The Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica 6

by Jakubowski Maxim

  Tears rolled down her cheeks.

  “Christ – oh, shit! Mercy, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean it.”

  “Hurt me, you fucker! Hurt me – don’t stop!”

  Her eyes were wide, crazed. Danny hesitated, then he grabbed her arm and yanked her into the bedroom. He tossed her on the bed. “Okay!”

  Mercy turned over on her back, mewing like a frightened kitten. There would be no preliminaries. Danny kneeled between her thighs and plunged his cock into her cunt.

  She clasped her legs around him, but the hard rocking he gave her broke the clench. He grabbed her ankles and forced her legs up and back.

  “Ow! God!”

  He stabbed her relentlessly with his cock. “Fucking cunt! Is this what you like – bitch!”

  Mercy was crying, wailing, but it just made him crazier to fuck her hard.

  “You would have sucked that old bastard. We should have given you to that pimp when we had the chance. How about bums, Mercy? You wanna fuck a gang of dirty bums? You fucking come bucket . . . bitch . . . Christ!”

  Mercy’s body rocked and her eyes rolled back as he emptied his balls into her. He pushed himself away as she curled into a fetal position, sobbing. He turned and stumbled into the lounge and collapsed on the couch.

  He sat in the dark, listening to Mercy weep. “I don’t care,” he whispered to himself. Whatever he had become, it no longer concerned him. Maybe this was who he truly was.

  He was nodding off in the dark when he felt her hand on his shoulder.

  “I’m sorry, Danny. Hold me, please.”

  She didn’t wait for an answer, but set herself in his lap and laid her head on his shoulder.

  “It’s just – it’s the only way I can feel anything, except . . .” Her shoulders heaved as she sobbed again.

  “What, Mercy?”

  “When you kissed me tonight – kissed me all over. Just kissed me, and I came, and it was beautiful. I got so scared.”

  “Scared?”

  “Scared I’d love you.”

  Danny shook his head. He wouldn’t try to make sense of it. He lay back and she curled up with him. They fell asleep.

  The door to the suite opened startling him awake. Then Greg and Ann were standing over them.

  “Well, isn’t this adorable, don’t you think, honey?”

  Ann looked into Danny’s face, then followed the line of Mercy’s naked body as she began to stir.

  Ann’s makeup was smeared and her short dark hair disheveled. She wore a mini-skirt that barely covered her crotch and a top that looked shredded, though Danny figured maybe it was supposed to look that way. It bared her stomach, which was splotchy with hickeys. She pressed her lips together then looked away.

  “C’mon, baby,” Greg said as he gently nudged her toward their room. “I’m exhausted.”

  Danny heard their door close. He stood and helped Mercy up. “C’mon, let’s go to bed.”

  The couples shared breakfast in the morning, and then checked out. Each wife walked to her husband’s car and slid into the passenger seat. It was like a ritual, Danny thought, signaling everything was back to where it was. But he knew that was impossible.

  He and Ann didn’t speak during the first few miles of the trip home.

  Finally, she asked, “How did you like your weekend?”

  It was a ludicrous question, Danny thought, but maybe they needed to talk.

  “How was yours?”

  “I – Danny, if you didn’t want to do this, I wish you had said something.”

  “That’s what everyone tells me – including me.”

  “Do you hate me?”

  “Ann – do I know you well enough to hate you? I don’t know.”

  She looked down at her knees and said nothing for several miles.

  “Greg said you had a terrible crush on Mercy when you were in school,” Ann said, watching the countryside sweep by. “I guess you got your chance to act on it.”

  “That’s what Greg said, huh?”

  “You two – on the couch. I – I didn’t know what to – I think I was jealous.”

  “Did Greg fuck you in the ass?”

  A sharp intake of breath was all the answer Danny needed. He glanced at her and noted the tremble in her chin.

  He said, “You wouldn’t let me . . .”

  “I know – but, it’s okay. I – like it now. We can do it too.”

  “Sloppy seconds.”

  “Huh?”

  “Nothing, just thinking of something Mercy said to me.”

  “Did you – like fucking Mercy?”

  “Mercy’s a pretty mixed-up woman.”

  “Did you?”

  “Did you like fucking Greg?”

  “Danny, please . . .”

  “What?”

  “I – I wanted to . . . I mean, I’ve fantasized. I – wanted . . .”

  “What?”

  “You are so sweet when you make love to me, but sometimes I wished – that you wouldn’t be so sweet. I didn’t know how to tell you. Then Greg and Mercy came along, and they told me about, you know, things you three did in college. It seemed like – I thought it would be all right with you. And, when you didn’t say . . . that is, you didn’t really object when Greg suggested this weekend.”

  “How do you feel about yourself, Annie?”

  “I dunno . . . I’d feel better if I thought it was okay with you.”

  He pushed his hand back over his head, threading his fingers through his hair.

  “Aw, damn it, Ann. Maybe I wanted to see if you could – if you would . . .”

  “Be a slut?”

  “Jesus.”

  “Do you want me to tell you what we . . . he did to me?”

  “I can imagine. I don’t need to hear it – well – not right now.”

  “Don’t hate me, Danny.”

  “You should be hating me.”

  “No, no I don’t. Please, I just needed to know.”

  “Yeah, me too.” But, only in his thoughts, he added, Maybe some things should stay in the dark.

  When they got home the girls ran into their arms. Ann’s parents quizzed them about the weekend before they left, and were answered with innocuous small talk. It was getting late and they put the kids to bed.

  Ann spent even longer than usual in the bathroom before she came to bed. Danny was already in bed, letting his fatigue wash over him.

  Ann stepped into their room with a large bath towel wrapped around her. Danny eyed her curiously.

  “I – I have to show you something.”

  She turned and dropped the towel. Tattooed on her left ass cheek was the word KEPT. On the other cheek SLUT.

  “Jesus Christ!” Danny bolted up in bed.

  Ann turned around. Her pussy had been shaved, or waxed. There was no hint of stubble. Another tattoo above her pussy in lurid red script read, Greg was here.

  “They’re not permanent,” she cried. “They’re just inked on. But they may take a few weeks to fade away. I’m sorry; I never should have let him.”

  “That prick. ‘Greg was here’?”

  “I’ll have to cancel my doctor’s appointment this week. Don’t be angry, Danny.”

  He laughed. “The son of a bitch. Did he really think he had to rub it in my face?”

  “Danny?”

  “Lie down,” he ordered.

  Ann sat down next to him then lay back. Danny straddled her and stared at her bald pussy and Greg’s taunt.

  “Greg’s slut, huh?”

  “Danny?” She trembled.

  He pushed her thighs aside and penetrated the slickening gates of her pussy.

  “Danny! . . . Danny! . . . Oh, God!”

  “Do you love it, slut? Do you love it?”

  “Yes! Yes, I love it!”

  Danny hated himself – and loved it.

  Jenny and the Big Bad Department Store

  Tara Alton

  Panties

  I was saving my money to buy this pair of eye-
catching, baby-pink strappy sandals with fabulous tiny bows, but my underwear was starting to disappear at an alarming rate and now I was going to have to replace it. I have looked for my panties everywhere, behind my drawers, under my bed and in the back of my closet. They were simply vanishing. In addition, it was the cute underwear, like my pair with the Super Girl logo on the front.

  The only conclusions that I could up come up was either the washing machine in the laundry room of my building was eating them, or some neighbor with a panty fetish was stealing them between cycles when I went back to my apartment. There was no way I was going to baby-sit my laundry for a couple hours in that dank, grungy little laundry room, and I didn’t have the time to go to the Laundromat. I’ve thought about calling my landlord to complain, but he hasn’t even called me back yet about my leaky kitchen faucet.

  Now, I’m down to the horrible underwear called granny panties. There was just no way that I could have a good day while wearing a huge pair of cotton panties with yellow daisies. A girl like me needed a cute thong to start the day right.

  Therefore, I’ve decided to go to my favorite department store and pick out some new underwear before I have an identity crisis.

  I loved department stores. It was like going to a museum without paying admission and, if you were lucky, they gave you a membership card that you could charge things with and they offered you special sales that were only offered to its members.

  What I really loved about this department store was the fact it hadn’t given in yet to the central checkout lines and mesh bags, and the atmosphere was more about a lifestyle, harkening back to bygone days when saying you bought something at a certain store carried a cachet.

  The lingerie department was on the second floor. I headed to the panty section. Oh, they had so many darling new ones. I could just buy dozens of them, like pieces of brightly colored candy, but my credit card might not take the strain. I was trying to straighten out my finances with a budget, and I had promised myself that I would do no more impulse shopping. That was why I had to spend my shoe allowance on my panties, so I wouldn’t charge anything new.

  I was seriously considering buying the cutest five pairs when a thought occurred to me. Maybe if they weren’t so cute, they might not be stolen, but I lived for cute underwear. I especially liked the mint green thong with the white polka dots. What was I supposed to do?

  I was deeply lost in my dilemma and frowning off into space when I noticed an assistant store manager talking to a sales clerk. This was no ordinary talk. He was practically leering at her. What a creep! Moreover, he wasn’t bad looking either, if he could just wipe that sneer off his face. He reminded me of a frat boy, the jock type who only got the job because his uncle owned the store.

  I could swear he was hitting on her, and she looked so uncomfortable. Couldn’t he see that she wanted him to back off by the way she had her arms crossed over her chest?

  Men, I thought, tightly gripping my five pairs of cute underwear. They were such a pain in the butt.

  T-Shirt

  I’ve been hand-washing my new panties so the washing machine couldn’t eat them or my thief of a neighbor couldn’t steal them. Miraculously, I still have five pairs. Go figure.

  Now, I needed to buy a wacky T-shirt to wear to work. Once a year, my conservative office has a wacky day, where we get to wear fun things like slippers or crazy hats to work. This year they wanted us to wear a T-shirt with a wacky saying on the front.

  So, I headed back to my favorite department store, knowing this purchase on my credit card was justified because it was work-related.

  I wanted something cute and spunky, but the T-shirts in the women’s department were so boring with their patriotic butterflies, birdhouses and even watering cans. What were they thinking? Yuck. I wanted something sassy like a junior might wear.

  I headed to the junior department. Now this was what I was talking about with great colors, including lime greens, passionate pinks and bright yellows. Not to mention the screen-print sayings on the front like “Limbo Dance Contest” and “Hottie University”.

  I was a little worried about the size though. A large in the junior department looked like a small in the women’s department. I’m a not big girl; it’s just that I have a small frame with decent-sized breasts.

  The junior dressing-room line was beyond crowded, but I still got in line. A moment later, I couldn’t believe it. These little snotty junior girls were giving me dirty looks, as if I was some sad old broad who was trying to dress young. I wasn’t. I had every right to be there. It wasn’t my fault that women’s clothing was made so boring.

  Why do women take so long in the dressing room? These juniors were taking even longer. Not wanting to waste all of my Saturday afternoon, I decided to go the women’s department dressing room and try on my T-shirts there. Again, there was a huge line. What was the deal? Don’t these women have a life? Now I was getting dirty looks from the overweight matrons as they gazed at the tiny T-shirts I had draped over my arm.

  This was ridiculous. There had to be somewhere I could try on the T-shirts in peace. I gazed around the store, my attention landing on the men’s department. It was practically deserted. There were no lines. Heck, I’ve heard of women using the men’s bathroom in a time of crisis. Why not use their dressing room?

  I headed over there. A sales clerk gave me a glance, but I acted as if I was looking at polo shirts for a boyfriend before I slid into an empty dressing room and peeled off my top.

  In the mirror, I looked so freaking cute in these T-shirts. They were hugging my frame like a second skin.

  Suddenly, there was a knock on the dressing room door. I froze and then peered outside. The assistant manager who had hit on that girl was standing there. I swallowed.

  I managed a sheepish smile and stepped outside, wearing the pink T-shirt that said “Foxy Chick”. It was the smallest, and I had taken off my bra because I didn’t like the way the lines showed in the back. My breasts were right out there with every curve on display. Even my nipples were hard.

  “I’m sorry I’m in here,” I said. “But the lines at the other dressing rooms were just so long and I really needed to try these on. I’m in a hurry.”

  He gazed at my breasts and swallowed. Not in a dirty perverted sort of way like I thought he would stare, but more like he was looking at a piece of art sort of way, if you know what I mean. Suddenly, he looked flustered as if he didn’t know what he should do but, glancing at the tattletale sales clerk, who was standing nearby, he gained his composure.

  “I’m going to have to ask to you leave the store,” he said.

  “What?” I cried. “I need to buy a T-shirt here. This is the only store where I have a credit card.”

  I gave him an imploring look. I had expected him to give me a reprimand and send me packing to the women’s department. Not ask me to leave the store!

  “You have to leave,” he said.

  In a huff, I slammed shut the dressing room door, changed back into my street clothes and threw the T-shirts at his feet as I left.

  The Skirt

  I was the only one at work who didn’t wear a wacky T-shirt. I had even ruined a couple of good T-shirts trying to make them wacky, but I wasn’t a creative person. I was the type of person who was destined to wear things other people made.

  My manager asked me why I wasn’t getting into the spirit of things. What could I say? That I was caught trying on T-shirts in the men’s dressing room, and an immature assistant store manager evicted me from the store? I was sure this was going into my personnel file that I wasn’t a team player.

  I couldn’t believe how much I hated the assistant store manager for doing this to me. There was no way he was going to screw me over at work without paying for it.

  I wanted to get him back where it would really hurt, so I conducted a couple of spying missions at the store.

  He was like the guy who thought he could hit on all the bridesmaids because he was the best man at
a wedding. I didn’t know what was worse, his flirting with anything female less than forty years old, or his checking out the mannequins in the lingerie department. I even spotted him looking down the front of a teddy!

  Then he did something even worse. Every afternoon on his break, he went into the food court in the mall and bought a frozen coffee drink. Then he sat in the same spot, looked in the same direction and scooted around in his seat every so often. It was weird. It reminded me of the time I went to see a midnight screening of Showgirls with a girlfriend, and every guy in the theatre was squirming around in his seat.

  Once he left, I sat in the same spot and looked in the same direction. I should have known. He was in direct line of the dressing room of an upscale lingerie store, the one I couldn’t afford. The pervert!

  After that, I decided I had enough ammunition to make my move.

  Wearing a cute flirty short skirt and no hose, I approached his daily supervisory huddle near the time clock. I could see it in his eyes that he recognized me as the girl in the pink T-shirt. I asked him if I could have a minute of his time. What could he say in front of his sales staff? He stepped away with me.

  “I need to register a complaint,” I said. “A group of teenage boys have been looking up my skirt on the stairs, and I’m not wearing any panties because my boyfriend keeps stealing them.”

  He looked down at my skirt. His mouth opened.

  I glanced at his crotch. Yes! Feeling triumphant, I turned on my heels and left, knowing he had to face his huddle with a great big boner.

  The Shoes

  Today, my boss actually gave me a verbal warning because I haven’t been paying enough attention to my work lately, and I had to make up a lame excuse on the spot to explain myself. There was no way I could tell him the real reason was because I have been preoccupied with how much the assistant store manager still bothered me, even though I did get him back in such a cool way.

  I was so upset about my verbal warning that I didn’t know what to do at first, but then I realized there was only one thing in the world that would make me feel better. Screw my budget. I wanted those baby pink strappy sandals with the fabulous pink bows.