The Mammoth Book of Women's Erotic Fantasies

by Sonia Florens

  “Oh, yeah, girl, don’t stop that,” he hissed. He pinched my nipples; the sensation walked the tightrope between pain and pleasure.

  I rolled my tongue around his balls, feeling how packed they were. Yes, it was certainly going to be a wet night. I moved on to the shaft of his cock, thick, solid, veined with throbbing channels of heated blood. The skin was marble-smooth. I lowered my mouth onto him, taking his length into my mouth until the tip of his dick entered my throat. He shoved it deeper into me, wrapping his fingers in my hair. My tongue glided up and down the shaft, my lips suctioning him in, savouring his humid flesh. He was starting to exude the fluids building up in those swollen balls at the base of his cock.

  “Not yet,” I heard him whisper breathlessly. He took his dick in his hand and pulled it from my mouth, rubbing the head against my lips and cheeks. I flicked out my tongue and tasted the tiny droplets of come leaking from the tip.

  “Turn around,” Boone directed me. “I want you from the rear.”

  I complied, curling up into a tight ball, displaying my arse to him. I was still clad in my short skirt, and Boone shoved it up until it bunched around my hips. He still wore his shirt, but the buttons had been undone, and it flailed on either side of me like wings as he mounted me. He drove his cock into my pussy slowly, then withdrew it. He did this several times, teasing me with his instrument.

  “Give it to me, Boone,” I begged him, wanting his length inside my valley of wet, swollen, pink flesh.

  He relented, ramming the entire shaft into me up to his root. He filled me completely this way, from the rear. He reached around my hips and played with my pussy lips, played with my clit as he rocked within me. God, it felt so good, the pressure of his fingertip against my swelling bud. My wetness lubricated his shaft and the sucking sound of him riding my inner shell filled this tiny room. I arched my shoulders as he drove into me and pumped my ass back into his crotch.

  He slapped my arse cheeks, softly at first, testing the waters and my reaction. I gasped, but with pleasure at the brisk crack of his hand contacting my white flesh. Realizing I welcomed the touch, he grew bolder, spanking my arse harder and harder until the flesh burned red and heated, almost unbearable, but just bearable. His breath was loud as he flicked his tongue into my ear. It drove me fucking wild and the combination of his tongue and his finger tips and his punishing palm bringing me to orgasm. I mewed and cried and bucked, crazed with the stimulation and friction against my sensitive sensual spots. Explosions of black and red and brilliant white fireworks filled my sight as he slammed into me. He shuddered and shook, thighs trembling against my arse cheeks.

  He came, the white froth of his heated cauldron a shotgun blast into my pussy, overflowing its small encasement, dripping down my thighs and flowing up into the crack of my ass. Boone cried out, a teeth-clenched rasping howl of ecstasy. His ramming eased back to short, stabbing pokes into my hole as the last of his jettisoned spume escaped his cock.

  Finally there was no sound but the harsh, oxygen-deprived gasping of our combined breath. Boone withdrew his cock from me and sat on the couch, pulling me into his arms. He kissed my lips gently and smoothed back a lock of my hair that fell over my perspiring brow.

  The candles were guttering – had we been there that long? We pulled on our clothing, racing the failing light of the dying candles. They died out almost simultaneously, and once again I heard the rasp of the lighter as Boone flicked the starter. He relocked the door behind us and we cautiously retraced our steps back along the curtain and out into the theatre. The music was swelling as the credits rolled and the last of the patrons were already filing out the exit.

  “Come on, let’s take the back way,” Boone said, heading for one of the exits that led us out into a back alleyway.

  It was raining again, a gentle drizzle that made my silk blouse cling to me. Boone looked down approvingly as the fabric stuck to my breasts and my nipples extruded through the thin cloth. We ducked under awnings and into doorways as we headed back to the bistro.

  “Why don’t you come on in for a nightcap?” Boone asked hopefully as we arrived at the bistro. The lights were out; Tommi had closed up for the night, but her flamingo stood gaudy guard in the window above us.

  “Not tonight,” I answered, kissing him briefly on the cheek. “Let me take a rain check on that invitation,” I added.

  He grinned that perfect-toothed smile and waggled his fingers in farewell as I headed down the emptying streets to my home.

  For now, the curtain has come down and my characters are silent. But all I have to do is change reels, flick that sensitive pink switch, and another mental manuscript flickers to life within me.

  Spanking Fantasy

  Jenny (Lumberton, USA)

  I’ve always dreamed of getting spanked by a lover. I don’t doubt I’d hate it if it happened in real life, but in my dreams . . .

  As we sit together after dinner one evening, my lover looks up from reading and smiles at me. “I love you, Jenny,” he says. “You are close to perfect, but . . .”

  Hell! The eternal “but”! “But what?” I ask.

  “You’re undisciplined and need a good spanking!”

  My mouth goes dry. My stomach clenches. My heart races. I look him in the eye. Rather lovely eyes, as it happens. “I don’t think so!”

  “That comment, my dear, proves my point!” He gets up and crosses the carpet to stand in front of me, his knees almost touching mine. “You are in dire need of discipline. An over-the-knee spanking is what you need!”

  “You have to be kidding!”

  He isn’t and I make the mistake of jumping to my feet. His hand closes around my wrist. “Jenny,” he says, his voice soft, with that little tinge of anticipation that always sets my heart racing. Works the same now, but not in anticipation of a nice bout in bed! “You know I don’t kid around. You need a little attitude adjustment, and as your lover it’s my job to see it comes about. Don’t argue with me, or you’ll get double!”

  I’m scared, angry, indignant, astounded – and turned on! Against every commonsense notion, I nod, accepting his right to punish me. Why? I don’t know! Curiosity perhaps, or secret excitement that an unrevealed fantasy is about to come true.

  “Follow me!” he says and marches out the door. Towards our bedroom.

  I can’t believe I’m following him meekly, but I am. My mind too caught up in arousal, fear and anticipation to argue. My mouth too dry and my throat too tight to speak, even if I wanted to. He’s obviously planned this ahead of time. One of the mahogany dining room chairs stands in the middle of the bedroom carpet.

  “Come on!” he says, his voice stern as he sits down on the needlepoint cushion and looks across to where I hesitate in the doorway. “You’ve imagined this happening to you, haven’t you?” I nod, mute. “We both know it’s exactly what you need. Don’t keep me waiting!” He pats his knee invitingly. Only it doesn’t invite. It scares. But yes, it’s true, I have always wondered what this would be like. Must have told him sometime when I’d had too much wine. Why was I hesitating? He was right, I had fantasized about getting spanked, but the looming reality fills me with dread.

  Slowly I put one foot in front of the other and approach him. When I get within touching distance, he grabs my wrist and pulls me close. I swallow. Twice. Unable to take my eyes away from his. I bite my lip until it hurts, thinking I’m perhaps dreaming and it will wake me, but I’m not dreaming. He reaches up his other hand to stroke my cheek and lip. “Don’t bite your lip like that, Jenny, you’ll hurt yourself.”

  “And you won’t hurt me?”

  He smiles. “Oh! Yes! You’ll be crying and begging me to stop.”

  At that I pull back but his grip is tight and he yanks me towards him. “Better not resist, Jenny, or I’ll add extra.”

  “You keep threatening to add extra!”

  “And I mean it. You’re getting a thorough spanking, whether you like it or not.” By now, I’m convinced I won’t like it. “I
t’s up to you how long it will be. Each argument, each effort at resistance adds another six spanks.”

  If I had any sense, I’d be running, but he’s gripping both my wrists and pulls me until I stand between his open thighs. “I’m scared,” I say. It comes out as a hoarse whisper.

  “I know, darling.” His voice is soft and warm as a caress. “Of course you are. You’re wondering how hard I’m going to spank, how long it will last, and if it’s going to hurt as much as you fear. You won’t have long to worry. You’ll soon find out. Anticipation is all part of it. One of your worries I will answer: It’s going to be on your bare bottom.”

  Now I really do panic and wrench an arm from his grasp and try to run, but quick as a whip, he grabs me by the waist, hauls me back and before I know what has happened, I’m face down over his knee, arms flailing and legs kicking. He lets me struggle until I realize it’s useless. He’s so much stronger than I am and has me at a total disadvantage. I shudder as I realize how completely helpless I am and how inevitable my spanking.

  To think I used to get wet fantasizing about this! But I am wet. Already.

  “Stop fighting me!” he orders, smoothing his hands over my back and down my waist to stroke my admittedly ample butt. “Relax.” I almost laugh at that but it’s hard to laugh doubled over, my nose just inches from the Berber carpet. “If you relax and accept the inevitable, it will go much more easily. If you resist and tighten your muscles, it will hurt more. You decide.”

  Great choices! But I believe him and make a conscious effort to relax. It’s not easy and I don’t do a very good job. Even if I could relax my muscles, my mind is whirling, my stomach churning against his strong thigh, my heart racing and I don’t want to think what my cunt is doing.

  I give a big sigh, feeling my boobs rise and fall against his legs, and wonder why I hadn’t gone out shopping after dinner. I could be happily strolling the mall now, instead of face to the carpet, waiting for a whack on my posterior.

  “Good girl,” he says and kisses me on the back of my neck. The touch of his lips sends my clit throbbing. I’m not sure I can stand any more. But what choice do I have? He’s literally got me where he wants me.

  “Stay still, just like this,” he tells me. “Don’t try to resist me. It won’t work and will just earn you more and harder punishment. Now . . .” he pauses. His hand moves from my butt. His fingers slip inside the waist band of my skirt and before I realize what he’s doing, he pulls it down my legs until it falls off my ankles. Damn elastic waists! Why hadn’t I worn blue jeans? That would have slowed him down. At least I’m wearing tummy flattening panties. They’re a bitch to yank on in the morning. They won’t come off so easily. He strokes my butt. Nothing new in that – he’s always liked my butt. Once told me I’d the loveliest arse he’d ever seen.

  Why wasn’t I warned?

  His hand caresses the back of my thighs and up again. I relax a little as he strokes my ass. Maybe he’s seen all the spandex and has decided to leave them on. No such luck! With a shift of his leg, bouncing me up a few inches, and a quick yank, they’re off and down. He pulls again and they’re at my knees. Tight-fitting as they are, they’re as good as shackles. I can’t move my legs at all. Just what he wants no doubt.

  At that I give up and sag against his strong thighs.

  He’s right. I have longed to know how this feels. Too bad, now it’s happening, I’m ready to change my mind!

  He strokes my bare butt. The calluses on the tips of his fingers brushing my skin. I like this. I’ve always enjoyed having my ass admired. I love the feel of his hand caressing me.

  Maybe this won’t be too bad.

  My shoulders relax, and so does my ass.

  “Lovely!” he whispers. Whether he’s pleased I’m not resisting, or admiring my ass, who knows? Who cares? I’m more concerned about the first slap and when it’s going to land. How hard will it sting? Will he make me yelp? No! That I won’t do! Not at any price!

  “How does that feel?” he asks as his fingertips trace gentle cycles over my cheeks.

  “Nice,” I concede.

  “Good,” he whispers. “Get ready. I’m about to start. Remember you’re forbidden to move.”

  I can’t help it. My entire body tenses. After what seems an age, the first spank lands. It’s barely a touch: a little love pat, followed by another. I smile. Why was I so damn worked up? This is easy! Nice in fact. Just gentle love pats all over my butt. I relax. He’s moved to my thighs. I feel the slaps, yes, but they don’t hurt. I got all in a stew and it’s nothing to be scared about. Heck, he’s given me harder slaps on my rump in play!

  He can keep this up as long as he wants. I almost tell him so, but his hand eases between my legs and he finds my wet pussy.

  “Ah! Hah!” He sounds so darn pleased. I want to kick him. Fat chance of that with my knees shackled with my spandex panties! “All those protests and this is turning you on!”

  Can’t deny it. Damn well don’t want to agree. So I keep quiet. Concentrating on the carpet, the warmth in my ass and legs and the ever-growing smell of my arousal.

  Two, three more pats on my ass. “Did that hurt?”

  “No,” I reply, “not at all.”

  “This will.” Before my mind processes his words, his hand comes down. Hard. With the horrid splat of flesh on flesh. I yell, rearing up and struggling to move away.

  It does me no good. A hand between my shoulder blades forces me back down and he grabs my flailing arm and bends it up behind me in a chicken wing. Illegal wrestling moves must be allowed when spanking.

  “Let go of me!” I tell him and I half turn to scowl at him.

  “Not until you promise not to resist me.”

  “That hurt!”

  “Of course it did.” He sounds irritated. “This is punishment, Jenny. You must expect it to hurt. That was just the first of many you deserve, and I intend to see you get them all.”

  “The first ones didn’t hurt.”

  “They were just to warm you up for the punishment proper.”

  Friggin’ hell!

  Silence for several, long seconds. “Well, Jenny?” he barks at me, like a drill sergeant in the movies. “Are you going to promise not to fight me? I’m waiting.”

  “What if I refuse?”

  Silence and a long sigh. “You have two choices. Either lie still on my knee and accept your punishment without resisting. A punishment you know you’ve longed for and justly deserve. Or . . .” he pauses, hand on my warmed over ass, as I wait to hear the alternative that I just know will be worse. “If you resist the spanking, I will bend you over the foot of the bed, tie your hands down, and give it to you with my belt.”

  Sheesh! Why had I ever thought this would be fun? Even more to the damn point, why were my pussy lips wet with arousal? No point in trying to think that one out. I most certainly did not want to feel his belt on my arse. His hand was bad enough.

  “I won’t fight you,” I reply and my body sort of sags against his legs. I want this, I have to admit. But I’m dreading it. How many more like that last one will I get? Can’t be too many. It has to hurt his hand too.

  “Good.”

  Takes me only moments to regret that promise, but what’s my alternative? His belt? I shudder under the onslaught and accept each punishing slap as my arse burns and throbs.

  At first, I count. Four slaps and a pause. To let his hand rest more likely than to ease my sore ass. Four more. Another pause. Four more – harder this time, I swear. I give up counting. It takes all I have not to scream, but I don’t. Tears come first, spilling hot down my cheeks onto the carpet.

  I’m hurting. Bad. Every inch of my butt stings and smarts and it gets worse with each hard slap. I let out a yelp here and there, unable to hold it all back and my tears run faster as I sob. I lose track of time and place. I’m aware of nothing but the building pain in my ass and the increasing throb in my clit. Through my tears, I smell my arousal. This is crazy, insane and . . .

&n
bsp; He stops.

  It takes me a few sobs and gasps to realize he’s no longer spanking. I’m just lying there, hurting, arse burning, pulse throbbing in my ears, eyes sore from crying. Through the morass of sensation and emotion, his lovely voice comes clear.

  “It’s over, Jenny.”

  As he helps me to my feet, and holds me close, I know that’s not true. My arse might hurt but my entire body pulses with arousal.

  I look up into his eyes. “I need . . .” I begin, unsure what I really do need.

  “I know.” He lifts my chin with his hand – the hand that moments earlier was punishing and now caresses. Holding my face between his hands, he brings his lips to mine. A slow, lingering kiss, tongue on tongue and filling my mouth with his presence.

  Now I know exactly what I need! My hips rock of their own volition and I feel his erection under his jeans.

  “Please . . .” I begin, too tired, too sore, too aroused, to talk straight.

  No problem. He knows. He picks me up and lays me on my side on the bed. I shut my eyes a minute, absorbing the warring and confusing sensations in my body. The mattress shifts. He’s lying spooned behind me. I feel bare legs against mine. He’s shucked his clothes. I sigh and lean back into him, pressing my still-sore arse against his glorious erection.

  This is what I need! He slips into me sideways and lies still. His cock pressed deep in my cunt. Filling me. His warm belly against my burning arse. His hand cups my breast, as his fingers brush my nipple and I feel it down to my cunt. I thought I was aroused before. Now I’m about to go into orbit. I shift, pressing him deeper into me. He starts moving, gently as if aware how sore I still am. But the pain fades into the background as my arousal builds and peaks.

  I’m whimpering with pleasure, groaning with need. His hand eases down my belly and plays my bush, parting my pussy lips. I rock again, pressing his wonderful finger against my clit. He’s in me, around me, touching the very heat of my need, and as gentle circles of his fingertip pull me higher, I close my eyes and give myself over to sensation. Another groan echoes in my ears, and another and, with a scream, I come in a mind-numbing climax that goes on and on and on . . .