup her breasts, his mouth becoming more insistent, enclosing her rigid nipple and applying a delicious level of suction. Faith was by now pumping her hand up and down his cock at quite a rate, enjoying the control that she had over him. Hopelessly aroused, she pulled one of his huge hands from her breasts and forced it roughly between her legs so that he could feel the wetness of her panties. Suddenly and to her undisguised surprise, it became too much for him and he came quickly and without warning, spurting hot jets of semen and shaking uncontrollably with the speed and intensity of the orgasm that he had enjoyed.

  Momentarily disappointed, Faith had reasoned that as he was several years younger than she was he probably would not have had the experience or ability to hold back. Embarrassed for him, she quickly rummaged in her bag, bringing out a small pack of tissues, this time thankful for the paraphernalia that she insisted on carrying around with her. However, as she quickly found out, she had been mistaken. Instead of being embarrassed, Zak appeared to be completely unfazed by the whole situation, watching her languidly as she cleaned him up. As she busied herself around him, he took her by the wrist and uttered one, utterly commanding word.

  “Stop.”

  She looked him directly in his eyes and was suddenly embarrassed by her own reaction. Held in his gaze like a rabbit held in the headlights of an oncoming car, she was powerless to stop his next movements.

  He slid off of the seat and onto the floor, until he was kneeling reverently in front of her. Still holding her gaze, he gently but firmly pulled her legs apart until she was sitting squarely in front of him, legs spread wide. She was aware that he could see right up her skirt to the triangle of white cotton that covered her sticky, hopelessly excited pussy, and this, combined with the intensity of his gaze, raised her to a level of hopeless anticipation once more.

  Zak put his hands on her knees, then ran them up the outside of each leg, bunching her skirt around her waist. The rough material of the British Rail seats scratched against Faith’s upper thighs and bottom. Deftly, he placed his hands under the waistband of her panties and pulled them slowly down, gently guiding each ankle and flip-flop-clad foot through the leg holes until with a dirty grin he raised his cotton prize to his nose and sniffed like a man enjoying a rare delicacy before slipping them into the pocket of his shorts.

  Faith could not help but laugh at this and he flashed his blue eyes full of mischief at her. He then pushed both of her legs up so that he was at eye level directly between her legs. His hands roamed over the tautness of her tan thighs, as his eyes greedily devoured the dark strip of soft hair, surrounded by the white shape left by her bikini bottoms. He gently spread her, exposing all her most vulnerable areas. The same thumb that had touched her nipples in such an exciting way now gently stroked the glistening bud of her clitoris, making her draw in breath rapidly. Still grinning, he continued to hold her gently open, her wet slit inviting him, and he dropped his head to lap at her pussy like an excited young puppy. The sensation was delicious, and she could not help but gasp as his probing licks applied themselves in the same manner around her clit. His fast, long licks were soon replaced by a circular, probing motion, his tongue encircling her in a deliberate, well-timed motion. He alternated this with burying his head deep within her pussy, then returning to apply his lips again to her clit, sucking until it was dragged into a delicious vacuum.

  Faith’s breathing was ragged and harsh now, and it was at this moment that her heart nearly stopped as she looked up to be greeted with the face of the ticket inspector, even redder and shinier than when they had first met, but now pressed up against the glass of the door that divided the carriages.

  Zak immediately picked up on the slight stiffening of her body that had accompanied her realization. “Are you OK?” he asked, a light sheen of Faith’s own wetness around his mouth providing a comic foil to his genuinely concerned expression.

  And, strangely enough, at that moment she realized that she was. The ticket inspector, pudgy cock in doughy hand, had frozen too, aware that he had been caught masturbating. It was she who was in control, she who was calling the shots. Zak’s head was cocked, waiting on her nod to indicate whether he should continue. The ticket inspector was probably expecting her to shout, “Pervert,” and chase him from the train vigilante style. However, instead of shouting with indignation at the unexpected intrusion, she fixed the shocked man right in the eye and nodded to Zak.

  “Please don’t stop,” she whispered, then whimpered appreciatively as he lowered his head back to his task.

  The uniformed man remained mesmerized as Zak continued to lap at her pussy. He was unable to tear his eyes away and she played to his presence, rubbing her hands over her own breasts, squeezing and kneading and pulling her nipples. She could see his pudgy hand moving like a piston up and down, his face at an almost impossible level of redness as he pounded the angry member with complete abandon. It was all the more exciting because Zak had no idea that they were being observed.

  However, the ticket inspector’s presence became just a distant extra as with the learned experience of a much older man Zak sensed her mounting excitement and began to lick her clitoris directly in a strong up-and-down motion. It was almost too much and instinctively she tried to push his head away. However, he held firm, applying the delicious pressure as she moaned gently. He deftly eased a finger into her eager pussy and she pushed against it even as the direct licking of her clitoris was almost unbearable. Both the pressure and speed increased and he pushed a second callused finger into her wet pussy. Her muscles tightened around them and he responded with an edge of brutality by roughly pulling them in and out of her wet slit, twisting them upwards so that they applied delicious pressure to the front of her pelvic wall. She was on the point of orgasm as his fingers pushed harder and faster. When sh
e again caught the eye of the ticket inspector, her whole body finally went into spasm, contracting and writhing on the rough seats as she gasped her pleasure, hands wrapped almost cruelly in Zak’s shaggy sun-bleached hair. As she collapsed into a sweaty heap, she was relieved to note that the ticket inspector was gone. They did not see him for the rest of the train journey.

  At Georgeton a rumble of thunder sounded in the distance and dark clouds began to converge in the sky. As she waited patiently for Sarah, a single drop of rain landed on Faith’s nose. At last, the heatwave was to be broken. Very refreshing, she thought, smiling mischievously to herself as she wiped the droplet away, enjoying both the feeling of freedom as she stood without her panties on the platform and the cheery bob of Zak’s shaggy blond head as he strode away from her, one hand in his pocket fingering his damp souvenir.

  GERTRUDE

  M. Christian

  He doesn’t look like much. Still, when I look at the picture he sent me, I get a quiet rush, a reverberation of what it was like.

  I didn’t feel anything like that when I knocked on his door that night, four years ago. It was routine, a noise complaint. I remember thinking, as I walked up the steps to the little house on 4467 Pierce Street, that anyone who blasted Beethoven couldn’t be a lot of trouble to deal with. I was wrong.

  He’d opened the door on the third knock. I sized him up the instant it swung open: white Caucasian male, thirty-five to thirty-seven years old, approximately 140 pounds, curly brown hair, green eyes, no facial hair or obvious distinguishing markings. He’d been wearing jeans, tennis shoes, and a faded orange sweatshirt with the brooding face of his favorite composer on the front – whose Fifth Symphony was rattling the windows.

  At the Academy they teach you never to make assumptions, that even the most innocent face can hide a nasty perp. “Treat every situation as a potentially dangerous one” – and if you do you’ll freak out in a matter of months. It had taken me a while, more than anything because of who I am, my size, my age, that I’m a woman, but I’d still managed to develop a set of cop instincts. The Academy would say to watch your ass, but my guts said that he was just some innocent little music fan.

  As it turned out, the Academy was closer to the truth.

  “Shit!” he’d said, with a comic intensity that made me smile despite myself. “Sorry, Officer.” He dropped back into the place, moving quickly toward a wall-sized stereo set-up, and Beethoven dropped down to just a percussive rumble. “Got a little carried away, I guess. You know Ludwig: gets your blood stirred up.”

  I can’t remember what I said. I do remember, though, what I was staring at. You see a lot of shit when you’re a cop – but in quiet little Bakersfield you don’t see that much. I knew what I was looking at, of course; I’d seen more than my fair share in the magazines I kept hidden at home. Still, it was one thing to know something exists and quite another to see it personally.

  I guess I must have stared for quite a while, because I was suddenly aware that he was looking at me. Shaking it off, I glanced at him and met a sly smile and those sparkling green eyes.

  I didn’t say a word as he closed the door behind me.

  My ID says GERTRUDE PARROW. I still hate Momma for that, a name no one – let alone a kid – should get stuck with. To everyone except the sergeant it’s Jeri – not Gerty, and certainly not Gertrude. Usually all it takes is a frown and a low growl to get it corrected.

  The Academy taught me a lot of things that weren’t on the curriculum. Like female officers will always get the shit work, especially in little burgs like Bakersfield, and that we’re going to get damned little respect – from citizens and especially from other cops. Momma always said I was a fast learner – and that was a lesson I picked up extra quick. After my first two weeks I put aside Gertrude and built up Jeri – a tightly wound, no-nonsense, ball-breaking bitch. Of course, being a little over six foot helps, as does carrying 160 in firm muscles. Wasn’t always that way: I had to build Jeri up in more ways than just attitude.

  I was strong, I was mean, someone that not even my “fellow officers” messed with. I was also lonely.

  I attracted some men, of course, and even some women, but you could see in their eyes that they wanted Jeri and not the whole package, Jeri but also Gertrude.

  Until that day he played Beethoven too loud – and I saw the whip.

  I didn’t ask, “Is it real?” as he got me a drink from the kitchen. I didn’t need to – it had a very . . . lived-in look. Black leather strips, about a dozen or so strands. It looked heavy, it looked mean, it looked . . . I felt myself quietly go wet staring at it.

  His name was – is – Julius. You wouldn’t know it to look at him, old sweatshirt and tennis shoes, but he’d been doing this kind of thing for a while. Not obvious, but definitely there when he spoke: “So, you want to play?” It wasn’t so much a question as a mocking observation.

  All I could do was nod as I sipped my drink.

  “Then let’s,” he said, smiling broadly, eyes dancing. “Or would this be assaulting a police officer?”

  I smiled back, reached up and plucked by badge from my shirt. Jeri was determined, Gertrude was hungry.

  He started with a kiss – not a polite peck on the cheek, but rather a forceful, hot stab with his tongue. Grabbing the back of my very short ponytail, he jerked me back, hard. Gasping for air, I felt his firm, soft lips, and strong, passionate tongue. Down deep, I felt myself respond . . . on a very primal level.

  “You’re mine, slut,” he said with a bass growl. “For the next hour you are mine – a possession, an object, a thing. You exist for one – and only one – thing: to pleasure me. Do you understand me, slut?”

  I agreed. I tried to make it sound like “Yessir!” but I’m afraid it was just little Gertrude by then, Jeri having stepped out with that first hard kiss, and instead it came out “Yes . . . sir.”

  “Now strip – show me what you’ve got,” he said, pulling up a battered chair and sitting down, facing me.

  Those men, and those few women, they’d wanted me to say those words, to growl commands, orders, but all that time I wanted to hear them, too, to put aside the badge, gun, the attitude . . . to put aside Jeri.

  I stood, slowly, because my knees were weak, and started to unbutton my shirt. I didn’t intend to do it slowly, but my fingers were shaking. One button, two, three. Shirt off. Then my boots, comically hopping braced against a door jamb – but he didn’t laugh. No, he watched. Not stared, just watched, with a gleam in those green eyes like a falcon or a leopard. I didn’t know if he was going to fuck me . . . or consume me – and that made me all the wetter.

  Naked, I stood in front of him, my juices painting my inner thighs with a sheen of want. He smiled, cruelly, and stood. He inspected me, looking at my heavy tits, my crinkled nipples, my ass, my belly, my neck, my face, into my eyes. “You’ll do,” he said after a while.

  “Thank you, sir,” I said in a weak voice, the carpet swaying beneath my feet.

  “As an object you must meet my needs, satisfy my every desire. Do you understand me, slut?”

  “Yes, sir,” I said, distinctly aware of my throbbing clit, the ache in my nipples.

  Then he said it – and if I was flowing before I practically streamed after. “Suck my cock,” he said, a growl in his words, steel in his tone.

  He was impressive, but I’d seen larger. But it wasn’t just his cock I was begging for. He was hard, a thick length of cock just sticking out of his pants, and that got me even wetter – not for the sight of it but rather the command, the order.

  I got down on my knees and started to suck him like his was the only cock in the world.

  Done others, probably will do many others – but his was my master’s cock, the cock I’d been ordered to suck, and so nothing could compare to it. Single-mindedly, becoming just an ecstatic sucking machine, I worked on him – his slight moans and groans a glorious kind of applause for my technique. I wanted more than anything to please him.
/>
  I guess I got a little too enthusiastic. The joy at being pushed down, at being released from my bounds as the dominant Jeri was a little too much for him. His small yelp was like glass shattering, as if a part of my ideal world – the world of Gertrude the sucking slave – broke, fell apart.

  “Bad,” he said, pulling his cock out of my mouth and sticking it back into his pants, “very bad. Obviously you’re in need of some training because a real slave, an ideal slut, would never, ever, allow her teeth to even graze the cock of her master.”

  Jeri was frightened of nothing, but Gertrude – little slutty Gertrude – was terrified. “I’m so sorry, sir,” I pleaded in a soft little voice, bowing down toward his simple running shoes. “Please, I didn’t mean to—”

  I couldn’t see his face, but I could hear the sneer in his voice. “Begging is so pathetic, even for a slut. Obviously you’re in need of some severe discipline.”

  That was it. Right then I knew what was coming next. The magazines I’d bought with their lurid fleshtones and shocking titles had prepared me some – but not enough. They’d shown me the position, on my hands and knees, head down on the old carpeting, ass high in the air, legs slightly spread to bare the lips of my cunt, but they never, and never could have, gotten me ready for the first impact of the whip.

  I expected pain but it was more than that. At first it was a gentle slap, a glancing blow across both my cheeks. That’s it? I remember thinking, almost frowning into the carpet, but then there came the next blow – harder, faster – and I knew that wasn’t it. Oh, no, that wasn’t it at all.

  The impacts came faster, a pounding rhythm that may have started on my ass but soon became a drumming tremor through my whole body. It was as if my entire being was being beaten with a regular 4×4 beat, a drum in his sensual, masterful concerto.

  My ass warmed, becoming almost hot, and my cunt felt molten, melting further with each thud of the whip. Each beat was like a great wave rolling through my body, starting at my cunt and rippling through my belly, into my deep guts, thrilling my nipples and then out my mouth. At first I thought the sound was from somewhere else – it wasn’t until later that I realized that I’d groaned with each impact, an echoing deep rumble to his regular beating.