I make eye contact, almost accidentally, with a beautiful Italian man dining with a woman (his wife?). His dark eyes assess me so completely, I almost lose my balance. I can’t remember the last time a man so thoroughly undressed me without laying a hand on me. His companion shoots me a venomous stare.
As I slide into the booth to join the three men, my skirt threatens to rise above the line of propriety. I don’t trouble myself about it. My damp thighs are drawn to the leather seats. I have a sudden urge to smear my juicy centre on the seats as I slide . . .
“Well, you were gone much too long,” Jeff says when I am back in my place.
“Did you talk about me?” I venture, giving in to the giddiness that hovers on the edge of euphoria.
The men laugh. “Oh, yes,” John assures me. “But it was all positive.” They laugh again. He puts his mouth close to my ear. “Did you do what I asked you?” I nod discreetly.
“Is everything all right?” Addison asks. He senses I am not completely myself.
I feel myself blush. “Well, a weird thing happened.”
Eyebrows go up and heads lean toward me.
“Our waitress was in there.”
I pause. The men wait. Finally, Addison says, “And?”
“I think she was looking at me.”
“What do you mean ‘looking’?”
“You know, through the door.”
I can’t tell them what really happened – I don’t want to sound as culpable as I know I am.
“Did you like it?” Jeff asks, smiling.
“It was just weird.”
But I can’t get the scene out of my mind. And when the waitress brings our dinners, this time staring boldly at me without saying a word, the men take notice. The silence amplifies the woman’s obvious interest in me.
My internal temperature rises and I increasingly feel as if I am sitting in a puddle. Wet and fidgety, I poke at my food mostly to distract me from everything else I am feeling.
To make matters worse, the handsome Italian makes no attempt to disguise his fascination with me. Every time I look in his direction, his dark, velvety eyes are staring at me. I can only imagine how outraged his companion must be, both at him and at me, but what can I do about it? Apparently, John has a solution.
John’s hands are suddenly groping my knees, though his gaze is fixed forward; on the Italian, in fact. He says nothing, but firmly takes hold of my nearest knee and pulls it toward him, forcing me to open my legs. The man’s gaze immediately shifts from my face to my crotch.
I am so stunned by John’s actions, I don’t have time to react. He’s not only helped himself to my body but put it on display for another man to view. I’ve never in all my life exposed myself in public, let alone to a stranger. How much of my pussy can the Italian see? What must he think of me?
For the second time that night, I am amazed to discover that shame quickly dissolves into excitement. I like being the object of so much lust. Yes, there was a certain amount of power in it but also a liberation unlike any I’ve ever known. Look at my pussy! I want to purr at the Italian. Isn’t it pretty? What would you do with it if I let you have it? And how I wonder what he would do with it.
Despite my clothes, I might as well be naked. I’ve been laid spread-eagled on the table and am relishing every moment. In my mind, all sex flows from me. My body vibrates like a guitar string strung too tight and strummed incessantly.
Thankfully, the Italian is worldly enough not to flinch at the sight John forces upon him. Though he lingers on what is between my spread thighs, he shifts his gaze before his companion follows it. The corners of his mouth turn upward just long enough for me – and John – to know that he’s seen my glistening pussy and enjoyed the opportunity.
Neither Addison nor Jeff seem to be aware of what John has done. They eat their meals, blithely unaware of anything for the remainder of the evening. Their provocative banter continues while I virtually drip for the Italian.
After the men finish their dinners and I explain that I just didn’t have much of an appetite, they decide to skip dessert.
“I prefer to take my dessert at the hotel,” John says. “Behind closed doors and over a period of several hours.”
“So, how are you feeling?” Addison finally asks, breaking the silence on the way to the hotel.
“Fine,” I reply. My grin is unstoppable.
I know he wants to know what I am thinking. He probably wants to hear that I am excited or looking forward to what is ahead of me tonight. But no words can adequately describe the incredibly delicious anticipation I feel. Where can I begin to tell him about the whirl of thoughts and emotions inside me at this moment?
“Fine? Is that all? This from a woman who’s going to be fucked silly by three men who think she’s the most beautiful female on the planet?”
I smile at his enthusiasm and eagerness to please. His erection is very obvious. Even his voice is somewhat breathless. “Yes,” I say. “Just fine.” The car seat practically steams from the heat of my pussy.
John and Jeff lounge comfortably in the Peninsula Hotel lobby. Addison has driven quickly and not encountered much traffic – how do John and Jeff arrive so much sooner? Based on the twinkle in their eyes, I can only assume that the power of the libido has overcome the limitations of their respective cars. They get to their feet when I and Addison enter the lobby.
The woman at the reception desk smiles in that warm but detached way that customer service people are trained to do. Once the four guests have all collected before her, however, her somewhat vacant smile morphes into something else. As if reading the group’s intentions, that familiar spark seems to light her eyes. Everybody’s colour is a bit deeper, their voices slightly higher.
“May I help you?” the strikingly attractive woman asks.
How have the gods conspired to put so many beautiful women in my path tonight? Not only are they beautiful, but they eye me with the kind of wanton desire I’ve only fantasized about. Everybody seems to sense that I will be fucked by three different cocks. Rather than judging me a wanton trollop, people are drawn to my unleashed sexuality. The circumstance somehow affirms my sexual nature – if I am courting three cocks, I must surely be worth fucking.
The receptionist gives me the once over but it is unlike the kind of cold assessment I am used to getting from women. This one feels more like the one I got from the voluptuous waitress. My skin tingled.
“Yes, you can help us,” Addison says as he turns to me. “Why don’t you tell the nice lady what we want, sweetheart?”
My body temperature climbs several degrees. I hesitate, looking from one man to the next, hoping to be rescued, but all three of them smirk in response. My shyness peels away from me in layers, falling to the floor like unnecessary clothing.
“We’d like to check in, please. The name is Taylor.” My throat is too dry to swallow.
“All four of you?” The pretty brunette asks with a tilt of her head.
“Yes,” I say slowly and more quietly. I don’t know whether to be annoyed or turned on by this woman’s implied assumption. I can’t even look at the men’s faces – their amusement is palpable.
The receptionist types something into her computer and accesses the information she seeks. “Oh, yes. The honeymoon suite.” Her smile lingers long after she speaks. She writes something down, then retrieves the key to their room from the cubbyholes behind her.
Handing the key to Addison, she says, “Enjoy your stay,” with so much implication, I blush from head to foot. As the men walk away, the woman discreetly slips a small note card across the counter to me. Wordlessly, I take it and turn away.
On the way to the elevator, I pause to look at it. It reads “Fuck’em each once for me.”
The heat among the four of us approaches the incendiary level by the time we reach our suite. I will always remember that it is Addison who approaches me first, kissing me softly over my face and moving to my lips with sensual slowness. As his mout
h meshes with mine, hands explore my body. Zippers unzip, and fabric slides along my skin. Hot breath caresses me.
Though the room isn’t dark – someone flips a wall switch when they enter the room – I can’t discern faces at first. As all of the men touch me, I become a goddess under their worshipping adoration. I feel loved, desired, profoundly sexual.
Several hours pass in a blur of unrestrained hunger. Cocks penetrate my pussy and my mouth. Tongues dance over my tits, coaxing my nipples to their fullest. The men take turns with me, each one lovingly fucking my brains out. I hear myself shouting with pleasure and know I am as much out of my body as I am in it. I can’t stay inside myself – the euphoria surpasses my capacity to withstand it.
There is a pause in the action sometime around midnight. I lose track of all orgasms, my own as well as the men’s. Addison slips out for a pack of cigarettes and suddenly my lust mixes with panic. It is one thing to give myself to these men when Addison is present but quite another to enjoy them in his absence. I am a schoolgirl, considering the ramifications of giving one a blowjob or letting another eat my pussy. Having my husband gone, even for a little while, makes me feel naughtier, which in turn makes me wetter.
I let myself focus for the first time tonight. To my delight, I discover that Jeff is hung like a horse. His big, thick cock mesmerizes me as he approaches and still glistens from my juices. I am vaguely aware of being penetrated by something large but don’t realize exactly who has wielded the object of my pleasure. Now I know it is Jeff and don’t protest at all when it is apparent that he is taking me again.
“I’ve been hard ever since Addison proposed this whole idea,” he confesses as he holds open my thighs and pushes himself into me. As I gasp, he continues. “I just can’t believe I get to fuck such a beauty.” He rams me hard, as if punctuating his comment. I admire his muscular physique that now shines with a thin film of sweat. I am consumed by the urge to run my palms over every developed contour of his finely shaped body.
Seconds after he sprays yet another round of come onto my tummy, John moves in to take his place. If Jeff can be defined by his size, John’s claim to fame is his exceptional hardness. He has yet to orgasm and we’ve all been fucking for more than two hours! His endurance captivates me as I see that his rock-hard member has a mind of its own.
“All I could think about was having you to myself,” he says as he kisses the insides of my things. “I want to please you until you can’t stand it any longer.” His mouth tickles my clit. Even the way he licks me makes me feel that I have powers even I don’t understand. He brings me to orgasm quickly and the moment the tremors subside, he slips his throbbing erection inside me and pumps away. Addison walks in on the scene.
Having him see me get fucked by someone else, someone he knows and has even encouraged, makes me spread my legs wider. I catch his eye and hold it, revelling in the excitement on his face. John fucks me incessantly – so long, in fact, that the other two men can no longer contain themselves. Addison feeds me his cock, which I accept gratefully. Jeff stares at the scene and beats off, spraying his stuff on the bedsheets.
I don’t know when we all fall asleep. Time has become meaningless many orgasms ago. Light dapples the sheer curtains and I turn languidly to greet the morning. Our bodies lay like rag dolls across the two beds and I smile with the memory of the previous night, knowing it will never be like this again, that the moment I return to predictable but loving monogamy, all I will have is this masturbatory fodder and an indelible smile.
“Honey? You okay?” Addison said to me, shaking my shoulder gently. He thought he was jarring me from some kind of reverie or daydream, and I didn’t have the heart to tell him that I’d just thoroughly screwed him and his two best friends. My panties were wet and I was sure my eyes were glazed over, but I managed a smile and came back to the reality of Butterfield 8. For two, not four.
“I’m sorry to have kept you waiting. I would have introduced you but then we never would have gotten rid of the guy. He probably would have joined us for dinner!” Addison said as we headed for our table.
I fought the urge to tell my husband that I could take as many men for dinner as he was willing and able to provide. Maybe I’ll work up the neve to tell him on our next anniversary.
Blue Eyes
Heather (Glasgow, Scotland)
Bottle of red wine in one hand and a glass in the other I strolled to the window for perhaps the hundredth time in half an hour. Was I restless, was I confused? Yes. Only the day before I had moved my stuff consisting of four carton boxes, one suitcase and a microwave into this small damp Glasgow flat.
I called it coming back to my Scottish roots but in truth I was running away at twenty-seven; having qualified as an interior architect two years ago, I hoped that my job chances would be better in Glasgow – I’d found nothing in the overcrowded London market apart from Mark, my dead-end ex of approximately two weeks.
Mark had been a rocker – well, he was in a rock band of sorts. What can I say about Mark except his cock was huge, and yeah, the sex was great – he had a personality about as interesting as a snail and an IQ of zero.
Did I love him?
No. I’ve never been in love, sometimes wonder what the word actually means. Is it created by fairies? This magic little gift that only the good girls get. Then, in that case, I’m bad.
Hey, I’m worse than bad – I must be as bad as they make ‘em.
Do I miss him?
No!
Do I miss the sex?
Yes.
I took another gulp of wine. It helped dull the pain. I pulled the curtains back and stared out at the road workers who were, to my untrained eye, fixing some sort of power line. Even although it was six o’clock in the evening, it was still bright on this overcast day in March and the workers below had become like a little TV show to me. Dressed in yellow jackets, jeans and high sturdy boots, they were something to occupy my thoughts other than my ex, my non-existent finances, and the dire economy. They weren’t nice-looking men, not one male strip-a-gram among them.
Wait! That had been the case until a second ago. The man who now walked into their midst was gorgeous, a male Greek Adonis – better, Michelangelo’s David walking and breathing in the flesh.
My thighs clamped and throbbed alarmingly, my glass shook and a trickle of red wine spilled on the carpet. Hell! I would have to get someone in to clean it, but I would worry about that later.
My eyes wanted to return to the perfect male specimen below and I let them.
He was tall with jet black cropped hair. A few X-rated thoughts ran through my head, just looking at him. Hungrily I watched him, momentarily absorbed in the way his T-shirt so nicely outlined his wide shoulders and strong back, and then there were those jeans, lovingly cupping his long, well-defined legs, not to mention the best-looking butt I’d ever seen.
Suddenly I wanted to kiss that butt, to run my tongue along its smooth moonshine crack.
I sighed lustily, then shrugged it off. I had given up on men. A shame, really, because he definitely had a body designed to tempt women – sort of sinner and saint all packed into one very well-put-together unit.
My pussy was hot and wet. Sometimes – well, most of the time – the little horny organ between my legs had to be obeyed.
And so it was that I obeyed her now.
Placing my glass on the windowsill, I gave way to the fantasy building in my head. A fantasy that I had always had; although the time and often the location changed, the dark-haired, blue-eyed man never did.
In the fantasy I was running – from what and from whom I don’t know. My hair spiralling out behind my body, the wind on my naked flesh cool. Suddenly I fell but there was danger: what and who this danger was I had no idea. But then it didn’t matter, a strong, long-fingered, firm hand grasped my own, pulling me to my feet. Then we were running and running: me breathless and him, this tall dark stranger, not breathless at all. Pulling me along to keep up with his pace, his po
werful strides cutting and flattening the soggy plant life beneath his furry boots.
Then I stumbled.
And suddenly strong arms encircled me and I was warm and secure against a hard chest. His heartbeat beating rhythmically beneath my cheek while his strides on the hard earth jolted through my entire body beneath the moonlit darkness.
There was danger still but nevertheless I felt safe in this stranger’s arms. Turning my head, further into his chest, so that I could breathe in the animal scents of his furs, I was aroused: then it came to me suddenly. In my fantasy, I had gone back in time; I was a modern woman saved from some kind of prehistoric beast by a cave-age man.
I shivered in anticipation, wondering what this man – when the time was safe – would do to me. Would he kiss me? Would he make me his wife or would he ravish my body?
Eventually we came to a cave. It was still dark and terribly cold. He lay me down on a bed of furs and left me alone. My breath came in short bursts, grey and icy under the moonlight; I was afraid and excited all at the same time.
Would he come back or was I alone in this strange new land?
A shuffle, followed by the sound of sliding stones, and then his large frame in the entrance of the cave blocked out the moonlight.
I was saved.
My skin tingled, for what would my primitive rescuer take as his payment?
Me, my body, my soul or – worse – my heart?
A spark, the sound of flint hitting stone, and then a small fire jumped into life. My rescuer’s back was to me, his shoulders were wide, and the frame beneath the deer skins muscular.
The fire crackled and he turned to me. Suddenly I found myself snared by a pair of blue eyes, as icy cool as the frozen landscape that was his home. I swallowed while the firelight continued to play off his sculpted face, pushing tiny shadows here and there beneath his strong nose and square chin.
The Mammoth Book of Women's Erotic Fantasies Page 39
