The Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica 10

by Maxim Jakubowski

  She held her breath, hoping the curtains wouldn’t sway and deactivate the screen saver, and that the next track would be delayed. The seconds passed slowly and the guards’ voices faded off just as another song began.

  At the poker table, they both exhaled at the same time and he pushed her legs together.

  That was enough. He looked at where his hands had gripped her thighs and left marks. Horrified, he pushed off from the table to do up his collar, then strode over to the computer.

  Just as he was about to yank out the iPod, she tapped on the table, lying across it belly down. “Hey, we haven’t finished yet.”

  He shook his head and shut the screen.

  “Scared to lose?”

  He looked at her. She was hiding a smirk and her left eyebrow was raised. He walked back over intending to strip the cards away and throw her back into her room and lock the door. But as he got closer, she rolled over so that her hair fell just so, over that space in her neck that he found so exquisite. Like a Rubik’s Cube he wondered all the different moves he could make to get his hand in there, a foothold to anything and everything else.

  He stood over her, gaze fixed, then he sat down and picked up his cards. “I believe it was your turn,” he said, “what is your play?”

  She fingered her cards and bit her lower lip, chose a card and leaned towards his face, stroking it along his nose, his cheekbones, his chin – where the faintest hint of stubble was breaking through – and down his Adam’s apple, which moved hard against his skin. She placed the jack of clubs in front of them, taking the ace of spades for her hand, then undid his collar again and leaned back in her chair.

  He looked back at his dealt hand. He was done for. But never before had he wanted to win so badly. He looked back and forth between her face and his cards. Every time he looked, she was smiling – the same smile he had seen on the second day they played chess and she had made a joke at Mr White’s expense – like a toddler who had been sprung finger-painting the white lounge room walls. Oh, she had paid for it later, but that mischief was what kept her going through the punishment.

  He reached to swap a card, but her hand stopped him and she pushed his cards face down again and left hers behind. She flicked herself over the edge like a gymnast and came up standing – a perfect goddess statue worthy of gracing the finest garden. She walked behind him and he could feel her breath on his neck as she reached to pull his jacket off. He pulled his arms back and felt her hand trace through his white shirt on to his spine, but the chair back got in the way, so she pushed him gently forward and whispered in his ear. “Stand up.”

  So he did and she walked around the front until her eyes looked up slightly into his, taking his view completely so he couldn’t see her hands. His eyes shifted from hers to push away some hair from in front of her eyes, but she blew it away before he could touch her.

  “Close your eyes,” she husked.

  “No.”

  She wasn’t used to refusal. After all, when eyes are closed the senses are so much more enhanced. Taste more, feel more.

  He stifled a smile as her eyebrows flashed confoundedness, like a few days ago when she thought she’d had him lined up for checkmate, only for his knight to take her queen, then it was downhill from there.

  Instead he reached behind her, brushing up against the mounds of her breasts – her smell drifting beyond the air and straight to his skin. He placed in her hand the tie from the dressing gown. “Blindfold me.”

  She felt her lips flush with new warmth and her heart beat faster. What was his strategy? A faked defensive? A blinded victim-come-villain? She didn’t pause though, feeling each gain she made could easily be lost by another interruption. So she walked behind him and brought the tie around his eyes and knotted it behind his head. She saw him shudder slightly as her fingernails dug lightly into his neck.

  The iPod track moved on and he closed his eyes, feeling her presence as she moved in front again and took his hand. He felt her fingers trace the inside of his palm then move up his wrist between his skin and the sleeve. When she got as far as the seams would allow, he felt her move closer; her tongue licking from the base of his hand right up to his elbow.

  “You taste good.”

  He said nothing and stood still. Already though he was feeling his pants get tighter, as before when he had splayed her legs open on the poker table. Then he heard a noise he couldn’t figure out; it sounded like two marble chess pieces clacking against each another. Then he understood, just as he heard his shirt tear from the cut she had made with her teeth.

  She saw him bite his lip when the tear reached all the way to his left shoulder and she traced the outline of a scar, deep and ragged, stitched badly. She let her lips brush over the raised skin and breathed a kiss.

  “Why do you do it?” she whispered in his ear.

  He reached for her hand to pull it away from his scar and whispered back in her ear, his hand pressing against the faint scar on the other side of her neck. “Why do you?”

  She yanked his grasp from her wrist and felt the rage inside her boil over. How dare he question her life? It’s not like she had a choice. But then, it seemed neither did he. Both of them were prisoners without any freedom except for the moment.

  She tore the front of his shirt and the buttons scattered across the wooden floor. Enough, she thought. And with that, she launched her attack. Her fingers moved against his abdominal muscles that flinched when she lightened her touch. Even he can be ticklish. She walked around his back and pulled the rest of the shirt off, tracing his ribs, kissing them one at a time and she could hear his heart beating like tribal drums. She opened her mouth and scraped her front teeth over his back along his shoulder blades, mocking bites.

  * * *

  It wasn’t the intentional fondling that was sending him to the edge, but the accidental brush of her breast on his arm, when her foot stepped on his, when her hair tangled on his slight stubble. Beneath the blindfold he felt the sweat gather and pour down his chest as it rose and fell, gulping for enough oxygen to stay standing and in control. Each breath was just more poison – smelling her sweat. When her hand snaked around from behind his back and down the front of his pants he knew that was the point of no return. He could either throw her away and lock her back up, or he could give in for just a little bit longer, to see just how far he could hold out. She didn’t pause – one hand she let creep further into his pants while the other undid his belt buckle and whipped it away in a flash.

  She put the belt around her neck and tightened it, leaving the end in his hand. While she stepped back to the front, she grabbed the blindfold away and saw his cheeks were flushed.

  “Look at me.”

  He looked at her as she crouched in front of him and unzipped his trousers with one hand while the other gestured for him to tighten the belt around her neck, which he did.

  When he looked down at her, he saw himself, rock hard, a slight movement with every heartbeat brought yet more blood and more pressure that he was only just tolerating. She stuck out her tongue, which was red and wet, then licked her lips for moisture. Leaning in, her lips tightened and he had to grip a nearby chair as her warmth met his body, teasing with her tongue as it moved along his shaft. Her movements were slow at first then firm; on the backward stroke she would suck in so that it felt there was no more room, then her hot breath would release him until she inched closer and closer each time, deeper and deeper.

  She looked to the chair where his fingernails were tearing at the chintz fabric. Looking up, she saw his head bent back, the sweat rolling over his hard nipples and his Adam’s apple dancing as he gasped for more air. She wondered what he was thinking about to stop him from blowing. Usually the man would have by now. Her strategy shifted into the next phase. She stopped on his shaft and instead massaged his balls – kissing, then sucking while her other hand ran up the inside of his thighs.

  “Mon dieu …”

  As soon as he said the words he woke up to
himself.

  Oh no, she’s winning. Indeed she was, smiling with those lips that were so twisting him with irrational thoughts beyond the chess moves he was playing in his mind for distraction.

  He pulled at the belt to get her to stop and she coughed and fell to the floor, not expecting that he would dare harm the skin he seemed to stare at with such fascination. Immediately her hand rushed to her neck and she loosened the belt.

  His eyes were open wide and he looked at his hands, the veins popping out in pressure and heat. His eyes refocused to her, looking at him as if he had cheated at cards. He met her gaze and took the belt and threw it behind him. Enough. His voice grizzled.

  Her eyes flickered in confusion and hopelessness before sinking to the floor, expecting to be hauled back to her room. Instead she saw him step out of his pants, and his feet approach her. He bent down and brushed her hair away from her neck and launched in to feel his lips on her pulse. It was even better than he imagined. She gasped as he seemed to eat her, then finish with a delicate kiss before he moved down to her left breast and teased it with his finger, licking, kissing then sucking. They were under the table now, on the oriental silk rug that softened their movements, their limbs twisting as they each moved to touch the other.

  She would nibble his earlobe, he would reach between her legs. As he thrust his fingers in, she let herself suck in air sharply. She was so wet, she thought he might make her gush, and her muscles tightened around his fingers so that he pulled them out and stroked between her thighs leading up to her chest then to her lips so she could taste herself. She sucked on his fingers and thrust her hips into the air inviting him to taste too. He traced over the scars left by Mr White and kissed each one. She wasn’t sure, but she thought she heard a “désolé” pass his lips as his forehead sank into the hollow of her belly before his tongue’s tip flicked her clitoris in a gentle tickle. She pulled in her abdomen as she tried not to giggle. His tongue then moved down and deep into her, exploring each side.

  He looked up at her, wanting to see her arch her back and neck, her fingers grabbing at the edge of the rug, twirling around the tassels like ivy. Now, she was like he had been minutes before. He smiled and let her wetness linger on his lips, down her legs on to her ankles, which he grabbed suddenly and pulled her out from under the table. Her eyes flashed in shock from being taken from the trance he was weaving. He picked her up and put her on his shoulder, then leaned her back down on the poker table, the chips flying.

  As she looked up at him, his hair flicked down and hovered in front of his eyelashes. She reached to push his hair way so she could look at him, but he grabbed her wrists and pinned her down. She wriggled and kneed into his ribs. No, this was not her strategy. She had to be on top where she could be in control. To stop and start when she wanted to torment him as long as possible.

  He struggled to hold her, their slippery bodies sticking to the chips but he held her there, his cock pressed hard against her leg until she stopped moving and their breathing moved in time. Then she realized. Her cards had been left up, exposing her two pairs: aces and queens and a nine. His cards must have been higher. He was taking his prize. She pushed her cards to the floor in acknowledgment and turned her neck so that the moonlight lay upon her skin.

  He released one of her wrists and she left it there, her nipples getting harder. Then he reached to her eyelids and closed them softly while she felt his tongue move to her jawbone, then to her neck and he kissed it and buried his head into the hollow. His body pressed against hers completely, but lightly enough so she could still breathe. As he breathed in through his nose, he smelled her and felt his cock throb harder than ever.

  She must have felt it too, because she dangled her fingers down the curve of his back and reached between their legs to stroke him and then finger herself. He took a sharp breath in and rolled her so she was on top, her eyes opened and she looked down at him. His arms were tucked behind his head, his eyes closed and a slight smirk froze upon his face.

  She gathered some of her hair and tickled it underneath his nose, then rubbed her cheeks against his stubble before moving her hair on his abs. She waited until this stirred him even more and she kissed his bolt upright cock. As she sucked and kissed, she thrust her hips in time around his leg until he could feel her wetness start to slide over him.

  He reached for her arm and then leaned up to pull her face away and bring her close so her eyelashes flicked against him and his gaze said what he wanted.

  She shifted her weight and balanced on her knees, hovering over him. Taking a deep breath, she slid slowly on to his shaft, and he leaned back and groaned, eyes shaking beneath his eyelids. She moved side to side at first to adjust, then strained in a slow rhythm. He opened his eyes to see the white-skinned goddess arch her back with every lift and fall, his fingers tracing her ribs and around her nipples. She took his hand and placed his fingers in her mouth where she sucked on them, tasting the sweat. She placed his hand against her neck and opened her eyes and stopped.

  He read her thoughts and rolled them over so he was on top. She lifted her legs so that her toes were curled behind his head, pushing him deeper. He felt both warmth and friction and the tantalizing taste like the bitter sweetness of acid chocolate – so soft and yet sharp enough to take his senses beyond. He used the edge of the poker table as leverage to push himself deeper.

  She contracted her muscles in time with his thrusts so that he was forever being teased and released.

  They continued this, slow then fast – each time he ran to the edge and ran back, until he finally took the leap. Shuddering and twitching, he breathed in deeply through clenched teeth, his hair flicking on to his face and sticking from sweat. After holding himself in mid-air, muscles clenched, he released and collapsed on the table, his limbs a mixture of pins and needles and elastic. His eyes opened and saw her lying there, looking at the ceiling.

  She could feel his cum flowing out now that she had relaxed, but she was still gripping the edge of the table in frustration, her white skin moving with every pounded heartbeat. She closed her eyes and then opened them suddenly as she felt his hair brush against her stomach and his fingers trace around her thighs. Again she entered the trance that he had placed her under while they were on the rug, minutes before. But this time he let his tongue and fingers bring her to the point where she forgot to breathe and the release brought light again to her blackout of consciousness.

  Her breathing returned and she opened her eyes, staring into space to the outside window at the stars performing for the last encore before the glare of daylight hid them.

  He walked over to his pants and put them on, slowly dressing as he looked at her almost-still body from behind, only the faintest rise and fall as she breathed. She heard him walk to the desk, unplug the computer and take out the iPod.

  He walked back over to the table and grabbed his cards that were still face down, then took out a pen from his pocket and wrote something on the left most corner before placing it down again. And with one final glance, he walked out of the room and shut the door quietly.

  She picked up the cards. He’d had a jack of spades, a pair of eights, the ten of hearts and a king of diamonds. So she had won after all.

  Between the hearts was a code 07AdV77.

  Escape was hers.

  Paladins

  Robert Buckley

  What a shit hole.

  The shacks – housekeeping cottages the sign said – were spaced randomly among the tall pines, which prevented any breeze shy of a healthy cyclone from venting them of their aroma of mold and decay. A cloud of gnats and mosquitoes whined in his ears as he stepped out of the trees and on to the dirt drive that led to a clearing reserved for trailer homes and RVs. He paused to light a cigarette in the dark. He didn’t smoke; it was all for effect, to look casual, non-threatening.

  The only trailer in the lot matched the description of the one they were looking for. He sauntered toward it, eyeing the barrel-bellied man in the bi
b overalls who warily rose from a lawn chair.

  There were children; he counted four. An obese woman in a cotton shift shooed them like a mother sow into the back of the trailer as he approached.

  “Evenin’,” he shouted to the hulking man.

  “How do? Sticky one tonight.”

  “Brutal. I feel like I’m walking in soup. Makes it awful hard to sleep.”

  “Sure does. Night like this, a man kinda needs somethin’ to … help him relax.”

  “I hear whacha sayin’. But the wife says it’s too hot; says it’ll take more than the usual to get her interested in working up a sweat.”

  The man laughed as his belly undulated. “Well, then, whacha think would make her want to get slippery for ya?”

  It was his turn to chuckle, wink, and play at being a good ole boy. “Well, sir, she’s pretty open-minded.”

  “Uh-huh. Well, you’re a lucky man for having a woman like that. Maybe I have just the – what’s that word? – oh, yeah, incentive.”

  “Oh?”

  The man grinned a wide jack-o-lantern leer. Then he said, “Camille? You come out here, hon. I wancha to meet a gentleman.”

  The girl stepped out of the trailer and around the man. He guessed she was barely five feet three, waifish, bright blond angel hair, and an angel’s face.

  “You like her?” the man asked.

  “Sweet … I think the wife and I could have some fun with her.”