Best Women's Erotica 2014

by Violet Blue

  His breath was faster, too, she could feel it in on the side of her neck. This wasn’t normal, the voice in her head said. Normal people went out for a date or two. She didn’t even have to insist on three but this was insane—anybody could come and see them, anybody! And yet, she didn’t move away. His fingers thanked her by finding their way between her thighs and against the moist panel of her panties. They were anachronistic, too.

  “Do you consent, elf?” he finally growled, almost panting with the effort of holding himself back. He tugged at her arm again—Amy had almost forgotten he was still keeping her immobile. She whimpered as his hand tightened its grip and then nodded hard.

  “Yes…yes,” she all but moaned and a moment later, her arm was free. At least it was for a second, before his hands grasped her hips and pulled her back a foot or so. Instinctively, her hands found support against the tree. There was the rustling of material behind her; the leather had such a distinctive sound as he slapped it away. Then his foot found hers, pushing her legs apart with as much roughness as the scene required. He ran his fingers up her shapely thighs and then wormed them under the flexible dark elastic.

  “Bad elf,” he growled, rubbing along her wet slit, making her gasp and moan. “What insects spin yarn as fine as this?”

  “Magic ones,” she exhaled and then cried out when he pinched her clit as though in punishment. Red-hot arousal pulsed through the tiny pleasure knob. He pulled the stretch fabric to one side until it rested in the crack of her ass. He squeezed the naked cheek hard enough to make her moan again, and suddenly she felt something else entirely pushing against her exposed folds.

  “Like your elf-cunt? Magic?” His teeth were on her shoulder when he pushed inside of her—slow and deep. Amy could have cried it felt so good—after months without sex, she was tight but wet enough for it not to matter. She wanted to reply, tried to take a deep breath, but when she opened her lips to speak she felt his fingers invading her mouth, curling against her tongue. She could taste herself on his skin, wet and salty, and she sucked at the fingers eagerly. For a moment, the forest seemed to spin on his axis and when the feeling of vertigo left her head, she was sucking to the beat of his hard thrusts.

  “Touch yourself,” he commanded in another groan and however humiliating it would have seemed to her only minutes ago, Amy hastened to pull up the front of her skirt as well and buried her fingers against her clit, rubbing, pulling and falling in rhythm with his thrusts.

  “Good elf,” he rasped. Stifling her moans was becoming a more and more difficult task. He pushed harder; Amy tried to keep pace, but she could feel by the tightness of his grasp on her hip that he was holding on for dear life. Instinctively, she bore down harder on her clit, coming mere moments later with a gasp of surprise and heady exhaustion.

  “Fuck,” he shouted when he pulled away. Amy pressed her fingers hard against her throbbing clit—her pussy felt all too empty without him inside, a tunnel of muscles grasping at nothing. Just a moment later, something wet landed on her ass, soaking the back of her panties, and then her dress fell back down over her legs. Two strong arms wrapped around her tenderly, kissed the back of her neck, nuzzled against the soft spot under her ear.

  For a long moment, she let him warm her, gave herself into the feeling of peace and safety. But neither peace nor safety were high on Amariel’s list of priorities and with a well-placed push against his chest, she whirled around, stepped on the breeches that were still hanging between his ankles and before Amy knew what was happening, he was toppling backward into the soft forest ground.

  “Ow!” Gohan protested when she straddled him and pulled a dagger from her belt. She had it at his neck all too easily. “Hey!”

  “It seems the human curses anachronistically, too.” Amy grinned down at him. Her long dark fair fell like a veil around her face. Playfully, she pressed the dagger against his Adam’s apple and smirked.

  “Come find me if you ever want to work for the other side, human,” she smiled, then cocked her brows and bent low to brush a little kiss over his lips. “You haven’t lived until you find out how we elves feast….”

  Her knees were still weak when she raised herself up again, but Amy felt light as air as she hurried away into the forest. There was come on her ass and she had some allies to find. This weekend everything would go just the way she had always wanted it to go. It was her weekend, her forest, her game.

  IN THREES

  Elizabeth Coldwell

  The first time I saw him I was on all fours on the bed, naked and gagged with my own panties. Mitchell had ordered me to wait in that position while he paid a quick visit to the bathroom, and I was doing as I was told. Just my luck that at that moment room service finally deigned to deliver the bottle of champagne Mitchell asked them to send up when we’d first booked in, nearly an hour before.

  Hearing the rap on the door and the waiter announcing his presence outside, I called as best I could through my gag, trying to attract Mitchell’s attention. He’d insisted I wait in silence till he returned, and I knew my poor backside would pay the price for this flagrant act of disobedience, but this was important. Unfortunately, the waiter must have taken my muffled noises as an invitation to come in, because the lock snicked open and he walked into the room, carrying an ornate silver ice bucket.

  He said nothing as he looked at me, though I felt like his eyes were eating up the sight before him: my breasts, hanging down full and heavy; my asscheeks, already bearing the red marks of the spanking Mitchell had dished out as soon as he’d stripped me bare; my mouth, plugged with a wad of black silk. Did he know that was my own underwear, wet and fragrant from the juices that been flowing since Mitchell rang me at the gallery that afternoon and told me to meet him at the Charmont? A hot flush suffused my body, burning deepest on my cheeks and echoing the pulsing heat between my legs.

  It didn’t help that the man could have stepped straight out of the file in my brain marked HOT, DIRTY FANTASY GUYS. He’d most likely shaved before he came on shift, but now the beginnings of a heavy stubble prickled on his chin. His black hair was a little too long, curling against his shirt collar, and his olive-toned skin and dark eyes spoke of a Mediterranean heritage. He made me think of all the scenarios that turned me on the most: the ones where Mitchell held me down firmly and encouraged some other man to touch and stroke me in all the ways I liked the best, taking me to the brink of orgasm and back so many times all I could do was beg and sob and promise to do whatever the two of them wanted, as long as they let me come.

  “I’ll just put this down here, shall I?” he said, gesturing with his head in the direction of the antique dresser. His accent was more rainy Manchester than romantic Sorrento, but it didn’t take the level of my filthy fantasizing down even a notch.

  I just nodded, barely noticing that Mitchell had returned to the room and was already fumbling in his wallet for a no doubt hefty tip. Not that he needed to buy this man’s silence. The expression on the waiter’s face told me that not only did he like what he saw very much indeed, but also that this wasn’t the first time he’d interrupted some explicit scene or other. After all, the Charmont prided itself on its discretion as a venue, and you didn’t hang on to that kind of reputation for long if you employed staff who didn’t know when to keep their mouths shut.

  He left the room with slow, backward steps, taking one last good look at my naked curves and the submissive posture in which they were displayed. Even before the door shut behind him, Mitchell was unbuckling his belt and pulling it free of his trouser loops.

  “What’s our rule on silence, Lucy?” he asked, not even waiting for an answer as he strode toward me. “Six with the belt will help to enforce it, I think….”

  Such a harsh punishment, but I deserved it. And I wondered, in the instant before the first blow fell, whether he realized all my thoughts were of the handsome waiter lashing my backside, while Mitchell looked on and told him to make sure I really felt every single one.

  T
he second time I saw him, I was in a packed and sweaty rush-hour Tube carriage, and Mitchell had his hand down my leggings. We’d maneuvered ourselves through the crush of commuters into the best position for some fun: hard up against the glass partition by the door, where Mitchell could play with me unobserved. The game was simple: he would do his best to make me come with his skillful fingers, and I would try to show not a flicker of emotion as he teased and probed. Sometimes he made it a little easier for me by stroking me through my jeans, the friction of his touch dulled by a thick layer of denim. I could fight against the slow buildup of sensation, eyes closed tight so I couldn’t see the smirk on his face as he worked to wring an orgasm from me.

  Today, though, I had on the kind of clothing he could slip his hand into without fuss, working his fingers against the tight knot of my clit as the train rattled and jolted and tinny music leaked from the headphones of the man whose broad, T-shirted back I could see over Mitchell’s shoulder.

  When the waiter got on at South Kensington, I had to look twice to make sure it was really him. He’d never been far from my thoughts since that night at the Charmont, his stubbled features permeating those idle moments in the gallery when I closed my eyes and daydreamed of Mitchell punishing me in front of a willing voyeur. It shouldn’t have surprised me to see him getting on at what was the closest Tube station to the hotel, but still I hadn’t really expected our paths to cross again so soon.

  He hadn’t noticed me, or so I thought at first, as Mitchell’s fingers continued to dance over my clit. The train came to a halt, and through force of habit I looked round in exasperation at the delay, even as the driver mumbled over the intercom that we were being held at a red signal and should be moving shortly. Our eyes locked; the connection was made. No doubt if we’d been close enough to speak, he’d have made some cheesy quip about not recognizing me with my clothes on. His gaze flashed over my body, lingering at crotch level, and I knew in that instant he’d realized what we were doing. He already knew Mitchell and me for the brazen game players we were: what more could he have expected from us than that I would let my lover frig me on a crowded train?

  Burning under the intensity of his stare, driven to the brink by Mitchell’s fingers, I didn’t even try to hold back. As the train jolted into movement once more, I surrendered to the orgasm that rushed through my body. Fierce. Unstoppable. Observed by a stranger.

  The third time I saw him, I was in the lobby of the Charmont, and I’d been waiting almost an hour and a half for him to appear. We’d been forced to close the gallery for the afternoon, due to the need to make emergency repairs to a fractured gas main in the street outside. Instead of heading home, some impulse sent me in the direction of the hotel where Mitchell and I enjoyed so many of our kinky trysts. Located halfway between his apartment and the gallery, it was an ideal meeting place for us, but this time it wasn’t Mitchell I intended to meet there.

  I could, I thought as I ordered a pot of tea from the hotel bar, be completely wasting my time. After all, I didn’t even know whether the man would be working here today. But it was pleasant to sit in the beautifully restored Art Deco lobby, with its black-and-white-checkered marble floor and softly glowing brass light fixtures, and sip strong, milky Darjeeling while I distracted myself with pleasant daydreams of the last time Mitchell and I had booked in.

  Lost in a reverie in which the waiter didn’t just set down the ice bucket and leave, but came over to the bed to caress my sore, punished ass and run a finger down the crack between my cheeks to discover the wetness pooling in my pussy, at first I didn’t notice him as he walked past.

  His voice, low and insinuating, almost made me slop tea into my saucer as I realized he was addressing me. “We really are going to have to stop meeting like this. People will talk.” He grinned, his hot gaze raking over me. “Waiting for your husband—boyfriend, whoever?”

  I shook my head. “No, actually, I was waiting for you.”

  It obviously wasn’t the answer he’d been expecting, but he only lost his composure for a moment. “Is there something I can help you with?”

  “Yes. What time do you come off shift?”

  He glanced at his watch. “In about fifteen minutes’ time.”

  “Good. That gives you fifteen minutes to cancel whatever plans you had for tonight.” If he thought I was joking, the look I fixed him with seemed to convince him otherwise. I went on. “Fifteen minutes to wonder just what I’m going to let you do to me. Whether I’m wet enough for you to slip two fingers inside me, or three. Whether I take it up the ass. And whether I’ll allow you to spunk in my face, or just over my tits.”

  “Fuck,” he muttered under his breath. “I had you pegged as a dirty bitch, but…”

  “You don’t have to take me up on my offer, and you have to understand that if you do, you’ll end up fucking me on my fiancé’s bed, and he’ll be there to do more than just watch. But if you do turn me down, you’ll never be offered a second chance. What do you say?”

  “Does he know about this? Is this something you do on a regular basis?” Despite all the questions, and the deliberate ambiguity I’d created about Mitchell’s role in proceedings, he didn’t sound like he was dismissing the idea out of hand.

  “No, and no. But I’ll have time to let him know while I wait for you to come off shift, and believe me, he won’t have a problem with it.” I looked round the lobby as if someone might be listening to what we were discussing, but the desk clerk was deep in conversation with a middle-aged female guest, pointing out some place of interest on a map. Though maybe this would be even better with an audience, I thought as I spread my legs just wide enough to give him a clear view up my dress. A view that revealed I wasn’t wearing any underwear. I’d removed it and stuffed it in my handbag before leaving the gallery, needing to feel the breeze on my overheating pussy. I hadn’t planned to use the sight as some kind of leverage to seal the deal—in truth, I didn’t need to—but it sucked him in a little deeper, made it that bit harder for him to walk away.

  He licked his lips, appearing to make some kind of internal decision. “Yeah, okay, I’m up for it. And I’m Lee, by the way.” The grin was back, stretching his lips a fraction wider than before. “Because you need to know what name to scream when I’m slapping your slutty little pussy.”

  The moment he’d gone, I reached for my phone, punching in Mitchell’s number with trembling fingers. Any plans he’d had for a quiet evening in were ripped up the moment I told him we’d have a friend joining us. A friend who wasn’t in the least fazed by my filthiest suggestions.

  Even as the clock ticked toward six, I still expected Lee to back out. Given time to consider my proposition, let his head do the thinking instead of his dick, would he really think it a good idea to let a stranger take him home? So it surprised me to see him strolling in my direction across the lobby, elderly leather jacket over his uniform shirt and that slow, dirty grin spreading across his face.

  “Okay, I’m all yours.” He waited for me to stand. As we made our way toward the front door, my heels clicking on the marble, a waitress was already scurrying over to clear away the tea things.

  We walked in silence, not because either of us was uncomfortable with the situation, but simply because we both seemed to recognize that swapping chitchat and personal information would break this weird, erotic spell that bound us. Lee had to be thinking about my knickerless state; I certainly was, all too aware that if he chose to back me up against a wall and thrust his hand beneath the skirt of my dress all he’d feel would be hot, slick woman flesh. I could almost smell my own arousal above the heavy scent of exhaust smoke and sun-warmed asphalt, and wondered whether he could, too.

  Mitchell had promised to leave the front door on the latch, and true to his word, it opened at my touch. If Lee had any thoughts about the size of my fiancé’s home, or its position in a sweeping Georgian terrace on a quietly expensive street, he kept them to himself. A girl who let her lover play with her cunt on public
transport had already propositioned him; why should he be surprised when that lover turned out to own a house whose worth was valued in the millions?

  I led Lee up the stairs and along the landing, pausing as we reached the bathroom. “You can take a shower first, if you’d like?” I suggested, my thoughts already turning to peering through a crack in the door, watching as he got naked and soaped himself down.

  He shook his head. “Afterward, maybe…once I’ve worked up a sweat.”

  “Then start working on it.” I all but pushed him into the bedroom, where Mitchell waited for us, propped up against the pillows and wearing only a towel around his waist. His cock made a solid, all-too-visible ridge in the fluffy white terry cloth. He lounged like some decadent Roman emperor waiting to discover what orgiastic delights had been laid on for his personal entertainment.

  Lee took a couple of paces closer to the bed and the two men regarded one another, expressions inscrutable as they sized each other up. Butterflies whirled crazily in my stomach, as the reality of what I’d engineered struck home. Beginning to consider all the ways this situation could go wrong, I was stopped in my agitated mental tracks by Mitchell’s voice.

  “Strip her.”

  For the briefest of moments, I thought it might not happen. Then Lee’s hand was around my waist, pulling me to him so he could tug down the zip of my dress. Keeping just on the right side of roughness, he yanked each strap off my shoulder. The garment puddled at my feet in a soft heap of Pucci-printed viscose, leaving me in nothing but nude lace bra and high heels.