The Mammoth Book of Women's Erotic Fantasies

by Sonia Florens

  Tommi came up behind me and ran a hand lightly across my shoulder, then leaned over me and whispered again. “I’m on a half-hour break. Why don’t you come join me?”

  I followed her as she manoeuvred across the dance floor where couples were engaged in the tango of foreplay to the groaning of the saxophone. She removed a key from the pocket of her waitress apron and unlocked a door marked “Private” located just beyond the restrooms. There was a steep claustrophobic staircase and she motioned for me to follow her upwards. I watched the muscles ripple across her calves and the back of her thighs and felt something drip down the inside of one of my own thighs.

  At the top of the stairs, we turned left and she unlocked a door with “2B” in carved wooden figures in the centre. “Home, sweet home,” Tommi said, untying her apron and tossing it over the back of a cane-backed chair.

  “You live here?” I asked, scrutinizing her pocket-sized living quarters.

  “Yep, it’s convenient and cheap,” she answered as she wandered around the apartment while she lit candles on the counters and bookcases. The sweet smell of gardenias filled the room. A flamingo flaming in pink neon stood guard in the one window I could see.

  Tommi turned to me and those green eyes swallowed up my body, running from my nipples fighting the irritating tightness of my pink silk blouse, down my long waist, down to where my clasping grey pinstripe skirt halted mid-thigh. I’m taller than she, maybe three or four inches, and older by a good ten years. I kicked off my shoes, dusky pink stiletto heels that match my blouse.

  She came to me, and brushed a thumb across the nub of one nipple that protruded through the silk. I grunted and moaned softly as she continued with the other hand, then cupped my breasts – heavy breasts, but not as endowed as hers – and I felt that drip continuing down my thigh. She unbuttoned my blouse and unclasped the frail bra that imprisoned my breasts, letting my blouse fall to the carpet. She leaned forward and tongued my nipples, her breath warm, her tongue warm, her hands warm against my skin.

  I fondled her tits through her shirt, tugging at the fabric until she pulled back and skimmed the shirt over her head. She wasn’t wearing a bra, but those huge globes jutted forward even without artificial support. Tommi’s so young and so athletic. Her smooth tanned skin was beading up with droplets of perspiration. I hadn’t noticed before how warm it was in there, even with the small window air conditioner running.

  Tommi undid the two buttons at the side of her skirt and let it pool to her feet. She was wearing a thong, red, shimmery, with some design of roses embroidered on the fabric. The springy pubic hair peeking out from the front triangle was dark and shiny. She came to me again, sucking my tits harder, her hands gliding down my back to the zipper of my skirt. Slowly, she lowered the zipper, the metal snickering down over the teeth. I preferred a garter belt that night, deep pink and satin, with silky pink stockings. She pushed me onto the bed and gazed down intently as I raised one leg at a time and slicked my stockings down my smooth legs. I, too, stay in shape, dancing and roller blading to fend off the agents of time.

  “Let me touch you,” she said quietly, the candlelight flickering shadows along her little body.

  I lay back on the bed, such a small bed, but with just enough room for the two of us. She knelt between my legs and ran her finger up the inside of my thigh, first one, then the other, from the back of my knee to just where my pubes start. My sensitive skin shuddered at the sensation and a nerve jumped between my labia. Her finger wandered further upward and she played with my lower lips, squeezing and pulling the flesh until we both felt it swelling and thickening. She slipped her finger inside my pussy, inside the hot flesh, inside the steaming folds. My eyes closed as she played with one nipple with her free hand, rolling the nub between thumb and fingers. I sighed as she inserted another finger and explored my crevice.

  I reached for her, my hands touching her beautiful tits, feeling their firmness, their softness, rose-petal soft. I touched her waist, her hips, and undid the strings of her thong. She withdrew her fingers and put them to her lips. Her tongue snaked out, a tongue imbedded with a single red tongue ring, and she licked my wetness from her fingertips.

  “Popcorn,” she whispered. “You taste like hot, buttered popcorn, sweet and salty all at the same time.” She straddled my waist and leaned down to share what was on her tongue with my own. Her tongue probed between my lips and I answered with my own exploration of that pink, studded organ, the two of us encircling and enwrapping tongues.

  My hands rested on her hips, supporting her as she leaned in. My fingers took off on a journey of their own, travelling between the tight cheeks of her arse until I reached her tiny puckerhole. I dipped in a finger and she hissed with pleasure. I pushed in further and could feel her sucking me in with her sphincter muscles. She pushed herself up above me, her arms straight, her head bent back as she welcomed my probing fingers.

  Her head fell forward and those cat eyes gazed into mine, then closed again. She lowered herself down my sweating body, kissing my breasts as she descended, kissing my navel, kissing my bikini line. She dipped her tongue into my pussy, quickly, like a little cat lapping at its water bowl. Then Tommi settled into her desire, into my desire, her tongue pushing deep into my swollen crevice. I felt the stud from her tongue ring rub against my clit and the little bud swelled at the contact. Tommi knew this, that’s why she wears the pearl-like orb. She continued rubbing it against my clit, just grazing it, drawing out the nectars of my inner flesh.

  Her hands were clenched around my hips, holding them in place as I tried to arch against her mouth. I moaned, I muttered. “Fuck me, fuck me, you red-haired puss, suck it out me,” is what I was saying, but mostly in my head. What came out of my mouth were the unintelligible words of rapture, whispered, moaned, grunted, cried out.

  She flicked harder now against my clit, and I could feel the gears shift inside my body, I could feel the build-up starting, the line growing taut. The line snapped and whipped as Tommi shoved her thumb up my arse and pressed against the thin wall separating the two orifices. I thrashed on the narrow bed, my head whipping my long hair from side to side as I came inside Tommi’s talented mouth. Without breaking the tempo, we managed to switch positions, and I became the one sliding down Tommi’s juicy, compact body.

  I filled my mouth with her breast, circling around the nipple with my tongue. Her nipples are large and chewy, and I giggled, thinking of red liquorice whips as I nibbled on her. As I slid south, I noticed that she had a small rose tattooed just above her pubic hair. I kissed it, kissed the rose, kissed the soft petals of her pussy. I liked the fact that she doesn’t shave her mons like so many of the younger girls. Why look like a child when you are all woman?

  As I played with her labia, I discovered that she was pierced down there as well. I had heard about the benefits of having labial rings. I pulled with the tip of my tongue at the two she wears and she cried out, not in pain, but in ecstasy. I fluttered my tongue across them, across the opening into her tight little pussy and her hips rose to meet my mouth.

  I felt Tommi straining above me and heard a drawer slap shut. “Here,” she breathed heavily, shoving something at me with one hand while she raked my hair with the other hand. “Put it in my arse.”

  It was a dildo, short and thin, one of the expensive ones that has the texture and colour of the real thing. I put it in my mouth and sucked at it, then slipped it inside my soaked pussy, lubricating the surface of the instrument of pleasure. I poked and prodded at her little butthole with the dildo, slowly making headway as she sucked it inside her.

  I returned to my investigation of her pussy, lapping at the lips, enjoying the taste of her juices as they ran over my lips and chin, all the while working her slender little joystick inside her back hole. Tommi was a noisy gal, mewing and crying out as she bucked on the bed. I hoped the band was still performing or the bistro patrons would be getting a different type of entertainment in a minute. And it was a minute, a New York mi
nute, quick as the little red-haired fox she resembles. Tommi exploding in orgasm. Her thighs shook and clenched about my head, and she rammed her pubic mound against my mouth as she drenched it with her inner ambrosia.

  The storm subsided and we lay there on the bed, our skin cooling in the flow of the air conditioner. We heard the distant rumble of thunder and the pattering of rain on the protruding shell of the air conditioner – another rare summer storm. Tommi was the first to rise, gathering up clothing and putting herself in order to finish her shift downstairs. I couldn’t find one of my stockings, so I gave up on wearing any undergarments whatsoever and pulled on my skirt and blouse. I bent over and ran my hands through my hair until I’d cleared out most of the tangles.

  Tommi kissed me gently on the lips as she passed on her way to retrieve her apron. She smiled. “Thank you. I always wondered what you were like, seeing you in here on Friday nights, all by yourself.”

  “Popcorn, remember. A full box of hot, buttered popcorn,” I answered, slipping into my shoes.

  Tommi laughed and applied a thin layer of lipstick as she contemplated herself in the mirror hung over her dresser.

  There was a gentle tap at the door. “Tommi, girl, you in there, baby?” A man’s voice, soft and inquiring. The knob turned and a man’s curly-haired head appeared around the door. “Oh, sorry, baby, didn’t know you had company. Your break’s over and I was just wondering if you were okay.”

  “I’m fine. Just fine,” Tommi emphasized with a smile as she looked at me. “Come on in, Boone. This is my friend, Autumn,” she introduced me.

  The man and I shook hands and I felt something surge between the two of us. I tried not to react, but Tommi had already noticed. She smiled again. “Boone owns this place. He lets me stay here for minimal rent. We’re really close,” she added.

  “Nice to meet you.” He finally withdrew his hand which was powerful and sinewy, yet surprisingly gentle in his touch. He coolly assessed me with blue eyes the same ice-blue hue as that of a Siberian husky. I met his gaze with my own assessment of his qualities.

  He ran a hand through his deep-red curls. Boone is my age, with a spattering of freckles across his cheeks, but his skin is bronzed, not the pale cream I usually associate with red hair. “Tommi, I’m heading over to the old theatre for the late showing. I think they’ve got something with Bogart and Bacall. Can you lock up tonight?”

  I could already see the gears turning in Tommi’s little head. “Sure, Boone. In fact, I think Autumn likes the old movies. Maybe you two should go together. Nothing like a little popcorn on a Friday night, right, Autumn?” She grinned a devious imp’s smile.

  “Hey, that would be great,” Boone jumped in without waiting for my reply. As though I would have answered anything but “yes”. I could feel something quivering between my thighs and I didn’t think it was from the previous half-hour’s gymnastics.

  Tommi scampered down the steps ahead of us as Boone urged me ahead of him with a gentle nudge of his warm hand in the small of my back.

  We walked out into the humid evening air, the jasmine’s scent thick in the darkness. The thundershower had passed, but an occasional sprinkle drizzled down on us as we walked the four blocks to the old theatre which shows the classics every Friday and Saturday night. We spoke of our occupations, how we had come to know our mutual friend, Tommi, of how talented the band was this evening. Moths, some with wing-spans as wide as Boone’s hand, knocked against the lights flaring at the top of the old-fashioned lampposts.

  “Two, please,” Boone said pleasantly with a charming smile to the ticket girl. “My treat,” he waved off my offer to pay my own way.

  “So, do you want some popcorn?” he asked, remembering Tommi’s earlier comment.

  “Urn, not really. Actually, I feel like some liquorice whips,” I said.

  “Hmmm, a woman who likes whips. My kind of woman,” Boone growled, then flashed that smile at me. I felt something contract in my loins and my skin flushed. He handed me the box of liquorice whips and, as his hand brushed mine, I felt that familiar fluid sliding down the inside of my thigh.

  We headed into the darkness of the theatre, his warm hand pressed to my back, this time just a little lower, as he guided me to the back row of seats. There were only about two dozen patrons there, most of them sitting towards the front. Real film aficionados, I guessed. The storm had come back again, a thunderclap rattling the old building. “Looks like it’s going to be a wet evening,” Boone commented in a low voice as we settled into our seats.

  The lights in the theatre went down, and the film reel started unwinding its tale of murder and love on the rocks with a twist, with Bacall giving Bogie a good look at those half-mast eyes, her husky voice and no-holds-barred attitude reeling the tough man in.

  I’d opened my box of liquorice whips and took one into my mouth, savouring the red sweetness, remembering the chewiness of Tommi’s erect nipples. I could see Boone from the corner of my eye, his head turned just slightly, pretending to pay attention to the movie. He was watching me intently, his ice-eyes nearly glowing in the reflection on the silver screen, watching me tongue my candy whip, watching me suck on it.

  There was a squeak as he shifted in his seat and draped his forearm over the wooden armrest between us. He lowered his hand, its warmth resting on my naked thigh. He slid his fingers higher, exploring my skin, feeling for the panties that weren’t there. I spread my thighs apart as his fingers reached my muff. He inserted one digit into my already damp slit and slicked it around inside me. He pulled out his finger and tasted what clung to his skin.

  “Sweet and salty,” he whispered into my ear as he leaned over the seat.

  “A good night for popcorn,” I whispered back, and he chuckled as he realized the joke.

  It was my turn to play. I placed my hand in his crotch and felt a thick bulge beneath his zipper. I unzipped him, the metallic rasping noise well-covered by the swelling violins onscreen. He wasn’t wearing anything, no briefs, no boxers, no anything. Just a handful – well, a little more than a handful – of heated, pulsing flesh that jumped at my touch in excited greeting. I ran my fingertips gently over the plum-shaped head, down his veined shaft, down to his heavy balls. “Feels like a full load in there,” I whispered into his ear.

  He slipped down a little in his seat and I stroked him harder, keeping an eye out for an usher. Boone sat up suddenly and I withdrew my hand, startled. He zipped himself up and grabbed my hand, pulling me to my feet. He drew me to the rear of the theatre, behind the scarlet velvet curtains draped along the back wall.

  “What are you doing?” I whispered ferociously. It was dark and dusty back there, and I had a sudden mental view of big, fat spiders hanging at the end of their webs, just waiting for a couple of tasty morsels such as ourselves.

  “Secret passage,” he whispered. He was feeling along the wall with his hands, and I heard his hand make contact with wood, then the rattling of a knob. Boone swore. There was the jingling of keys, then the sound of a key slipping inside a lock, turning, and the snap as the tumblers ceded to the key.

  Boone pulled me inside the door and closed it behind us. It was pitch-black in there, and I was starting to wish I hadn’t stayed up and watched all those midnight monster flicks as a child. There was the sound of a lighter igniting and a small flame lit up the tiny room. Boone held his lighter aloft with a smirk of triumph on his freckled, bronzed face.

  “Where are we?” I asked sotto voce, looking around me at the empty wooden shelves, barren wooden desk, and plaid cloth couch, its two seat cushions looking a bit dusty, but none the worse for wear.

  “This is the old storage room. They used to keep special stuff that the owners managed to purchase from the studios back here. The former owner was quite a collector. We used to come here and smoke and grab a beer or sometimes a thermos cup of coffee and something stronger when I was a teenager.”

  “Did you used to work here?”

  “Yeah. Long time ago. My dad owne
d the place and made sure I was gainfully employed as usher, janitor, ticket-taker, you name it, to earn my keep.”

  “And you still have the key to the door?” I shook my head in amazement as I looked around at the room.

  “Well, I have a skeleton key to some of the doors in my bistro. Dad owned both places and I remembered while we were sitting out there that he used the same locksmith for both joints. It figures that the key would fit some of the doors here.” Boone rummaged through the desk drawers.

  “Hah, here we go,” he exclaimed, holding up a couple of stocky red candles with a waterfall’s worth of drippings frozen along the sides. “We used to smoke some stronger stuff than cigarettes back here, so we had to have something to cover the smell.” He lowered the lighter to the wicks, and after a protesting dust-choked crackle and spit, the candles lit up with a rosy glow. He placed them on the desk and turned to the couch. Boone picked up the cushions and slapped them together, knocking off the gathered dust of the past, and replaced them.

  “Come here, Miss No-Panties,” Boone ordered, plopping down on the couch and crooking an index finger at me.

  “Who, me?” I asked innocently. I sashayed to the couch and arranged myself on the cushion next to him.

  Boone put an arm around my shoulders and drew me to him. He kissed me softly on the lips, mouth closed. He touched my breast through my blouse, then began to unbutton me. I felt like I was eighteen again, the thrill of a boy’s hand on my breast and his lips on mine making me tingle down below. He broke the kiss for a second, ridding me of my blouse. His lips returned to mine, pressed harder this time, more urgent. Our lips parted, and I tasted the minty sweetness of his breath as his tongue reached in and snaked around mine. I curled up, kicking off my shoes; I heard his loafers hit the floor at about the same time.

  I pulled away and unbuckled his belt, unzipped him, and tugged at his pants. He raised his hips and I yanked his pants off. I hunched down on the couch, backing up until my arse hit one of the cushioned arms. I kissed him on the hip, on his flat, lightly furred belly, on the head of his swollen cock. He played with one of my breasts while he urged my head down onto his phallus. I licked the shaft, licked his balls, and took them into my mouth.