Best Women's Erotica 2009

by Violet Blue

  Besides being swooningly handsome (to her at least; bugger what those dolly mops in the ballrooms thought when they could be bothered to think at all) and well dressed, he was as smart as she was. That more than anything caught her. Gentlemen were generally so painfully dull, and the ladies, were just as bad. Both never seemed interested in discussing anything but who was betrothed to whom, which hat was best to wear for riding in the park, who was dabbing it up with whom, what cravat was the proper cravat to wear for what, what was the best method for hunting this or that, and a host of other tiresome subjects.

  Not that he would notice her. Despite her endless stream of suitors, he never seemed to notice her charms. She would almost have started to think she wasn’t fair of face if not for the constant barrage of compliments, flowers, and gifts thrust upon her. Certainly, he spent almost an endless amount of time in his study experimenting with one cure or another for her condition, with her dutifully at his side taking formulae notes and recording her reactions to his experiments. They spent hours playing chess, reading the paper together, debating Sappho, Molière, and even Austen. They discussed the garden’s flora and fauna when he felt she was well enough. She liked these walks the best because it meant that she could lean on his arm and he would keep a hand on the small of her back protectively, which Mimi disapproved of.

  Sometimes if she was patient, she could catch him out of the corner of her eye looking at her for far longer than was proper. This was always a double-edged sword, because these looks would mean that he would soon after shut himself into his study for long hours, taking meals alone there, or that he’d be going out on his own. As far as she could tell from collecting both empirical and circumstantial data from various sources, these evenings out usually entailed going primarily to his club where he would read the paper, drink too much brandy, smoke a few cigars, and play a few games of Hazard. He didn’t seem to frequent brothels but occasionally would frequent ballrooms.

  This drove her to dizzying heights of jealousy because he had only allowed her to learn to entertain in the drawing room, giving short recitals on the pianoforte or having tea with local ladies. He had deemed dancing to be too strenuous for her. She didn’t really give two figs about being in an overheated, overcrowded ballroom with so-called gentlemen putting their hands all over her and attempting to look down her gown, but the idea of some other woman laughing up at him with his hands at her waist…it was too much to bear. It was worth it though, when he had walked in on John attempting to teach her to waltz several months ago, which seemed to entail primarily having him step on her feet and having to evade his attempts to kiss her. She had never seen her Master so angry. He forbid John from courting her further (which she didn’t really care about) and forbid her learning to dance.

  She was not one for tantrums, finding them beneath her, but something in her snapped when she realized she would never get to dance with him, and she sat on the floor and wept until she started coughing, and her maid had to find her a new handkerchief because hers was too vile and blood covered to use, and she was confined to her bed for three days. It was all the servants could talk about for weeks. But a week later in his study, he played music on his gramophone and taught her the waltz. He spun her around and around, and she thought she was the happiest girl in the world. Of course after that, he sequestered himself away for a week, but still…it was one of her best memories.

  She sat on her window seat, idly stabbing at her embroidery, and thought dreamily of this morning. She was writing down the chemical composition for his newest elixir when she noticed her hair was falling out of its chignon. So she put down her pen and reached up to resecure her pins when she noted out of the corner of her eye that he stopped measuring the glycerin extract and seemed to be staring at her for a rather lengthy amount of time in a manner that could only be interpreted as brooding. She felt her heart speed up and willed her breathing to be even so as to not alert his suspicion that she had noticed him noticing her. Why wouldn’t he just do something? She smoothed out her hair unselfconsciously and picked her pen back up. Of course he dismissed her after she finished writing the formula. Of course he shut his study door and would not come out for lunch. She sighed. What to do?

  She spent the rest of her afternoon reading and daydreaming at her window trying to put together a plan. She examined the books that he allowed her to use for her own research and education, much to the shock of the staff. He had never allowed anyone to so much as dust them, let alone take them from his study, before she came to live with him. It was amazing that he was willing to spend so much time in her company, really. At five and thirty, he had been accustomed to a solitary household before she arrived. Nonetheless, her lady’s maid indicated that he was bound for a ball this evening being thrown by a widow whom she knew for a fact had her eye on him. This would not do at all. She preferred subtlety over drastic actions, but she preferred him to not be in the arms of another woman more than anything. She knew she had an extra copy of his Henry Gray’s Anatomy of the Human Body. She suppressed a rather large twinge of guilt and poured water all over the open pages, reminding herself that though the pages would be warped, they would be legible.

  “Mimi?”

  “Yes, Miss?”

  “I want you to let it slip to the Master’s valet that I ruined one of his books.”

  Mimi looked scandalized. “Miss, you know how he gets about his books! T’were I you, I would hide it and hope that he didn’t notice it missing.”

  “Please, Mimi.”

  “All right, Miss,” she said doubtfully.

  She didn’t have long to wait for a reaction. It would not be unlike him to wait until morning to scold her for her misdeeds, but in fact she was taking supper in her room and drinking tea when he strode into her room. She felt her heart beat far too quickly, so she quickly smoothed her face into the nonchalant expression she had practiced in the mirror before supper, as if she ruined precious books every day, and put her teacup down. She looked pointedly at Mimi, staring so hard at her she thought she would bore a hole through poor Mimi’s skull. Mimi looked disapproving and reluctantly left. Mimi would only leave her alone with the Master and even then only reluctantly. She saw he was dressed for the ballroom, his cravat slightly askew as it tended to be unless she tied it for him, which couldn’t happen when he was avoiding her. She felt her stomach sink and the bit of chicken in her tummy churn when she saw his dismay at the book. She took a deep breath. She needed to be steady and to see this through.

  “I thought Miles was just gossiping,” he said, carefully turning the pages in the book. “I’m very disappointed to see otherwise.”

  “My apologies, my Lord. I must have been distracted.”

  He looked bewildered. “What could have possibly distracted you enough to not notice you were ruining a text?”

  “Theo proposed today.” True. “And I told him to ask your permission for us to be married.” Untrue.

  Well. She received proposals every month or so, so that was hardly anything exciting or inclined to make him delay his evening out. She always dismissed them out of hand whenever he mentioned some besotted swain who had decided after knowing her for all of six hours that she was marriage material. He never said anything to her past telling her who was interested, and she was always quick with her denial of interest.

  “You…wish to marry Theodore?”

  She looked closely at him. He appeared almost pale.

  She made herself shrug. “I’m not getting any younger. He’s as good as any.”

  “You’re not…you’re eighteen!”

  She slowly moved closer to him to fix his cravat. “Is it a problem that I should be married, my Lord?”

  He leaned back away from her slightly as she slid her hands carefully up over his chest and straightened his cravat. “You said you had no interest in being wed,” he murmured. He looked at her expectantly, waiting for her to withdraw her hands from his chest. She didn’t. She looked at him challengingly.<
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  “Perhaps you haven’t noticed, but I’ve grown into a woman,” she said, drawing still closer to him, brushing her breasts across his chest.

  His hands slipped around her waist and he pulled her still closer to him, almost against his will. “Is that what you want? To be married to…Theodore and warm his bed and have four of his children while he locks you away in the countryside so he can gamble away your dowry in gaming halls and bed his mistress? He would never care for you properly; he has no sense of how delicate you are.”

  “What else would you have me do?” she purred, leaning up closer to him, inhaling the smell of him, a mix of parchment, ink, and leather.

  She heard the tiny clink of her hairpins hitting the wood floor as he wound his hands into her hair and kissed her roughly. She felt her toes curling in her Magpie striped heels. This was far better than any of her other suitors’ kisses and even better than trifle. She felt like her corset was crushing her because it was so hard to breathe, and she liked it. He pulled away from her abruptly and took a deep breath. “This is wrong. You are my ward. I am behaving improperly. My apologies. If it is your wish to marry…Theodore, then I will draw up the proper paperwork.” He bowed.

  “It is my wish to kiss you again,” she said, looking at him directly. “I don’t care about propriety, my Lord. Not with you, at least.” She closed the space between them and wound her hands around his neck and reached up and licked at his jawline. She heard his breath quicken and allowed herself a moment of smugness. It was a good thing he didn’t keep all the helpfully informative books hidden away from her. She slid her hands over his back like she had always wanted to. He kissed her neck and she arched up closer to him, finding that she was not the only one who was excited by this exchange. He swept her up carefully and sat her on her vanity table. Her skirts were pushed up around her thighs, and several bottles from the table rolled onto the floor, breaking. There was an explosion of rose, honey, and pale musk in the air. She ran her hands through his hair, tugging slightly. He kissed a line from her earlobe to her collarbone. She pulled off his waistcoat, sending buttons sliding across the floor. She reached down and reached under his tie to unbutton his shirt so she could feel his warm chest underneath. His heart was beating as fast as hers. He inhaled the smell of her and she shivered.

  “You’re not well enough for this,” he said softly.

  “So you’ll just have be careful with me,” she replied, pulling him closer and kissing him. They explored each other’s mouths and she couldn’t help the soft moans escaping her, as their kiss became more passionate and rough. She loved feeling his hands glide over her body as carefully as if he was in his lab, but trembling slightly. His hands traced her breasts. Her brain felt covered in floss candy and she leaned her head back against the mirror. He kissed her neck, biting hard, making her purr as his hands covered her breasts through her chemise. He ran his hands over her hard nipples, pinching them just enough to make her gasp.

  She shifted her thighs slightly, feeling how wet she was becoming. Noticing her shifting, his hands started stroking her stocking-clad thighs. She was having trouble breathing and forming any kind of coherent thought; all she could think was how much she wanted him. His hands found her soft, slick pussy and he gently parted her to stroke her clit with one of his hands. With the other, he quickly placed his fingers inside her and kept a rhythm similar to when they were waltzing. She moved on his hand quickly, grinding her hips against him. She heard her mirror bump against the wall and felt the bristles of her hairbrush digging into her ass. She knew she should try to keep quiet, but she couldn’t seem to. Her breathing was loud and uneven; she tried biting the inside of her cheek to keep herself from making too many loud noises, but the longer he touched her, the harder it was to keep quiet. Her pupils were dilated, her hair was out of its pins, and her skin was flushed. She wasn’t sure if this might indeed kill her but she didn’t care. She could feel her orgasm building inside her, and just as she approached the edge, he slowed the rhythm of his hands.

  “Look at me,” he said, his voice rough.

  “What! Why?” she cried. “Don’t you dare stop!”

  He smiled an intimate smile she had never seen before and felt her heart speed up even faster. “I didn’t say I would stop, darling. I want to look into your eyes when you come.”

  She opened her eyes and looked at him, his shirt unbuttoned and his cravat askew. She looked into his eyes and as he touched her, she felt herself building again. She moved against him and watching him watch her just made her more excited. She felt the muscles in her thighs tighten and when he murmured, “You’re so beautiful,” she felt her back arch and she cried his name out and climaxed against his hands.

  Her hands were shaking, and she fumbled with his trousers—too many buttons. He helped her strip off his pants and her hands found his hard cock. She cupped her hand around him and stroked him slowly, running her thumb over the tip of his cock. She gently massaged his balls with her other hand. “Tease,” he growled into her ears, breathing hard.

  “Fair is fair,” she purred. She teased him like this for several long minutes longer. “I want to feel you inside me,” she whispered in his ear.

  He shuddered against her. “I don’t…want to take advantage…of you.”

  “Well, I want you to take advantage of me,” she replied, pulling him closer, winding her hands into his hair.

  He entered her slowly and gently and she sighed. He circled his hips and she moved against him, running her nails down his back and biting his neck. “All I can see is you,” she said softly, feeling him thrust harder with her words. “Everything is gray without you,” he said into her ear. She dug her nails deeper into his back and moaned his name, as his hands curled into her hair, pulling sharply. His thrusts became faster and he said her name into her neck as she felt him throb inside her. They stayed entwined in each other for a long moment.

  “It appears I’m not going out this evening,” he said bemusedly, surveying the wreckage in her room.

  “It appears not,” she said, grinning at him.

  THE SECRET HISTORY OF LUST

  Donna George Storey

  No one was there.

  Katie looked around the deserted shop, furtively, as if she were doing something naughty. For an antique store, it was unusually restrained in its offerings: two display cases stocked with jewelry, pocket watches, and silver tea sets, an alcove set up like a sitting room with a bookshelf of picture albums. Opposite, in what she immediately dubbed “the dress-up corner,” a headless mannequin in a Roaring Twenties beaded gown stood sentry over a half-dozen other vintage dresses and men’s jackets, which waited patiently on satin hangers for bodies to give them life again.

  In the stillness, she could hear her pulse pounding in her ears. Katie knew she had done nothing wrong. Wasn’t it practically her duty to step into a shop called Vintage Pleasures: A Trip to Yesteryear on the main street of the college town she would call home for untold years of scholarly toil?

  And yet, as her gaze swept the room once again, she couldn’t help likening this place to a virgin, slumbering in the daze of a white slaver’s potion. Although she had no part in the dastardly abduction of the innocent soul, the pleasure of gazing at the girl’s defenseless, succulent body was sinful violation enough. In the next moment, she fought down a less fanciful urge. With no one in sight, it would be too easy to pocket one of the ornate silver fountain pens arranged in a tray by the cash register and saunter back to her apartment.

  Then, an even more disturbing vision flashed into her head—her naked body sprawled on her new futon as she masturbated in wanton celebration of her crime, one hand working her clit, the other sliding the purloined pen into the greedy lips of her vagina.

  The grating sound of a key turning in an old-fashioned keyhole sliced through the silence.

  Katie jumped, her guilt almost justified now. She considered slipping away before her presence was discovered, but raw curiosity kept her root
ed to the spot.

  Two men—one a tall, honey blond, the other a gray-beard who might be one of her future professors—walked out of a room at the end of the hallway behind the cash register. Through the open door, she glimpsed the glossy arm of a leather chair, a hint of green velvet drapery. Although it was high summer where she stood, she could swear she caught the scent of autumn wood smoke and a faint baying of foxhounds drifting from the room. Both men frowned when they saw her, but the younger one’s expression quickly turned to a solicitous shopkeeper’s smile. The “professor” took advantage of the distraction to make a hasty exit, a package wrapped in brown paper under his arm.

  “May I help you find something in particular?”

  The shopkeeper’s tone was light, as if he expected her to say she was just looking.

  Katie gave in to a new impulse—a desire to surprise him in turn. She gestured to the reading alcove. “Do you have any postcards from the nineteenth century? I’ll be starting the graduate program in history here in the fall, and I’m always on the lookout for new research materials.”

  As she’d hoped, his eyes flickered with a new respect. “I do indeed. I have a good collection of vintage holiday cards and U.S. vacation spots from the 1850s through the 1960s. But my specialty is French postcards.” He paused, eyes twinkling. “By which I really do mean pictures of Parisian landmarks.”

  Katie laughed, to let him know she got the racy reference, of course, but also to distract herself from the twinge of lust between her legs. She’d called it quits with her fuckbuddy when she moved a thousand miles away. A month of solo sex—with her vibrator if not stolen antique pens—had left her more vulnerable to this man’s professional charms. Who knew what he might try to sell her?

  “If that’s your specialty, then naturally I’d like to see your collection. I spent a semester in Paris in college and it was wonderful.” She felt her cheeks go warm. Why did she feel compelled to give him her full educational history? “By the way, I’m Katie. This is my first weekend in town, and I thought I’d check out the local shops.”