Best Women's Erotica of the Year, Volume 4

by Rachel Kramer Bussel

  She watched the tandem divers, attached by a piece of coarse material, fling themselves out of the plane until it was just the two of them left.

  “You ready to show James and his mum who you really are?” he shouted.

  She shook her head, unable to see his reassuring eyes now that he was strapped to her back.

  “You got this, Poppy,” he shouted again, but she was frozen in terror.

  Suddenly her jumpsuit collar was pulled away from her neck, replaced by soft lips. “If you jump I’ll do more when we get to the ground. I’m desperate to kiss you properly. I want to touch you, get my hands on your skin, slip my fingers into your panties.”

  It may have been a bizarre motivation tactic or genuine sentiment, but it didn’t matter because suddenly the fear was gone, crushed by arousal.

  With a thumbs-up she declared her willingness to trust him.

  They threw themselves into the sky.

  Poppy couldn’t remember when she last took a breath. Needles spiked her face before gloved hands positioned in front of her stopped the droplets of rain from attacking her skin.

  She needed to calm down. Vomit was beginning its journey up her throat.

  Suddenly a jolt that took every limb with it swept her high and peace descended. Steve had opened the parachute.

  “You okay?” he shouted in her ear.

  “I am now,” she hollered back.

  The beauty on display beneath her took her breath away. She was floating.

  Her hands wrapped around the straps above her chest as she swept her eyes left and right.

  The last year faded away, memories carried on the breeze, leaving her free of their weight.

  Adrenaline, the thrill of falling and her acceptance of it made her feel invincible.

  She didn’t consider her death anymore; instead, she reached for the life that James had tried to take away. Life wasn’t for watching and hoping things would change, but for taking what you wanted and accepting the consequences.

  “We’re about to land.” Steve’s deep drawl filled her insides. He was something else she wanted. “I need you to lift your feet, fetal position. I’ll land both of us.”

  The speed of the ground coming toward them took her by surprise but it didn’t scare her. Poppy refused to be scared anymore.

  Pressure filled her ears as they hit the earth with a bump.

  “You’re laughing,” Steve said as he unclipped her, struggling as she rolled around. “I’m guessing you enjoyed it.”

  “It was amazing! I can’t thank you enough for getting me out the door.” Poppy attempted to stand and plant a kiss on his lips but the loss of adrenaline found her falling to the ground.

  Steve’s hands held her until she could steady herself.

  “You don’t need to thank me. You made it fun.”

  As they headed to the locker rooms, still giddy with excitement, Poppy wondered if Steve had forgotten what he’d said in the plane before the jump.

  Feeling his hand against her back, guiding her, reinforced the promise she’d made to herself. She was going to take what she wanted. Risk didn’t have to be a factor if she didn’t let it.

  Standing in the locker room, all the other skydivers long gone, Poppy slowly gathered her things, deliberating her next move.

  “Steve.” He turned to face her, his eyebrows diving together in question, his mouth unmoving. “Come here.”

  He stepped closer, his jumpsuit rustling as he moved, his slow gait suggesting uncertainty.

  Their eyes met as she lazily pulled down his zip, her earlier tremble absent.

  “Take your jumpsuit off,” she demanded.

  Submitting, he began to strip. Gradually he revealed his body to her. Bare arms raised her heartbeat, but only when he yanked the suit from his legs and displayed his trunklike thighs did she feel wetness collecting in her panties.

  His brows furrowed as she regarded his body.

  “T-shirt too,” she requested without a smile.

  The possibility they’d be caught didn’t concern her. She’d survived diving out of a plane. Nothing was off limits anymore.

  “Do I get to see you naked?” he questioned, his voice wavering.

  With a wicked smile, she undressed, pulling her zip down with ease. As she pushed the sleeves of her suit down and off, she caught the sound of her mobile ringing. At first, she ignored it, enjoying the way Steve’s eyes devoured her increasingly naked form.

  Soon she was standing in front of him, a blush of pink lace against her breasts and sex, the color matching Steve’s flushed cheeks. Hunger emanated from him.

  Once more her ringtone echoed around the locker room. Poppy grabbed it.

  “Hello?” she said before mouthing “Off” at Steve while pointing at his boxers.

  “I’ve seen your Facebook. You can’t do it. I won’t let you.” Poppy recognized James’s demanding voice instantly.

  “I presume you’re talking about the skydive, which is none of your business,” she replied, barely registering his frustrated breath due to Steve’s hard, seven-inch cock suddenly unleashed in front of her.

  Licking moisture from her lips, she imagined what it would be like to have it throbbing in her mouth, moving against her tongue.

  “You’re not allowed. I prohibit you,” James shouted.

  Losing one’s composure wasn’t acceptable in his family. “Your mum will be disappointed at your shouting,” she replied calmly, flicking the straps of her bra down, grinning at the blaze from Steve’s eyes. “But you lost your chance to tell me what to do, not that you deserved it. Anyway, it’s too late. I’ve done the skydive.”

  “But,” he spluttered, “girls like you don’t do things like that.”

  “Women like me, do what we want. No one else, especially men like you, has a say.” With her free hand, she unclipped her bra. It fell to the floor, freeing her breasts. Steve waited, not broaching the distance between them until she beckoned him closer with her curved finger. “Now if you don’t mind, I’m about to fuck a gorgeous guy and I don’t need your judgment putting me off.”

  “But,” he stammered, “you can’t. I don’t even believe you. You’re full of shit.”

  “So what if I am? And James, stuck up boys like you shouldn’t swear. Their mummies wouldn’t like it.” Steve pointed at himself, silently requesting the phone. She handed it over.

  “Bye, James,” he said before tossing the phone to the side.

  Poppy wrapped her hands around his biceps, giddy at the strength rippling beneath her fingertips.

  “If I’m a good boy, will you tell me what to do?” Steve growled, teasing her, pulling away and stripping her of her panties. His fingers stroked at her wetness. Poppy watched in fascination as he met her eyes, lifting one digit to his smiling mouth and sliding it inside. “Someone enjoyed their skydive.”

  The spectacle turned her arousal to agony. She’d never craved a man more. Pulling him closer she brushed her lips against his. Surging horniness turned a chaste kiss into a battle for gratification.

  Steve’s hands traveled down to her butt, kneading it as his tongue slipped into her mouth, massaging her with a skill that was foreign to her.

  Her fingers reached for his hair, bunching clumps of it in her hands as she fought to close the limited distance between them. She needed him buried inside her.

  “So you presumed we were going to fuck? Someone’s confident,” he said playfully.

  “Like you’d say no to this,” she replied seductively, stroking his length, occasionally giving him a squeeze. He thrust into her hand with a groan, urging her to move faster, but she ignored his pleas, relishing her control. “But I don’t have protection.”

  Steve opened his hand and she swiped the condom from him, ripping the foil with her teeth and sheathing him quickly.

  His eyes closed as his head tipped back.

  “Wrap your arms around my neck.” He grabbed her buttocks and lifted her in the air, shoving her against a locker,
his erection penetrating her in one motion. Joyful screams filled the room.

  Although he was the biggest she’d had, her body stretched to fit him, pulling his length inside her. As he jiggled her a little, her nipples rubbed against his chest, causing her to groan.

  “I want those breasts in my mouth later. I can’t wait to taste them properly,” he growled before finding his stance. His mouth was an angel and a devil, choosing to follow up his words with kisses that graced her naked shoulders.

  “Fuck me,” she whispered in his ear. He responded immediately, pulling out of her before thrusting inside again and again. Confidently she matched his rhythm, pressing against his buttocks with her feet, pulling him deeper inside her with every slam of his hips.

  Poppy hung on, grateful for his strength, feeling the grind of their bodies against each other. It felt illicit; she was doing something that she wouldn’t have considered before the jump. Never before had she felt so alive, the hairs on her arms vertical, every inch of her skin electrified.

  “I want to try something different,” she said, breathing into his ear, sliding down and bending over, her hands against the cold metal of the locker, offering her sex to him.

  With a grunt, he thrust inside her once more, a hand gripping her hip, another reaching round to rub her clit. There was no loss to her rising orgasm. The position brought her more arousal as her pussy received the gratification she deserved.

  Their pleasure filled the room, moans echoing off the lockers.

  She’d never felt more in control of her wants. Again and again, she pushed back as he thrust inside her, his length rubbing her walls as his fingertips continued to beckon her orgasm closer. Steve’s grip on her hip tightened, digits digging into her flesh, a silent warning of his impending climax.

  Her heartbeat was out of control, with sweat dripping from his body onto hers. His fingertips rubbed at great speed. His cock filled her, reaching the spot that made her moan every time. He spanked her butt, shocking her and pushing her over the edge.

  “I’m coming,” she screamed, her body shaking, energy flowing through her into him and forcing his orgasm. He groaned as his fluid filled the condom, the heat from it surging deep inside her. Poppy collapsed, her hands starting to slide down the lockers, unable to hold herself up anymore. But his hands gripped her, pulling her upright and tight against him.

  They recovered quickly, suddenly aware that anyone could walk in. They shoved on their clothes, although Steve still took the time to kiss her passionately first.

  “I don’t know what to say. I’ve not done this here before. I don’t do hookups,” he said, twisting the waves of her hair around his fingers.

  Poppy didn’t know if it was the sex, the jump, or something else, but she couldn’t think straight anymore. Instead, she took his hand and brushed a kiss to his knuckles. “Me neither,” she replied. “But let me give you my number, in case you want to meet for a date.”

  Walking back to her car, she turned and looked at the green field where they’d landed and saw Steve tidying up the parachutes. He gave her a sheepish wave and she smiled back wistfully, proud that she’d faced her fears and welcomed life’s next adventure.

  ON DISPLAY

  Louise Lagris

  I look like a real slut on the subway tonight, and it’s totally your fault. Garters you love, a gauzy skirt that barely covers my ass, patent-leather boots I’m teetering on, and underneath my conservative coat, a strappy latex shirt that took me easily twenty minutes of wrestling to get on. Meanwhile, you easily pass for a dressed-up hipster in the tight leather pants I picked out for you at a sex shop in Chelsea and a long black peacoat.

  I stumble a little over the cracks in the sidewalk, and you hold my elbow with strong hands. You have long tattooed fingers that have leisurely worked my pussy and ass inside and out for what seems like hours at a time. I like to suck on them until my eyes water, until I can’t stand not to bite you. Then your hand becomes a slap, and I just want to bite you harder.

  You’re a giver. I’m a switchy little brat. Somehow, we make sense together.

  Tonight I’m going to give you something you’ve wanted, something you’ve begged for with breathy post-coital whispers in my ear and late-night texts when we’re half asleep. Three months ago, our Tinder messages slid into sexts before we even met, and they loosed something in me I can’t quite explain. It feels like the id that normally only surfaces when I’m masturbating to the sloppy sounds of gangbang porn has finally gotten a chance to breathe, and she’s been gulping greedy lungfuls of air ever since. We fucked three times on our first date.

  We were each other’s first anal two months ago, which seems sort of sweet, and tonight’s play party is yet another first in what I hope will be many more to come. We’ve planned for it all week, both in terms of negotiating what we want from the night, and more elaborate fantasies. But now that we’re on our way, I can feel the panic trickling down my spine. What if it is too dark and intimate and intense in there? What if I get scared? What if I embarrass myself, or worse yet, what if I embarrass us? Or disappoint you? What if all of this planning was for naught?

  The party has started by the time we get there, but it’s still early and not too packed. The theme is Scorpio, because it’s Scorpio season. I know you don’t buy into astrology, but what is our relationship but an exploration of the taboo, the shadow side we fear and desire, the watery pools of emotions we’re dipping into each time we fuck? Because as much as I’m dying to know the mundanities of you—your favorite TV shows and movies, what you’re reading, the first time you sucked a cock—I need to feel you inside, outside, all around me more.

  Time unfurls before us leisurely, I trust. We wouldn’t do the things we do without some umbilical connection that holds us over days, even weeks, and I can wait. New York City is a busy place. But maybe I’m just fooling myself. Either way, I won’t deprive myself the pleasure of your company—your beautiful, lithe body and hungry mouth, bruising hands, sturdy belt. My dirty little kinky Grindr slut without a gag reflex.

  Give yourself an enema before you meet me, I texted you this morning. You never know when I might want to pound your ass.

  A beautiful woman with a Louise Brooks bob and vampy lips is lying on a Victorian fainting couch near the entrance, lazily checking IDs against the RSVP list. She stamps our hands and waves us through. We check our coats, and with a giggle I stick my ticket in your pocket. I have nowhere to stow it on my person and my purse is otherwise occupied.

  With every step, the fishnet on my plush thighs rubs together. The gently weighted beads in my cunt rock back and forth. The buttery leather harness under my skirt makes itself known with every step. I think of the contents of my small velvet purse fondly.

  Well-dressed perverts in complicated, expensive latex outfits are languidly snacking on sushi that is artfully laid across the body of a naked woman on a table. Nearby, a human candelabra wiggles under the ministrations of a wasp-waisted love witch gently dripping white wax across her partner’s torso before placing the candle there to burn brightly, joining a baker’s dozen of carefully placed candles melting down onto her flesh. A bald man wearing nothing but a fishnet shirt and lace panties offers us nonalcoholic refreshments as per the party guidelines, but we decline.

  Your forefinger strokes the palm of my hand as if you’re beckoning me to the darker corners, where we can hear wet kisses and the smack of flesh on flesh, but I want the full tour. There’s a brightly lit room kitted out with shiny medical tools laid out on immaculate trays; a dungeon with rows of floggers hanging on the wall, a queening chair for some lucky bitch, and a beautiful, burnished Saint Andrew’s cross standing at attention in the middle of the room; a luxurious wedding suite with white everything, from virginal sheets to soft netting; and so much more.

  In every room, twosomes and moresomes are playing with one another’s flesh. Licking, kissing, smacking, biting—every possible permutation is exploding before our eyes like the Fourth
of July. They’re all beautiful in their own way, hairy backs and cellulite and bony knees; they’re irresistibly human, and in the throes of their private desires, made incredibly real. I’ve got about a decade and fifty pounds on you easily, you lanky thirtysomething, and seeing other people freely fucking makes me feel at ease.

  “I’ve been hard since we got here,” you whisper. I clench my pussy around the balls, which fill me up like three particularly dexterous fingers; they gently sway like an ocean inside me. We’d agreed earlier in the week not to masturbate, not even touch ourselves except to wash in the shower until we were at the party together. Now that we’re here, even my skin is quivering.

  “Let’s find somewhere sort of private.” I lead you by the hand to a dark corner lit only by a wall sconce embroidered with the wax of countless candles. We’re still surrounded by whispers and gasps and smacks like a live porno soundtrack. There’s yet another velvet Victorian fainting couch, and I quickly sit on it to claim it as ours. It feels safe and cozy back here, and as we start to make out, my cunt unfurls and my Domme side emerges.

  “Take out your cock, dear. Touch yourself. Slowly.” I watch you unzip and begin stroking yourself before I reach for my purse. I love the muscles in your forearm and how they flex as you pump your cock. I fumble inside my purse for the satin bag holding a purple dildo, and when I hold it up in the candlelight your eyes turn bright.

  “Hold this.” I stick it in your mouth for safekeeping. You deep-throat it, eyes rolling back in your head with bliss.

  “Drop your pants to your knees and bend over,” I say gently, lubing up my first two fingers. I slowly stroke your cock and your balls from behind, giving each impossibly round cheek a resounding smack before teasing your asshole. I hesitate at the entrance, but you back into me, sucking my finger in so I can stroke your prostate with one hand and massage it from the outside with my other. Your moan joins the chorus of pleasure around us, and I gently add another finger to loosen you up for my cock—which, like a good, good boy, you’re still deep-throating.