The Mammoth Book of Women's Erotic Fantasies

by Sonia Florens

  “I think you like this, Rita,” Marcus says, chuckling. “Do you think I need to punish you some more?”

  “Yes,” she says.

  “Come, stand up for me,” he’ll say, smoothing her skirt over her naked arse. “That’s a good girl. Turn around and face me. That’s good. Now take off your skirt.”

  Rita has a sly smile on her face as she takes off her skirt. It drops to the floor and she kicks up her other leg, discarding her panties and stands in front of him. Pulling her by the hips, he turns her around. He caresses her, lowering his head to kiss her red-hot cheeks. Then he turns her body back around so she is facing him and I note her flushed cheeks. She stares through the glass and smiles, her eyes shining with happiness and excitement.

  I’ve never seen her look so radiant and alive.

  “Hmm, very nice,” he’ll say, rubbing her stomach, his thumbs pressing into her groin, massaging deep, nearly touching her lips. “Take off your shirt.”

  She undoes each button, teasing him as she does, pouting her lips and looking at him through her dark lashes. Her blouse drops to the floor and she stands there in only a white bra. His hands reach out behind her back, unclasp her bra and discard it on the floor.

  Flicking her hair back off her face, she runs her hands over her breasts, down her stomach until she’s touching her pussy. She separates the lips and slips her fingers inside. She leans back against the desk, opening her legs.

  He kneels down running his tongue over her pussy giving her a long lick.

  “Oh, you’re a good girl now, aren’t you?” Marcus will say. He’ll stand, fondle her breasts and suckle at her nipples. “You like being a good girl. Don’t you?”

  She is now only wearing her high-heeled shoes and looking very sexy as she wiggles back further on the desk. She lifts a leg and places it over his shoulder, her heel digging into his back, pulling him in closer.

  “Yes,” she’ll purr. “I’m very good when I want to be.”

  “Hmm, I know,” he’ll say, his fingers seeking out her nipples. “But there’s just one more thing I have to do.”

  “What’s that?” she’ll murmur.

  “Lean over the desk.”

  She doesn’t hesitate. She practically pushes him into the glass, turns around and leans into the desk with her arse twitching in the air. Her feet are slightly apart and she lowers herself to lie flat, her breasts squashed against his papers.

  Marcus runs his hands over her back, down over her gorgeous plump cheeks, onto her hips where he gives them a quick slap and then out of his drawer he’ll produce a switch. Gently, he’ll begin to whip her as Rita moans sexily with every lashing he administers.

  I’ll pull my panties to one side and finger myself on the armchair, my legs wide open, hanging off the arms. I’d smear my clit with my juices, enjoy my fingers as they roamed amongst my folds and then back to my clit where I rubbed gently, just as I’m doing now.

  “That’s one hot pussy,” he’ll say to Rita as he slips in his finger. “Oh, yeah, really juicy. You are enjoying it.”

  “Oh yeah, baby, I am,” she’ll say.

  I’ll watch as he falls to his knees, lowering his head to lick the welts. He’ll run his tongue over them, then her hole, stopping just before he reaches her pussy. She’ll rise up on her elbows, pull at her breasts, and tease the nipples to make them erect. She’ll push her arse into Marcus’s face, lifting it higher, trying to get him to put his tongue inside her.

  “That’s one hot arse,” he’ll laugh as he pinches each cheek. “Here, stand up.”

  He helps her up on the desk. She kneels on it; bends over so her pussy is level with his face. He smacks her thighs with his hand, and as her legs open wider he smacks her pussy as well. She squeals with delight. He alternates between smacking her and giving her pussy a long lick, from her clit all the way up to her hole. It is driving her wild. She gyrates her pussy into his face, smothering him, encouraging him for more.

  It drives me wild too. I can see myself standing and quickly pulling my panties off, repositioning myself on the chair. I grab at my breast roughly while rubbing my clit. I look sexy, wild and uninhibited as I masturbate madly.

  With his free hand he undoes his trousers and they fall to his ankles. He stands there with a massive hard on, his cock only inches from me. I can see the knobbly veins in his shaft as the skin stretches tightly over it. I want it, want it in my mouth, in my pussy, my hole. I watch as he covers her pussy with his mouth nuzzling and sucking while removing his shirt. Now they are both naked, his arse tight, right in front of me, the cheeks clenching and tightening as he pulls her closer into him.

  I’ll be rubbing my clit; enjoying a wonderful orgasm as it dribbles out of me, just like I am now. I’ll finger myself, focus my attention back on my clit as I rub madly but it won’t be enough. I can’t get enough. Can’t reach the high I want. I need to be fucked and I’ll wish that Marcus could be the one to feed my hungry pussy.

  He is teasing her with his cock and she’s trying desperately to grab it and put it inside her.

  “I want your pussy wetter,” he’ll demand. “I’ll keep spanking you until your juices are dripping on the desk. Do you hear me?”

  “Oh, yes, yes,” she’ll say eagerly.

  He’ll slap at her thighs while his cock rubs between her legs. He loves to tease her. Then he’ll grab her hips firmly to pull her hard towards him, plunging his cock straight into her pussy; the force of it throws her forward on the desk. He thrust in deeper and harder, causing her to scream and cry out for more. He is holding her tightly, pounding into her ferociously.

  “Oh, God, yes,” she’ll scream. “Fuck me harder.”

  She’s holding onto the edges of the desk as he pummels her. Pencils and papers are flying off the desk.

  “Quickly,” he’ll command. “Turn around and sit on the desk with your legs open for me.”

  She does as he asks. From my position I can see her pussy perfectly. With her legs spread he stands back and pulls at his cock, making it even bigger. She is whimpering, begging for it, her head hanging off the edge of the desk. He thrusts his cock into her open mouth and she gobbles it deep down into her throat, sucking him madly.

  “Oh yes, that’s great. You’re dripping now. I can see your pussy in the mirror. Good girl. I knew you’d be good. Knew you’d do as you’re told. Now you’ll get your reward,” he’ll say, withdrawing from her.

  “Oh, yes, Marcus, please. For God’s sake, give it to me.”

  He pushes his massive cock into her while she screams to be fucked harder. I wouldn’t be able to stand it any more and I’d look about the room for something to relieve my frustration. I spy a big, black dildo and reach over to grab it. I hoist up my dress and plunge the black beauty straight into me. Oh, it is heavenly. Over and over I push it in and out. Pulling it out, I can see my juices bring it to life, making it seem real.

  I’ll have my eyes closed on the brink of another orgasm when I hear the creak of a floorboard. He’ll be standing next to me, his massive cock only inches from my mouth. I’ll grab his shiny, thick, wet shaft and suck his cock deep into my throat. My other hand will still be pumping the dildo in and out and as I gobble his cock. All thoughts about him being Rita’s boyfriend will leave me. I will be interested in only one thing and that’s getting fucked.

  He’ll withdraw from me and grab me by the arm, pull me out of the chair. The dildo will fall to the floor. He’ll drag me into his bedroom and stand me in front of Rita.

  “Lick her pussy,” he’ll demand of me.

  I’ll look shyly towards Rita, knowing that this is what we both want. Like a hungry dog I’ll attack her, feed off her juices as Marcus lifts my dress, opens my legs, pulls my hips back and plunges that fucking beautiful cock of his straight up my pussy. I’ll grab hold of Rita’s hips tightly, licking and sucking as he bucks into me. Delirious with passion I’ll come all over his cock as Rita bucks into my mouth, her sweet juices filling me as she too orgasms.
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  This fantasy has me masturbating madly as I imagine what else we could do.

  On shaking legs I’ll practically fall as Marcus withdraws that wonderful cock from me. He’ll strip me out of my dress and underwear and, after helping Rita from the desk, he’ll order me to lie upon it. Apprehensive and nervous about my first caning I’ll lay there panting as they tie my arms and legs to the desk. I’ll be hanging over it, my arse and pussy naked, vulnerable, unable to protest even if I wanted to. But I don’t. I want to be spanked, whipped, smacked. I want what Rita had and more.

  The first slap will be on my thigh. Then another and another and slowly they’ll work their way up to my cheeks where the slaps will become smacks and the stinging pain becomes pleasure. They’ll produce a swish and use it over my back, the inside of my torso, my cheeks and thighs. It will be wonderful. It will be absolute and utter pleasure being at the disposal of someone else’s hand. I’ll love being submissive; to be told what to do and how to do it. I’ll love it all.

  Then light fingers will run up inside my thighs and caress my back. It will only be a small whip and as Marcus slaps my pussy with it I’ll know that this is something that I’ll always want, always want to participate in. The tiny red-hot stings will be like an electrical surge all over my flesh, igniting a fire in me, making me wild with passion.

  “Oh, for God’s suck, fuck me, please,” I’ll beg. “Fuck me.”

  “Do you think you’ve been punished enough for spying on me?” Marcus will ask.

  “Yes,” I’ll whimper.

  “Do you think you’ve learned a lesson?” he’ll ask.

  “Oh, yes,” I’ll whisper, barely able to talk.

  “Do you think you’d like my cock inside your hot pussy?”

  “Oh, fuck, yes. Please fuck me,” I’ll beg.

  I want him more than anything, but part of me wants them to flip me over. To lash at my breasts, to make my nipples harder, to excite me even more.

  “Rita, do you think I should fuck her? Do you think we’ve shown her how much pleasure you can receive even when you’re naughty?”

  “I think we’ve given her enough for her first taste and, knowing Deva, I’m sure she’ll be back for more,” Rita will say as she unties my arms, then my legs.

  I’ll stand on shaking legs, desperate to have Marcus fuck me. He’ll lift me in his strong arms and place me in the centre of his bed. Rita will lie beside me, stroking my breasts, lightly touching my arms, while Marcus will stand at the end of the bed watching us.

  “Please,” I’ll beg, “I can’t stand it any longer. Please fuck me.”

  I can hear something pulling at me, digging into my subconscious. I want to continue on with this fantasy. I want to imagine Marcus fucking me like the stallion that he is. I want to feel his hard cock deep inside me, I want him pounding in me, fucking me mercilessly, but something is bugging me, stopping me for continuing, my stream of consciousness has been broken.

  It’s the phone. The fucking phone is ringing. I leave it to ring out but whoever it is rings back. I can’t get back into my fantasy. I jump out of bed angrily, rush into the kitchen and snatch the phone off the hook.

  “Yes,” I scream into it.

  “Julie, is that you?” a voice asks.

  “No, it’s fucking not,” I scream as I slam the receiver back down.

  I run to get back to my fantasy, my wild dreams of lust, but first I take the receiver off the hook. I don’t want any other interruptions.

  I jump back into bed. Get into the same position. I close my eyes and conjure up where I’d left off but I can’t seem to get it back, can’t seem to get the momentum going again. Frustrated and angry, I pick up my robe and slink back into my room. I promise myself if Rita brings it up again, I’ll be saying yes. This fantasy needs to be fulfilled and the sooner it is the better I’ll like it.

  Say It

  Flora (Garden City, USA)

  I’m shaking as I walk into the room because I don’t know how to keep myself steady. If he gave me a cigarette, told me to light it, I’m not sure I could control the trembling in my hands enough to make such a simple thing happen.

  He’s sitting in a chair by the window. The only light is one of the lamps by the bed and a tiny strip of it where the curtains don’t close quite perfectly. If there was more light, I might see my toybag beside his chair, might recognize it amidst the shadows. “Pack a bag for me,” he’d said. And so I did, left it for you.

  “Stop there,” he tells me as the door slams closed; even though I expected the sound, I jump. I’ve only taken three steps into the room. “Stand still.”

  Every instinct in me screams, “No.” It’s built-in defiance that makes me want to provoke, ask, “Why should I?”, makes me want him to give me a damn good reason to do so. It’s the control freak in me that makes me want to take another step and another, just because he told me to stand still.

  Somehow I make myself stop, though. My ankles wobble a little in my boots and I try to stand still. I’m sure he can see me trembling, though and I wonder, briefly, if that’s going to count against me.

  He just sits there, looks at me, watches me, silent, that smug expression on his face, that satisfied smile. The muscles in my neck and jaw tense and my lips press together; I hardly realize I’m doing it. This silence, this lack of movement drives me crazy. I want to do something. Want him to do something. Want anything but to be standing there, uncertain and trembling, but he’s not in a hurry.

  I imagine it’s a game: which of us will move first. Will I give in to the white-hot defiance inside of me, or will I somehow manage to contain it, control it, leaving him to make the first move?

  I don’t know how long I stand there; he unplugged the clock, denying me that red glow and the little bit of certainty that comes with knowing. In that unknown time, I manage not to demand, “Well?” or “Are you just going to sit there?” or “Now what?” my lips twitching unconsciously every time I come close to opening my mouth. I think he can tell how much this frustrates me, how maddening it is.

  Finally, he says, “Strip. Slowly.”

  Slowly. And I wonder if he wants a strip tease, or if he just wants me to take my time, forcing me into a longer wait to find out what happens next. He remains sitting there, his expression unchanging, still that smug amusement and I want so much to touch his cheek, kiss him, be close enough that I can’t see the expression. Nip at his mouth, drag my tongue over his lips, press it between them.

  I peel off one glove, material sliding against my forearm, wrist, fingers. I drop it to the floor beside me. Out the corner of my eye, I catch sight of my reflection in the mirrored closet door, mocking me with the same movement. I unfasten bracelets, metal beads unwinding slowly then falling to the floor with the scraping and clinking of metal-against-metal, muffled in the end by carpet and the first glove. Then the other glove. My hands still shake and I think, perhaps it is a blessing he told me to strip slowly.

  I unfasten my necklace, drop it beside my bracelets.

  As I strip he tells me, “You are allowed to say, ‘Yes, sir,’ and, ‘No, sir.’ Nothing more. Unless you need to use your safe-word. You understand?”

  I swallow, draw a shallow breath. I know what he wants to hear, what I should say.

  “Well?” he asks me, one eyebrow raising.

  And my lips part. For a moment, the only thing that passes them is my breath and then not even that. I don’t know if I can say it. He waits, watching me in silence, judging my reluctance or defiance, until I whisper, “Yes, sir.” I’m not certain I’ve said it loud enough for him to hear, but he says, “Good girl.” I remember to breathe.

  “Tell me your safe-word, Flora.” I love the sound of my name on his lips.

  My hands falter on the laces of my corset. I swallow, press my lips together, then say it – Red – though he already knows; we’ve talked about this before. He nods and I loosen the laces further.

  “Slowly,” he reminds me when my hand comes to th
e zipper at the front of my corset.

  Slowly. I take hold of the zipper, pull it down a tiny bit at a time, trying to remind myself to breathe as I do. Eventually, the zipper is all the way down, the air cool against my leather-warmed skin. I shrug my shoulders and the straps slide down. I catch them, then drop the corset to the floor. My skirt slips down over my hips, puddles at the floor around my boots. I’ve nothing on underneath.

  Self-conscious and exposed, I bend to the laces on my boots and before I untie the knot holding them he says, “Leave those on.” I close my eyes, whisper, “Yes, sir.”

  “Crawl to me,” he says and my eyelids fly open again, eyes wide with panic. He still has not moved more than to tilt his head to the side. His hands rest on the arms of the chair, long fingers relaxed. “Slowly.”

  I feel the blush heating my skin, my breath catching each time I inhale. Crawl to him. Submission without pain and I don’t know if I can do this thing he is telling me to do. Does he see the struggle as I stand there? Is it written on my face? In the way I tremble? And when I’ve nearly decided I cannot do this, I find that I’m closing my eyes tightly, bowing my head and sinking to my knees. I whisper, “Yes, sir.” The carpet is smooth and rough at the same time. Flat, but ragged against my palms and my knees; I focus on that rather than the sharp uncertainty in the back of my head, rather than the fear.

  The room is forever-wide, though it’s no bigger than any other hotel room I’ve ever stayed in. The trek across the room on my hands and knees takes a painfully long time and the only sound is the toes of my boots scraping carpet and the pounding of my heart, pulse hammering in my ears. My back arches each time I drag one leg forward and put a hand out in front of me and I can’t look at him, if I do, I might stop, might gather up my clothes and run. I look, instead, at the floor, at the pattern in the carpet, at the chipped polish on my nails. I should’ve fixed that before I got here; a distracted inane thought flitting into my head and out just as quickly.

  Crawl to him. It sounds like such a simple order. Such a simple thing to do. And I don’t know if it’s defiance or fear screaming in the back of my head, telling me to stop right there, not move another inch. But I keep crawling. Long slow dragging movements, my breasts swaying, a reminder that I’m naked, in case I might have forgotten somehow.