Best Women's Erotica 2014

by Violet Blue

  “Do you like that?”

  She nodded. He inched it farther, moving so slowly the thick plastic rubbed along her walls in the most delightful of ways. Once the base struck her folds, Daniel jerked it back until only the tip remained inside her.

  Jennifer growled at the immediate emptiness. “More,” she begged.

  Daniel obliged, repeating his movement a few times. Each time he glided the silicone rod so that it banged hard against her depths, then drew it almost all the way out. Jennifer’s face grew numb, and when her breath became ragged, Daniel released a moan.

  “I’m enjoying getting to watch how you quiver when I fuck you with this,” he said. “I wish you could see how lovely you are. Your breasts are so full, and your belly practically heaves with your breath. You know your thighs are shaking?”

  Yes indeed, she did.

  He jammed the dildo inside her again, this time leaving it planted.

  “I want to feel you,” she whispered. She loved her toys, and they’d gotten her through all this time away from human contact—but she wanted Daniel inside of her now. He had to be a part of this.

  “You will,” he said.

  Then he turned on one of her vibrators.

  Jennifer clenched around the dildo as he pressed the vibrator against her swollen bud, using his other hand to wedge the other toy inside her. She moaned and shoved herself down, loving the combination she’d tried so many times on her own. Daniel had picked her favorite vibe, too—the one that went from low to high with an easy flick of the wrist, its special jelly tip practically molding to the shape of her clit. He rubbed it over her, then began sliding the dildo in and back out. She wanted him in its stead, but deep inside, her orgasm built—the thundering presence held back despite all of Daniel’s moves, sweet words and caresses.

  “How does that feel, baby?”

  She could tell he’d propped himself on his knees to balance, the bed wobbling as he worked the dildo inside her and wiggled his wrist so the vibrator directly tickled her clit. She heard the crinkle of a wrapper and she trembled, aching to feel him.

  “Oh god it feels so good. Please, please,” she said, gritting her teeth. “Fuck me, Daniel.”

  “Open your eyes,” he said.

  She did. Daniel hovered over her, the muscles of his arms flexing as he pumped the dildo and whisked over her swollen bead with the vibrator. He bit his lip as he manipulated her, his wrapped cock now at full attention a few inches from her thigh.

  “Please,” she whispered.

  He drew the dildo from her pussy, the rubber slick with her wetness. He tossed it aside but kept the vibe against her clit, flicking it back and forth and sliding his length closer to her opening. She writhed to meet him and Daniel continued to tease, taking light grazes with his crown to make her whimper. Jennifer clawed at his sides, trying to urge him forward, and he folded over her for a heavy kiss before positioning himself square with her cunt.

  “Ready?” he said.

  “Yes!”

  Daniel thrust then, so firm in comparison to the dildo. He sank far deeper than the plastic rod, his girth magnificent and filling, and drawing a loud cry from her lips. He grunted and pounded into her, continuing to rub the vibrator over her clit. The orgasm that had teased her for so long snuck closer, warning her of its onslaught in a spray of goose bumps that lined her arms and legs. Deep inside, she felt that spark—exactly where he touched and probed, working her into a frenzy that made her arch to meet him.

  “You feel so good!” Jennifer gasped.

  Daniel plundered her mouth with another kiss and then sucked in a breath as he drove into her again. “I’m still not coming. Not yet. You first.” He plunged again, hard, and Jennifer threw her head back as the sensation took over, a rolling crescendo that made her scream.

  “Yes!” Her thighs shook as he pressed into her and Jennifer could no longer see or hear, her mind filling with the intensity that Daniel’s eager thrusts brought to her. She groaned and bucked against him, and he swiped the vibrator faster against her clit until she cried, “Oh god yes, yes, yes!”

  When she jerked, Daniel countered her in a skillful ride, his free hand gripping her hips and then her breasts. Jennifer’s orgasm came overwhelming and sweet, ripping through her like a tornado and making her moan so loud she thought she’d deafened herself. As she settled into the feeling, all the worries she’d had washed away until she lay panting beneath him.

  Daniel slowed, and then lodged himself as deep as he could go while her muscles still spasmed around him. He hadn’t moved the vibrator, and as it kept right on buzzing over her clit, he stared down at her with a beaming smile.

  “You are fucking hot,” he said.

  She giggled. “So are you.”

  He shifted inside her and she jumped. “I’m not done with you, though.”

  “No?” Jennifer put her hands over her cheeks, both of them hot and tingling from the solid minute she’d stopped breathing. The vibrator against her clit still felt so good, as did Daniel’s throbbing cock inside her.

  “Definitely not.” He eased out and slid roughly in, panting as he tried to hold back. When he rubbed her with the vibrator again, she felt her second climax take root, coming out of nowhere and making her cry as she shoved herself up to meet him. Daniel lost his control then, biting her shoulder as he sped his pace inside her.

  “Jennifer…” he moaned, and as he drove forward she shuddered, the wave of pleasure hardly giving her time to breathe.

  “Oh, Daniel!”

  He groaned and rode her excitement. Jennifer clawed her hands down his sides, feeling the vibration from the toy all the way into her core as he slammed, retreated and forced himself inside of her again. Finally he filled her with one loud moan and Jennifer sighed with the movement, her body completely weak. Daniel fell over her and buried his lips in her hair.

  “Wow.” Between them, the vibrator continued to buzz. It had rolled slightly off to the side at an angle that rubbed against both of their hips. A grin spread over Jennifer’s face as she realized what had happened.

  “That was amazing,” she said.

  Daniel lifted himself, his face red and his breathing still precarious. He kissed her mouth, her cheeks and then her forehead. Slowly he drew himself away, and a pout touched her lips.

  “Yes, it was,” he said. He turned off the vibrator, then held it in front of her. “This, all of it, was beautiful. I am hooked.”

  They lay still for a few minutes, Daniel resting the vibrator on her chest as he stared into her eyes. When they calmed, he picked it up again and tapped it against her sternum.

  “You know, I’m not sure about the rest of the contents of the box.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Daniel ran the vibrator in small circles down her belly until it rested against her opening. “I mean,” he said, smiling, “I’m not sure how they all work for you.”

  Jennifer gasped.

  “Guess we better start working through the rest of the box.”

  HER FOREST, HER RULES

  Laila Blake

  Her heart hammering faster than the distant drums, Amy ducked under a low branch and then caught herself against a tree. The bark was rough under her short, pink fingers. Carefully, she peered around the trunk, daring a glance back. Trees, moss, roots, grass—but not another soul. She could still hear them, trampling around in the distance. There were shouts; someone was blowing a horn but she didn’t have anybody directly on her tail. This did not come as a great surprise to her, really, but there was little fun in not even pretending.

  Finally, she pushed herself off the tree. She had to get deeper into the forest if she wanted to keep her edge. Maybe there were allies to be found deeper in its mossy glens. She seemed to remember a clearing that had served as a resting place for her clan before.

  The underbrush crackled under each step; larger branches creaked like the moan of an ancient spirit, smaller ones simply broke under the impact. Stealth had never
been one of Amy’s strong suits; just like dashing from cover to cover, a zigzagging line between the trees was far more fluid and elegant in her fantasy then it presented itself to the casual observer watching her.

  The deeper she got into the forest and the farther she distanced herself from the trodden paths, the slower her progress. She had to stop more often to catch her breath, had to take more careful steps to avoid tripping, falling or making too much noise. When it felt momentarily as though someone was holding her back, she stopped, whirled around and then slapped her hand over her mouth at the sound of tearing fabric.

  “Fuck!” She cursed in an audible whisper, sank onto a fallen tree and lifted the torn hem of her wide velvet skirt up over her knee to inspect it. It was large and ugly and she’d left her stitching kit back at camp. “Fuck-bloody damned…”

  Her tirade stopped instantly when she found herself looking up at a sword, its tip gently coming to rest under her chin. Both Amy’s eyes and her mouth opened wider. How in the world had he sneaked up on her like that?

  “What do we have here…” a warm raspy voice asked mockingly, “a cursing elf? An anachronistically cursing elf, what’s more. There are rules against such conduct, wench….”

  Amy couldn’t answer; every single molecule of air seemed to have vacated her lungs for the present. The sword-wielder was one of the few members of their club who didn’t turn up every time. She had seen him before and admired him, but he’d never dropped his role, and she had no idea where he came from or where he went on the weekends he didn’t attend. He had beautiful gear that didn’t have the unrealistic sheen of brand-new materials to it and sometimes she wondered if he met with other larpers, too.

  It was just that he didn’t really look like one—at least not like anyone from her club—he wore the leather breastplate like none of the others, boys all of them and whatever armor, wizard’s robes or ear extensions they invoked to suspend disbelief, their malleable, soft faces, zits and hair product always got in the way. Amy did not voice those complaints of course—she was on thin ice herself. Who had ever heard of a chubby elf? And really that was the point, that here, one of them had to feel like an outsider, the way she did almost everywhere else.

  This one though, he was different. He seemed to be one of the few men in the group who looked their age—they were all in their late twenties and early thirties, but so few looked it, especially among the men. The sword-wielder did, though; his hair was cropped almost as short as the stubble of his beard. He wore an expression of condescension that suited his armor and stance and Amy was momentarily taken aback at how deeply he seemed to be immersed in his role. There was not a hidden grin, not a wink, not a gesture out of place. She could feel a twinge deep between her legs.

  “Got a name elf?”

  Amy swallowed, then dropped the hem of her skirt back down over her leather shoes and tried to arrange her features into a defiant scowl.

  “Who wants to know?” she asked back, fingers gliding over the glued-on prosthetics on her ears that made them nice and pointy. When she saw him noticing, she quickly snapped them back into her lap, where they felt useless.

  As though he had guessed this problem, Amy suddenly felt him bring his sword closer. The sharp point was pushing against her skin. Right there under her chin where a tiny amalgamation of fatty tissue made just enough of a curve for him to poke at. The sword was not sharp—but it was real metal and Amy swallowed uncomfortably. Then she raised her hands, yielding.

  He hadn’t said another word, just cocked up his brow and ignored her back talk. His eyes were locked on hers, and while she found herself blushing, his face showed no sign of discomfort or embarrassment. Just for a moment, Amy could give in to the fantasy that he really was a warrior who had come to capture her. A shiver went down her spine, and she wet her lips.

  “Amariel,” she finally whispered, voice croaking a little. The sword had a greater effect on her than she was willing to admit to herself. “My name, human, is Amariel. And I would be very much obliged if you could…back the fuck off.”

  She blushed harder, annoyance glinting in her eyes—more at herself for her inability to stay in character and come up with the right things to say than with the guy, but it was easy to transfer those things. Especially because it seemed to be his eyes and the cocky set of his brows that caused her brain to go to mush.

  He smirked and lowered his sword. Amy swallowed; she was about to touch her neck in relief when she felt the tip now resting against her chest, just above the swell of her breasts, bound and squished together by a cheap fake leather corset.

  “You know I can’t do that,” he rasped. The tip of the sword sank lower along her sternum; the metal was cold against her skin and Amy shivered. Her hands started to prickle from holding them up and she bit her lips while he continued: “I have my orders…any elves in our forests are taken in for questioning. But then you know that, don’t you? That’s why you ran….”

  The sword was still scraping along her skin until it rested on the hard top of her corset. The point of the blade was completely submerged between her breasts. Amy quivered and looked up at the man, wide-eyed and momentarily shocked. It wasn’t like she had never fantasized about this. Her friend—a skinny enchantress with a costume that even Amy couldn’t take her eyes off of—had told her this kind of stuff went on sometimes, but it had never happened to Amy. She licked her bottom lip and breathed in the smell of the forest—wet and alive. She was making this up, surely.

  “Well…if you have orders, human…” She tried to sound unimpressed and pointedly looked down at the sword between her pillowing breasts. “I myself have little interest in meeting your captain.”

  He moved like the wind—that was the last thing she thought before everything happened all too quickly. The sword clattered to the ground and she felt herself bodily pulled off the log, turned and pushed against a nearby tree. The force of impact made her grunt—and then whine when the man pulled back her arm and angled it up on her back, just the way she had seen in a hundred cop movies.

  There were two ways to step out of the game. There was a word and a hand signal—and for that reason it was never allowed to incapacitate hands and mouth at the same time. Amy knew them both, the word rolled around in her head and her fingers tightened on the rough bark as she felt that warm shiver run down her spine. She could say the word and he would back off, but then the tingling would stop and so would the throbbing between her legs. Briefly, she considered if this made her slutty—but then the very idea of being exactly that made her heart beat faster. She didn’t often have the opportunity to be and now that it seemed right within her grasp, all she wanted was a taste.

  “Is that so?” he growled into her ear. He was taller than she was, bending over a little to get close to her dark hair. He brushed it from her neck with his free hand, while the other tightened slightly on her wrist.

  “Oh…yes,” she exhaled. It came out much more a grunt than her regular voice and she tried to remedy that when she continued, working harder to keep up her role. “I hear that…in humans, you get duller and duller with each…rank you climb.”

  He pulled her arm up higher, and she moaned and suddenly could feel his groin on her behind. “Terrible conversationalists,” she continued in open defiance, even as her ass instinctively pushed back against him. She had spent every first weekend of the last sixteen months in costume, spouting elf lore and feeling geeky even amongst her peers, but here she was—and nothing could have been more exciting.

  “Whereas elves are known for their raucous feasting…” the man replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm—and something else. “How well do you know humans, elf?”

  “I told you my name, stop calling me elf,” she whispered, her voice hoarse against the bark of the tree. She could feel her own hot breath deflected, leaving the slightest trace of moisture on her cheek. “And tell me yours.”

  “Making demands now, eh?” Amy could hear his smile, then feel a hand in th
e curve of her waist, strong fingers dragging down with the grain of her velvet dress over the wide curve her hip. “Gohan.” A voice like the growl of distant thunder.

  “I saw you running this way, elf,” he continued. A lip brushed over the shell of ear. “Knew I wanted to be the one to catch you.”

  Her knees buckled and Amy held on tighter to the tree. Her cheek was resting on bark and she was sure that she could smell the resin in its depths, hear the insects feeding and the birds far above. She felt like an elf then, truly, for the first time.

  “And now that you’ve got me…” she asked voice hoarse and raspy with feeling, “what are planning on doing with me?” She leaned her head back just enough to lay it against his shoulder, to brush her cheek against the stubble of his beard—this was what confident women asked in the movies, how wrong could it be? At the same time, she pushed her rear against his eager hand. Encouraged, he brushed it down her hip and cupped one round cheek. His hand could not nearly cover it, but it felt like that was exactly what he was doing when his thumb found the crack of her ass all the way through dress and panties and bore down on it. Amy gasped; the corset forced her hard breath to expand her lungs upward rather than outward, causing her breasts to bob up and down with each inhale.

  “I had some ideas,” he growled, fisting her dress so that it lifted a few inches off her ankles. “But I’m not adverse to some new ones….”

  She could feel the wind on her calves. The part of her brain that was still unsure about the whole venture tried to point out that this wasn’t her—that she had never acted this brazenly in her entire life. But it wasn’t her; that was the point. She was Amariel—and Amariel would have been no stranger to using her body as leverage to escape capture from this human who had a voice that ran through her veins all the way into her chest, like the deep bass of a dance tune.

  “The way I see it, human,” she said, as he pulled up her skirt higher, inches at a time. “I would much rather spend time with you than your captain.” The velvet was starting to bunch on the swell of her ass, just below the bottom of her corset. The wind had reached the sensitive back of her knees and he could reach for the hem now, pulling the rest up in one go. Amy gasped and immediately, his hand was there, warming her flesh, rubbing the rising goose pimples away.